Ludrik's Saga: EYES OF BLOOD

[GoodGuyMatt 7062]

 

“Komm, mein lieber Junge, das Essen ist fertig” called the mother as she walked the fields. Her voice warm and soft, echoing through the tall mountains of the Reinmaren village. Winter had just passed, a harsh one, harsher than they had seen in decades. His village sat on a gorge, surrounded by tall northern mountains, which acted as both shields against heavy winds, and as bars to a prison cell, blocking the rest of the world off. Yet, secluded as they were, these Reinmaren lot were located between the Duchy of Reinmar and the Karosgradian Crownlands of Haense, rather close to each. Thus, it was not uncommon for them to get passing merchants, travelers, or even nobles going back and forth between the crownlands and the Reinmaren land. Ludrik had never left the village before, only a youth going into adolescence, all he knew of the outside world were whatever little tales the elders spoke or the occasional traveler brought with him. Curious by nature, intrigued and always vigilant, the young Reinmaren of dark hair would jump at any opportunity to hear words from the outside, he yearned for them, and whenever he got even the smallest narration, he would consider his day productive. He’d feed on anything, like the starving wolf in winter. He’d chew at the otherwise boring tales of trade and idle chatter which the merchants spoke of, and devour whole any folkloric tale brought by Reinmaren of other tribes and villages, most of whom, unlike him, were of Theoderic’s ilk.

 

So he listened and listened, fascinated and enthusiastic, and, whenever he was not on a hunt for stories and tells of outlanders, he’d spend his time contemplating what he had heard before as he shepherd. This was his main occupation, the older of four brothers, he was in charge of overseeing the sheep and goats of his tribe, which was mainly composed of the remnants of the olden Kachak tribes from the times of Gelimar and Theoderic. Six members composed his bloodline, his brothers and his parents. Seven, they used to be before the harsh winter hit, a younger sister he had, the youngest child of the family. The harsh, dense and heavy snow had blocked many of the paths leading outside of the village that winter, restricting both travelers from entering the gorge, and its residents from going out. Disease was not uncommon in these parts, and so the young Matilda became sick, his face red and burning hot, yet she was cold despite the many layers of blankets above her. To the lads, she was their only sister, to the parents, their only daughter. So had tragedy befallen their bloodline, grief and sadness surrounding each and every family member, strangling them, eating them alive. The sun shined ever so brightly as summer approached, yet many gray, even black clouds hovered over their minds. The days had become long and painful, colorless and dull, and Ludrik’s heart weighed heavy.

 

“Komm, mein lieber Junge, das Essen ist fertig”  called the mother again for her son, who now sat near his small leather tent. He layed down, leaning on a rock, arms behind his head as a small Lute rested behind him. He looked at the lute as his mother’s voice echoed again and again. He was tired, unmotivated,and wished for nothing but to lay and sleep. So he closed his eyes, and heard his mother call one last time “Komm, mein lieber Junge, das Essen ist fertig” this time, the warm voice turned dull, of lower pitch, it felt unwelcoming and frightful. In a bout of shock and fear, the young Ludrik so tried to open his yes… only to realize, he couldn’t.

 

 

He had approached the Spirit cave, finding the rest of the Minitzian men alongside their Herzog. They looked inward into the natural structure, it was somewhat small, yet familiar to each and every one of them. Many of those lot had done their Spirit Trial here, fighting their fears, confronting them face to face. It was a symbol of bravery, of strong resolve and of self-determination. Yet, it was at this very moment that Ludrik felt less determined that he had his entire life. He knew not why he came here, but he felt it was no coincidence. “What is going on?” he inquired, looking between each and every one of them.

 

“Ill omens, Thegn.” The Herzog said towards Ludrik as they all peered inwards into the cave.

 

“This is bad…” remarked Cisyn “We need more ships… If the seer speaks truth, then running is our best option” after he spoke he stepped inside, going to pick up the bottle, all this on slow movements, for the cave was short, easy for one to strike his head into the hard rock.

 

“The seer might have been right.” commented Tibalt, Ludrik’s very own Tribesman.

