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The Tale of Two Roaches


Beamon4
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Lucien Ashford de Rouen would revel in victory, raising his blade high. 

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The Duke of Blackvale sat in the square, eyes reflecting the pit of fire before his figure. He rested there with his levymen, watching the roaches lose their heads.

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Upon receiving word of the death of the Count Veroche, Elena would place a palm over her heart, attempting to hold back her flood of emotions. “Oh my dearest Lorina. . .” 

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Silvia could not help but wonder if the news would reach Haense, and more specifically Lorina. Her gaze had remained unmoved from the stage where the execution had taken place, lost in thought.

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"Live as a traitor, die as one." Sir Liam comments 'pon watching the heads roll. 

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"I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry..." Ser Morgan of Angren chanted to himself, alone within the Church of Our Mother of Paradisus. He sat in a pew, his hands steepled as he fervently prayed toward the altar. The place was seldom used, its candles long since spent, waxy stalactites now graced each wooden table and iron candelabra. Yet no salvation was had for the young knight, for his assistance helped bring in the rogue Count Sigismond and thus he felt his share of the blame when the Duke took the Count's head. These once two friends, both like fathers to him, now made to kill one another by this terrible war.

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A former Bishop would be seen relaxing on the calm and quiet beaches in Helious. He sat tired from a hard spent day of training off his angers and feelings and sitting by the docks and relaxing a cigar in his teeth, a Bishop servant would run to him. "Sir Atilan, du must see zhis" he said then handing him the missive. The Waldenain would blink and then nods his head and sigh "He was a interesting man that Sigismond... a once former friend, though perhaps it was good that we stopped being friends when he tried to extort me for my family's wealth" he said with a chuckle "Saved me from getting a stab in the back! May Godan bless him in those seven skies and give him a place befitting that of his loyal traitorship!"

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Wilhelmina awoke to the sounds of a cheerful crowd. She rubbed her eyes and stumbled out of bed to see that traitor's head lay in the mud. A quiet "Oh" was followed by an "Ave Adria!"

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Alexander glanced over the missive. "This spins a narrative that the Duke is a bold man- I wonder if he would be so willing to put his life on the line in a duel to the death. Him or I- Heinrik or Alexander- I doubt he would, wholly and fully. He claims to be so courageous- yet I do not believe he would agree to one on one combat to save the lives of hundreds of Canonists- yet then again, he is no Canonist."

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It was midnight when Amelia's fears had approached. The night glowered and hollered, the wails of Amelia Varoche creating a symphony in the Chateau de Lucienne - hot tears stained her face, which was contorted into an ugly, monstrous facade. Words left the Varoche's mouth as incoherent babbles and gurgles as she did nothing but stroll through the vineyards and halls of her fiancee's manor.

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"What were they expecting? Royal treatment?" a de Vilain jested to himself, amongst burning flames.

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