KING OF RUSKA

[GMRO 5287]

 

The grey embers of dawn slipped in quietly to join the candle-light of Karl III in his bed, forcing him away from the little sleep he had managed. In his hands lay his Thanhium axe, his weapon of choice that had seen him through so many battles already. It had once felt so light, yet now as he glanced down he found hands that were not his own. These were weak hands. Hands that struggled to lift it at times even. His fear had come to pass, he had gotten old. The time had come and gone quickly, even quicker than he was expecting. It was a bitter taste that he felt holding the axe, for he knew there were others that could wield it better. It was a taste that all grew to swallow as they got older in their own mortality. His eyes drifted to his side, Amadea was still asleep. All that had been needed to say was said the previous day, he left her to savour what she could. Karl left down the stairs, feeling the creak of each floorboard especially as though each could be the last time he stepped upon them. He finally stood before the palace doors, his fingers outstretching to them. All of it felt so foreign with the hands of a man he did not know.. An old man’s hands. When had he gotten old? He pushed the door open, eyes glancing to the sky.

 

The grey overcast weather had been replaced with flame.

 

Dark replaced the light of the sky, the sun’s yellow tint replaced with crimson. The Pretender had come. The world had changed in the matter of hours for Karl. The dragon, Cloudbreaker, once seen as an enemy beyond all comparable size and reality had been swallowed by a worm capable of crushing mountains in two. The Inferi now came to swallow his kingdom in a similar matter. He had thought his kingdom once as immortal as himself in youthful arrogance, yet now Karl saw it in the same manner as the dragon. The ability to be snuffed out in a single day. The end of descendants rose above him as dread then overwhelmed him, his heart beating beneath his armour as though having already battled. 

 

Was he really so old, out of shape? Or was a Coward. His own mortality dragged him away from the battlefield, not wishing to seek out his demise. He had spoken often of his death, yet now as he felt himself facing it, he was scared. Even so, he began his walk all the same. He moved up the stairs of his palace, now destroyed totally. There was confusion and blood, calls for retreat to Reinmar. The feeling of a daze washed over him, still stumbling about confused awaiting some moment to fight or run. Giant insects drove into the palace, and an ashen ape prepared to climb up its walls. It half-seemed as though all were prepared to abandon, the city overran. As he came into the ball-room, there he found his sons at which he watched an exchange between them.

 

“I-is this a winning battle Georg? We’re over-run.”

“Every battle fought is a loss, Marius. The only thing that matters is that we endure. Never underestimate your enemy, but if you do not fight, you are bound to lose. Keep your head up, Marius. And kill, kill until your last breath, if you must.”

 

Karl turned to leave them. He had always been wary of his son to a degree in the same way he imagined his father had looked over him. The question of whether the Grand Prince had what it took for the weight of the Crown. Once considered a boy, he now considered Georg a grown man. As he retreated out of the burning ball-room, he heard Georg continue his call to arms. The pride within the old king could not be contained, he cracked a large grin as he ran down the stairs in search of his own battle.

 

“KAROSGRAD WILL NOT FALL AS LONG AS WE LIVE, MARIUS. YOU ARE HAESENI, WHAT IS THE MOTTO OF OUR PEOPLE, NEED I REMIND YOU?”

 

He knew then that his son was ready. Haense was safe whether the old king lived or died. Whilst his own light faded, the fire of his sons continued. Haense would continue whether they won or failed in the siege, whether he lived or died. In seeing the carnage around him and the entire sky illuminated with malflame that dropped like rain, Karl knew of a greater mission. He left the palace, seeking out Prince Siegmund of the Inferi Horde, flying upon the carpet of Ser Honk. 

 

Lifting itself at a break-neck speed across the cobbled roads of Karosgrad, this flight felt like an eternity. The ramblings and shouts of the incomprehensible Honk, a creature otherworldly in nature that behaved as a clown, faded out as it moved towards the battle-lines drawn. The boom of Cannon overhead led by the Lord Marshal drowned out calls for retreat from Ser Conrad Barclay. The wall was breaking. Upon the right hill was the Prince of Calamity, Siegmund. Even when his guards were few and he was surrounded, those brave soldiers about him seemed like the ones in a panic. 

 

The Pretender Prince looked onwards at the King of Haense and its companion, its piercing gaze filled with vitriol. An amalgamate of malflame began to coarse through its body, embodied by crimson flames. The battlegrounds were littered by the corpses of many Haeseni, and those of the lesser-inferi which encompassed their vile army. 

 

As the flying carpet, piloted by the otherworldly creature, swept down towards the front of the Prince of Calamity, Siegmund, a few words were exchanged. “Vyr is but a pretender. Vy people of Haense shall not leave until vy head rolls onto the floor.” The words of the King of Haense were filled by a momentous courage, heard by those felled and injured comrades who continued the battle. Once more, the King of Ruska blared. “THE PEOPLE OF HAENSE! YOU WILL FIGHT UNTIL THE LAST OF THEM ARE DEAD!”

The words of the King filled the surrounding battle-hard soldiers with determination, as those limping soldiers made their stand, grasped their blades, and prepared to face off against the retinue of the Pretender Prince. Ser Honk did not chatter as he normally did, making fewer of all large events. His eyes were struck into those of the infer-princes, before his neck craned to face the King of Haense. “Take a hold.” 

 

Karl III turned to reach for the mighty blade of kings, Aeternity, forged by one who held semblance to the Jester Knight. However, this action was halted by that of the knight who piloted the carpet. A gout of yale-blue mist began to engulf the otherworldly knight, as he slowly began to tear and form into an unlikely weapon – the Sword of Jophiael. As durable as that of carbarum, and gilded by a lustrous golden sheen, wherein eyes of crimson red scattered across the blade's edge. In each eye, a vision was seen, of the past, the present and the future. 