 

Still adorning the same reddish face riddled with anger derived from denial, yet wearing different clothes, these ones white and more casual, he called out “Bullshit”

 

“Do not be so unwise to dismiss the words of a Gyjsh, Thegn.” replied Brandt, as all understood what he meant. 'Gjysh' was what the Reinmaren called the elders, the wise ones, especially those who spoke of omens and of prophecies. “You do not mean what you say.” spoke the Herzog further upon Ludrik, his stoic green eye looking towards the man's visage. “Badly you will fare, he said.”

 

“If any of you believe the shit that came out his mouth, you're all madmen” the Katzak’s head shook once again, his irritation obvious, as was the fear in his voice “I dismiss the word of mages and conjurers.” this is how he interpreted the omens, and their bearers. Tricks and illusions of wizards and of mages. A veil of rage covered his eyes, making him blind to the obvious fact which all those gathered knew… the old Gjysh was a man of Reinmar, a man who, like his elders before him, spoke of true omens.

 

“Come and see the cave for yourself.” replied Brandt, looking inwards to the cave. It was then that Ludrik noticed. The cave was cracked, its rocks split open into a series of branches running all around the small cavern. As the Thegn spoke with his Herzog, Cisyn, the Warband’s Hauptmann, practically its still-to-be-elected Warchief, had made for inside the cave. His eyes caught a glimpse of a bottle, filled with dust familiar to many. He turned, and displayed it to Brandt. It was the same powder used in all Spirit Trials, and Brandt knew it, having made it many a times alongside Siegfried, his uncle.

 

With widened eyes, Ludrik’s denial continued to run deeper into his heart, the Katzak called “Evocations, illusions, deceit” he stated one by one with a heavy tone. To some, he would sound hysterical, to others, a madman. “Tricks of the eye to make us all believe his lies”

 

So they continued back and forth. It was obvious that the Herzog believed the stories, a man raised under the many Reinmaren practices, folktales, and conviction of omens and matters of spirit. They had concluded that the alchemical making was not tainted or poisoned, it was the original dust used in every trial of the spirit, albeit, its color was somewhat off. Aside from all the Reinmaren elders and seers, there were only two people who knew how to make such within Minitz. Brandt and Siegfried Barclay. Yet, neither one of them had made it.

 

“The gyjsh's intent is clear.” stated the Herzog, turning towards Tibalt Katzak and Robert von Stroheim. “What should we do?” he queried, pausing before echoing the prophecies spoken on the Moot “I…fall by an arrow.”

 

“And I'm killed by mori… I'm not taking that….” replied Cisyn with a sure shake of his head. The Katzak Thegn turned to Cisyn, wanting to speak, but his lips moved not. He simply moved to the side, taking out a cigarette as he lit it up “I will not lose my vision” he shook his head, albeit with some hesitation.

 

As they discussed further, did Brandt reveal of a story, one which befell a Barcaly before him, with whom he shared a name. Sir Brandt Barclay, the first of his name, who had lived many years prior. He was the founder of the Brandtian line, from which the House of Barclay von Minitz later on emerged. Herzog Brandt spoke of his ancestor, detailing how, many decades past, a similar Gjysh had approached him, promising him power, strength, courage, and the ascension of his bloodline, their rise to power. So had the Barclay ancestor agreed. In return, he needed to carry the Gyjsh atop mount Ararat, to its slopes on his back, lest he put a curse upon his ilk. For every step that Brandt did not take towards the mountain, the Gyjsh promised one curse to fall upon his ilk. The Gyjsh died before Brandt could carry her up the mountain, so the old tale went. Ever since, all first-born males of the Brandtian line rose to the rank of Knighthood, they grew strong and powerful, rich and influential. Yet, all of them had lost an eye before their end. Sir Cedric, Sir Reinhardt, Sir Emil and even Herzog Leon, Brandt’s father, whose dead body found atop the Arentanian mountains was witnessed to have had a slashed eye, presumably so just before his death.

 

 

So now stood the Herzog with one eye open, the other lost and slashed by his own brother many moons prior. All those who heard the tale could not deny its power, its persistence, for they looked at it in the face. As they spoke, Ludrik remained quiet, smoking idly so as to take his mind off. Yet, his soul grew indifferent, his denial fading slowly, only held within him by his own strong will. The Gjysh had told him he would lose his vision. This, he could not accept, what would he be without his vision?

 

As they spoke of Herzog Leon’s death, Sir Robert, Chieftain of Stroheim, retaliated “I am a Templar, a sworn soldier of the Angel of Courage. Your fate does not rest on the end of an arrow. I was not there to protect your father, but I would not want to make the same mistake.” he called, falling on one knee before his Herzog “I wish to become your Hirdman.” And so the Herzog considered, but only for a brief moment. With a solemn, determined nod, he looked upon his Chieftain “Hirdman, you shall become.” So he ordered, and so Robert rose on his feet, thudding his chest singularly, as per Reinmaren tradition, a show of honour and of respect, a greeting of sorts. 

 

“I wish for you to fetch me Ulrich.” the Herzog offered his new Hirdman his first task, and the man obliged “At once”

 

And so Ulrich von Minitz was brought forth, a man of wisdom and of much experience, a traveled man, a Skald of great talent. So he was brought before the Herzog and his Thegns as the rest of the rally had scattered back into the city. Brandt had proposed that Kanzler Karl, the Vizekanzler, and Ulrich take the powder of spirit, to see what awaited them inside their minds.

 

Still reluctant, Ludrik refused, shaking his head after every other sentence. He was determined, his mouth would not touch the powder, or his nose smell their incense. This he blamed on not knowing what was inside the powder, yet deep down in his heart he knew, he did not want to see what awaited him. He finally turned to Karl, his fellow Chieftain, for one last evaluation. Ludrik looked up to Karl, he always had. The way the old man carried himself, his calm and his wisdom, his determination and his long, fruitful life. The Theonus was what the Katzak could only hope of becoming one day, and so his word he heeded.

 

“The powder I shall take.” Karl replied after some thought. “See what we will see, und go from there. Perhaps it is nothing, perhaps it will end in my death. But such is better than doing nothing, and potentially dooming ourselves. I am nicht sure what to believe, I am a simple man. We all die, if my death is for the good of our people then so be it, it is ein sacrifice ich make willingly.” so spoke the Thegn of Einmont, his words piercing through Ludrik’s doubt like the hunter’s arrow pierces the stag’s head. After much silence and much thought, Ludrik huffed, and nodded. “Very well” he said then, extending a hand for a warrior's shake “The sons of Katzak and Theonus ride together.”

 

“You are blood of my blood in my eyes, like family. So it shall be.” Karl hummed. “Let us do what must be done.”

 

And so the trio looked at one another. Ludrik, Karl and Ulrich nodded once, and almost simultaneously thudded their chests, chanting in unison “Wer Rastet, Der Rostet” So Brandt took them inside the case, using the powder to form a circle around himself as the rest of the tribesmen sat around him in a unicircle. The sound of their movements echoed freely around the cave, small as it was, its acoustics were rather ideal for a playing Skald, at least so Ludrik thought. Such observations he used to busy his mind as Brandt offered Ulrich his dagger, powder sprayed in a line atop its blade as Ulrich made to inhale it. So too did Karl then, and finally, it was Ludrik’s turn. With hesitation, he inhaled as he had before.

 

As Ludrik, Karl, and Ulrich consumed the spirit powder within the dimly lit cave, an otherworldly transformation began to unfold. The powder, extracted from the wisdom of Reinmaren elders, unlocked the veil that separated the physical realm from the ethereal. The cave seemed to pulsate with a newfound vitality, as if it had come alive with an ancient magic long forgotten. The walls appeared to breathe, undulating with a rhythmic pattern that echoed the beating of their own hearts. The air around them thickened, carrying an otherworldly scent that was both intoxicating and unsettling. Their minds were flooded with vivid visions, as if their consciousness had expanded beyond the confines of their physical bodies. As the trio emerged from the cave, they were greeted by a surreal sight that left them speechless. The once dingy cave had transformed into a vast, expansive field that seemed to stretch out into infinity. Ahead of them, they saw a replica of the Minitzian Throne room. The throne of the Herzog stretching above a podium of oaken wood, a carpet stretched atop the floor as they all remained surrounded by the endless plains of mental existance.