 

Without faltering, the King of Ruska grasped the Mortal Blade of Jophiael. A rush of courage filled the monarch, lacking hesitance in action and words, as golden-flames bursted across the artefact. Yale-blue veins began to ensemble around the arm of the King, taking control of its arm. “FACE ME, PRETENDER! FACE THE TRUE KING OF RUSKA!” 

 

As rage filled both the entity controlling the Sword of Jophiael and the King of Haense, the flames panned and grew larger, with the eyes now reflecting visions of defeat against the Prince of Calamity. Instantly, the King of Ruska swung the mortal blade towards the Inferi, who locked on with its own machination, a bloodshot weapon that was covered in the putrid flames of the nether. 

 

The clashing blades struck the battlefield with its sounds, clinking and clanking of other blades were overtaken by their ferocious battle. As all respected the duel, a gathering of all forces began to surround the duo, in which their vicious fray induced ripples within the air. Like thunderstruck clouds, the King of Ruska and the Prince of Carrion fought, leaving but clapping lightning in its wake. 

 

“YOU ARE THE PRETENDER!” Declared the Inferi Prince, as both swung their blades into an arch, causing them to skid backwards. The Sword of Jophiael reacted with aggression, as the voice of the otherworldly entity spoke out in a cacophonous voice, horrendous to the ear. “You will lose to us.”

As the mortal blade was deflected, the Inferi Prince hooked its ashen fist towards the chin of the King of Ruska. CRACK - the teeth of the monarch would shatter, with his jaw hanging and tears rushing out. All would witness blood gush out from the helmed monarch's visor, as he stood dazed. However, the otherworldly entity did not allow for the King to rest, and forced him onwards even through pain.

The hand of the King of Haense began to shake viciously, under the control of one who would be known as the Great Owl. Veins of yale-blue began to pulsate across the monarch, leaving Karl III with relentless pain, yet he strived to hold and resolve through, for the sake of his kingdom. 

 

As he felt his own blood ooze from his mouth in warm rivers, as smoke stung his lungs and shouts and screams filled the air, he felt the Sword loosen in his grip. For a second, his hazy vision saw the watching faces of his people painted a blend of terrified, hateful, proud, and determined.

 

He faltered. 

 

Can I … really …? A voice echoed in his head, and time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched blood seep down his own fingers, and onto the Sword. Across from him, the Prince steadied himself, his own blade rising for a counterstroke. 

 

It has been … so long … Unbidden memories flashed through his head - running through tiled corridors as a boy, laughing with his twin; being told by his father, with ice in his voice, that one day the Crown would warp him; Amadea in her wedding veil; his father’s final moments; cheering crowds at his coronation; black-gold banners flying over the shores of Karinah’siol; putting a sword in his own son’s hands for the first time, and a thousand other memories compressed into the fraction of a second. 

 

Perhaps it’s time to just … rest … Firelight shimmered on the edge of the demonic Prince’s blade.

 

For all his weariness, though, here King Karl III stood. He had endured the bloody tides of the Sinners’ War, the treachery of the Successors’ War, and now he faced these hellish hordes. It was not just him, he knew; his father and forefathers had all marred their souls in war and bitter hardship to deliver those they loved - to deliver Haense - to this threshold of victory, for they would have perished if they had not persisted. 

 

And King Karl III never faltered again.

 

Blood squelched in his gauntlets as he tightened his grip, and a primal scream, born of the rage of King and Sword both, echoed across the battlefield. The king uttered a relentless scream, leaning forward as the mortal blade was plunged into the torso of the Inferi Prince. The Sword would begin to twist and drill itself against its torso, forcing the hand of the King to begin shattering, as bones snapped and ripped from tendons and skin. 

 

“YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME! YOU WILL DIE!” The Prince of Calamity dropped both hands against the shoulders of the King, though remained weakened. The sweltering heat latched itself onto his shoulders giving gruesome pain yet it was clear that the flames of the Inferi Prince were not as large as they used to be. 

 

For a moment, The Great Owl and the King of Haense grew as one with whispers of resolve. Blood spurted and gushed from the felled Prince as the King’s own hands contorted unnaturally and began to shatter from the forced motions of the Sword of Jophiael. A step was taken forward, pain gritting as he continued those memories of the past; Amadea, Georg, Marius, Nikolas and Analiesa. He thought of his family as pain forced its way into his mind. 

 

BOOM! The Prince of Calamity fell backwards in defeat with a hushed whisper parted to the King, leaving the man perplexed. The body of the Prince remained. A sword most evil, used by the bloodied inferi, was struck into Haeseni soil.

The sword began to slip out from the hands of the mortal king, and clattered against the grass. Weak breathing remained in the king. All forces surrounded the King of Ruska.

 

It was over.

 

The war was won.

 

Spoiler

Forgot to immediately thank but:

Thanks to @Xarkly and @Werew0lffor helping me with this

and also thanks to @Zaeriefor the divider!

 

[SethWolf 1431]

Love 'Aense 

Love ea 'Koeng 

Love 'Arrion Black 

 

'Ate Southerners

'Ate Inferi

'Ate Traitors

 

Simple as.

Edited December 8, 2022 by SethWolf

[xMuted 2492]

Sigrun Ireheart grinned a mighty smile. "Okay Karl, yeh got balls."

[JoanOfArc 4586]

cute post : )