 

On the throne, they saw a figure, one so familiar Ludrik. Before them stood an elder Herzog Leon, his presence was ethereal, his cerulean eyes distant and unfocused. Ludrik noticed the missing eye of Leon, as if to confirm the rumors that the former Herzog had lost his eye just before dying, thus following the curse of the olden Gjysh. So they approached the man, his throne surrounded by eagles, a black dog sat to his side.

 

 

The ghost of Herzog Leon itself appeared confused and disoriented, as if he were struggling to understand his surroundings. His noble countenance was etched with grief as he turned his gaze towards a gravestone, his heart heavy with sorrow.

 

Ludrik blinked many times, his brows furrowed in confusion. A few steps he moved forth, almost in excitement “My Herzog!” He called desperately.

 

“L-Leon? That's Leon Barclay?” inquired Ulrich towards Karl.

 

“I… believe so.” replied the Kanzler, his Waldenic accent heavy as ever as he shrugged slightly. He'd only ever met the man once perhaps, and was unfamiliar with the former Duke. Karl then took a few steps inwards, following behind Ludrik.

 

The gravestone, adorned with intricate engravings, stood as a monument to the fallen, just next to the feet of the Herzog, who’s gaze was trapped into it. Ludrik, Karl, and Ulrich followed the duke's gaze and saw that a grey-goose fletched arrow was lodged in the gravestone, with the body of a black eagle resting upon it's foot. The Herzog reached out a ghostly hand towards the gravestone, his fingers passing through the solid stone as if it were an illusion. 

 

Ludrik a palpable sense of melancholy and longing emanating from the ghost of the Duke. It was clear that he was trapped between worlds, unable to fully move on from the earthly realm, haunted by grief. Confused by his own excitement, the Katzak failed to realize the ethereal nature of the ghost. “Herzog mine!” he pleaded “What is going on?” his voice was riddled with desperation. A grown man now, the sight of the Duke reminded him of his younger days, the more innocent ones. Oh how quickly they had departed, oh in what world of black and white he now found himself. Perhaps, maybe just perhaps his Herzog had the answer, and so he reached forth.

 

“My son, fallen like the black eagle struck by the grey-goose arrow,” Herzog Leon intoned in a voice that seemed to echo with the wisdom of ages. “The stars weep and the earth trembles, for the omens foretold of this dark day. The veil between worlds is thin, and shadows dance in the firelight, casting their dark spells upon us.”

 

Upon hearing such words, Ludrik froze. Something clicked in his brain, and so his gaze fell upon the grave, recognizing the arrow from the Seer’s words. Upon gazing at it, he funderstood what he saw. Melancholy drowned his heart, anger and grief, before the same denial from before hit him “Lies!” He called.

 

“The river runs red with blood, and the night is shrouded in a pall of sorrow.

The ancestral spirits are restless, and the land mourns. 

Why do you bring me here, to this from my rest?

What is it that you seek from me, a mere ghost of the past?

What secrets do you wish to uncover, and what price are you willing to pay?

The answers you seek may be more than you can bear.” inquired the ghostly figure, as if ignoring Ludrik, who in turn, left speechless and even more confused, glared towards Karl with desperate eyes, as if waiting for the elder to reply.

 

“So it is true.. Perhaps?” mumbled the Kanzler aloud after some time contemplating. The aged man seemed most troubled by this, his eyes faltering downwards as he gazed at his palm. It shook, in fear of this revelation. “We seek the truth, Herzog. Of the curse upon your line.”

 

Herzog Leon's ghostly form seemed to flicker, his cerulean eyes staring intensely at Karl as the tribesman beseeched him to speak the truth. “I see a calamity, a prophecy of doom. The home of the Reinmaren, the guardians of the sacred mountains and rivers, is overrun by darkness.”

 

“What darkness is that, Herzog mine?” inquired Ludrik, his question followed by Karl’s own “A darkness? Is there nothing the brave Reinmaren may do to preserve their homes, the mountains, the rivers?” He questioned with a tone clearly displaying the unease of the prophecy’s confirmation  “Is there no hope for the valor of the Reinmaren?” he asked hopefully.

 

“Hear ye, Thegns, lest your quest for power render you deafened. The visions harken of your death and your enemy's victory. Listen not to the Outlanders of the South, who wills you to travel to Adria.” the Herzog’s figure once again made the same point that the Seer did before him. The two Thegns then asked him of these Southern outlanders, of their identity, to which the ghost raised his hand, conjuring up an image as the few surrounding elements of the Minitzian castle start to distort, with them so did the skies and the plains. The Duke himself vanished without a trace. In his place, a man sat in armour, seemingly talking to an unseen figure. Neither Ludrik nor Ulrich recognized this man, yet Karl identified him as his own grandson. 

 

“The King's scout sees out by the outermost skerries, many Mori with skewed tools, and they are rowing into Minitz.” called the new figure “Quickly, the King's men, gather!” He says, raising a sword above his head. 

 

Ludrik’s eyelids fluttered in confusion once more. Unable to recognize him, he felt threatened, instinctively removing his dagger from its sheath, clenching tightly at it. Yet as he did so, another image is conjured then, of a graying, old man with a sword for a cane, looking towards the empty halls of the castle. He too was missing an eye, but came not of Reinmaren blood. Charles, King of Aaun stood before them, finally a man they could all recognize “What are we going to do? Flee or get killed?” he asked with an almost monotone voice, looking between the Minitzian warriors before him.

 

“Fight until death, King!” replied the Katzak proudly, a sense of duty and of strong resolve feeling his otherwise desperate and confused heart. So too did the others reply “Fight. As we always have.”

 

At that, a voice from the corner speaks up, one familiar to Ludrik above the other duo; “It is honourless to flee, from invidious men of violence! The king knows we have won over superior numbers before!” before them now stood a figure of no one but Ludrik himself, tall and proud, standing cockily and ready to fight before them. With the new Ludrik's vision emerging, a boom of voices echo across the court hall. “We will ride with the King!”

 

The real Ludrik’s mouth fell agape as he saw his own self. He gritted his teeth, unsure of what to believe. He shook his head, denial drowning his troubled mind once more “Trickster!” he shouted from the top of the lungs, as if addressing the Seer from the Moot “Lies and deceit!” He repeated as he had before. His own insecurities and his rage boiled his blood hot, like fire upon the stove. With dexterity, rushed towards the impostor before him, dagger clenched tightly, its blade flying its way straight into the vision’s eye. As the blade made contact, Ludrik's, the real one’s eyes felt a searing pain, and blood began to trickle down from his eyes. His vision blurred.

 

Both of his companions saw this, yet both of them reacted differently. Ulrich steps back in fear, tripping and falling into the floor, horrified by these visions. Karl, on the other hand, followed behind Ludrik, a quick prayer known only to Karl uttered as he prepared to fight. “May the Red Sun not set this day, blood of mein blood.” He exclaimed, rushing to his fellow Thegn.

 

By the time Karl got there, Ludrik had already fallen on his knees, his blade still stuck into the vision's eye as his own bled. He looked down to his hands, blood dripping into his open palms. He could do naught but scream, his head now jerked upwards, “AAAAAAGH” a long cry left the Katzak, his mind spiraling further into madness. “Oh GOTT! Oh GOTT save us!” exclaimed Ulrich from the back.

 

The vision of Ludrik disappeared into nothingness, in his stead, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows near Ludrik’s right. Speaking in hushed tones towards the two Thegns, it threw a gray-goose fletched arrow at their feet as it approached them. “If the Herzog falls to the Mori, great wealth and riches shall be bestowed upon you. Lands larger than Riverrock itself will be yours to rule, and your power will know no bounds” professed the masked apparition, its voice distorted, unrecognizable. “Shoot the arrow. Fulfill this and claim the wealth and power that awaits you. Do not squander this opportunity.” it appeared to speak to Ludrik directly.

 

The Katzak, on the other hand, noticed that the dagger which he had left into his impostor’s eye had transitioned to his own, it appeared that he had stabbed himself. He turned to the new masked shadow, and, with adrenaline enough to supply three men, made to take out the dagger from his eye, blood gushing out as he tried to stab the figure's own, blood called for blood, after all. And so he did, his aim stuck true. Yet, as he stabbed the figure’s eye, his vision went black…

 

Blood dripped from his other eye now, leaving him fully blinded as he could see naught but red, a reddish color which then turned to black, his sight leaving him. Before Karl and Ulrich, the masked figure to have been that same impostor as before, masked and devious, it had tricked its real self into stabbing his own eye.

 

Not a few seconds passed before Ludrik feinted, his body falling limp onto the floor, yet he still breathed.

 

 

So he was returned back to his birth land. His mother’s echoes surrounded him as he closed his eyes, resting them, and, upon trying to get them to open once more… failed.

 

He tried and tried and tried, again and again, he attempted to open his eyes, to no avail. Every attempt sent sharper and sharper pain through his head. 

 

He panicked.

 

Jerking himself back and forth, he got off what he felt to be a bed, a rather soft one, perhaps a medical one. As his feet touched the ground, he attempted to stand up, but failed. In a fit of confusion, rage and fear, just like before, he tried to grab onto something, ANYTHING. In his attempt, he fell again, dropping more medical items from the clinic’s chambers. The noise was loud, and the first responder was Acolyte Arnaud, whom he had met just the day before at church.

 

As the Acolyte came on the second floor, he saw the blinded Katzak on his knees, his hands trying to touch upon the bed as he seemed heavily confused, his breathing heavy and quick, his mouth somewhat agape whilst his head jerked from right to left in denial. “Herr Katzak?” queried the Acolyte, giving his location out as Ludrik panicked further, unsheathing his dagger as he held it in front of him “WHO ARE YOU?!” He screamed desperately “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!”

 

“Calm down! It's me, Arnaud, the acolyte! I didn't do anything! Y-you're in the clinic!” pleaded the Acolyte, surprised and somewhat startled by the insane Katzak in front of him. Ludrik, in turn gritted his teeth, his dagger clenched tightly as he made to pivot himself towards the innocent Arnaud  in a fit of rage, this time shouting even louder “I WILL ******* KILL YOU” he seemed unable to hear reason.

 

“I-I just came to check out the-” he froze as he saw Ludrik come to him “NO! NO NO!” He'd scream out, desperately walking backwards the way he came- to the stairs.

 

The Katzak had gone berserk, or at the very least appeared very angry. He ran towards the man's voice, unable to see anything, though ended up smashing himself into the door as he walked straight into it. By this time, further responders had gathered, amongst them Peter and Robert of the Stroheim Tribe. Seeing Ludrik enraged and dangerous, Robert prepared to cast a spell, calling forth his inner courage.

 

Arnaud Constanz on the other hand barely noticed the knights who'd come into the stairwell with him, backing off into the wall behind him so to escape Ludrik’s charge “HELP!” he called once again.

 

Peter Stroheim unclipped his mace at the sight, calling towards his friend “Ludrik, CALM DOWN! It's me, Peter!” yet Ludrik cared not, or perhaps even heard not after hitting his head to the door, touching it a few times so as to relocate himself. His gaze turned the voices and noises, his head turning left to right as he let out a warcry “AAAAAGH” he shouted, before taking another step forth, swinging his blade left and right “YOU ******* LIAR” he screamed, aiming randomly, although his swings appeared somewhat coordinated, he was an abled warrior, after all. His accusations, however, seemed not directed to any of those around, instead directed to the Seer, whom he blame.

 

The Acolyte, finding himself at the forefront of Ludrik’s swings, crouched himself into a ball. Perhaps this saved his life, for the charging Katzak still managed to scratch him, cutting his hand into a hollow wound.

 

By this time, Robert was ready to unleash his Templar spell as light engulfed his right gauntlet, he swung a fist empowered by Vigorous Blow towards the side of Ludrik's head to knock him out, deliberately holding back given his goal was not to kill. His attempt knocked the man down, but did not get him unconscious. The raging Katzak had too much adrenaline in him, and Robert’s toned-down spell was estimated wrongly. Thus, Ludrik fell on his arse, having been disarmed of his blade, he simply stood there in confusion and grief. He simply remained there, allowing Peter to restrain him as his mouth remained somewhat agape, as if trying to cry, yet he couldn't.

 

Peter then moved to restrain him, doing this successfully. The now-numb Ludrik began crying, hitting his forehead on the floorboard in rage “Why?!” He cried “WHY?!” He queried to no one in particular, crying blood instead of tears as they dripped off the bandage. So he was carried into a bed once more, now limp and unwilling to move much, he sat on the bed as Karl had heard the ruckus and came to aid. In the meantime, the hurt Acolyte screamed and wailed at the light wound he had received, Cosima, the good samaritan and medic had come to his aid, whilst the rest of the men stood with the frozen Ludrik on the second floor.

 

Karl and Tibalt then came to his side as Peter and Robert left, allowing them to deal with the insane Katzak. They stood by him, Karl trying to speak to him, though Ludrik appeared delusional and uncoordinated. He faced the ceiling as he spoke, asking odd questions and speaking weird sentences, whilst Karl tried to comfort him. Finally, the Katzak had given out hope ”I need sleep…” he stated simply, seeking new comfort in his dreams now, hopeful that he would perhaps find such…

 

 

Thus he awakened to a strange sight…

 

 

His eyes opened once more, just to be surrounded by darkness once again. This time not only could he not see, his blindness had rendered him unable to move, hear, smell, or even feel touch. In his desperation, he could do nothing but scream into the abyss that was his existance now. Cold sweats traveled down his paralyzed body, yet he could not feel them. Only his mouth he could move, and, with every inch of will he had inside him, he screamed  "Patrion of the Reinmaren, help me!" he called for Saint Johann.

 

Even though he lacked the ability to see, he felt light, a yellow one, warm and bright, much like the sun of dawn surround him. It was unexplainable, but he knew a strong source of light stood only feet away from him. Finally, the bright light dimmed, and before him stood a figure, the presence of which he could feel. It was elevated from the ground, humanoid in nature. Two wings emerged from the figure’s back, fluttering majestically as they elevated him into the air.

 

Ludrik, now as if rid off his sanity, signed the Lorraine, having been allowed movement through the presence of whatever was in front of him alone. So spoke the angel “Ludrik, child of GOTT the most high” he called upon the mortal before him, a Waldenic accent about. Despite not seeing, he knew. He could tell the very Saint he called had answered, now standing before him, he smiled, for hope had finally found him.

 

“Oh, Johann!” exclaimed Ludrik, pleading for warmth and help “Help me, o Saint of the Reinmaren!” he exclaimed once more, a hand reaching out to him “I am lost” he said with a weak voice and even weaker heart thereafter. “Help me”

 

“Ludrik, son of Rovyk!” replied the Saint “Ambitious men amongst your Reinmaren brethren, deserving of glory and of all that is holy, hear my word.” so stood Ludrik, ears perked up and a face of desperation about him, awaiting what was to come like the starving traveler of the desert awaits to see an oasis. “Your eyes were stolen from trickery! From those who our sacred traditions used to fool you, o son of Rovyk. Your Patron I shall become, for a protector of the Reinmaren you are, your glory you have imprinted upon the people after whom I look after” at such words, Ludrik smiled widely. Whether this was because of the hope brought upon him, or the flattering gifted to him, it was unsure. Yet, he took the words to heart, with open arms. Saint Johann, in turn, approached closer to him, and touched his eyes. At this moment, he was able to open his eyelids. He could see once more, and so laid eyes upon the Saint, a man of a glowing, warm face, the likeness of which matched perfectly with the icons and the drawings of the Barclay Saint he had seen before. So continued the Saint “Blessed, you have been, light you will see once more, do not reveal of the miracle that I have bestowed upon you, for you risk seeding jealousy into the hearts of your brothers. Instead, tell them I have taken favour upon you, and that your eyes will slowly heal through the ways of mortals.”

 

Ludrik nodded at such, somewhat taken aback at the specific instruction, but accepting them wholeheartedly nevertheless. He had been desperate for too long, he lost all there was to lose, yet GOTT had favored him once again. For such, he could not complain, and with a wide smile, went back to sleep, just to open his eyes once more…

 

Spoiler

Big thanks to @MadOne @Deets @woodylego @TMET @alien_mc @Sander @TheShadowMatrix @PeterPumpkinEater for da RP :)

 

[alien_mc 518]

After experiencing Ludrik's outrage, Tibalt Katzak then sat on the floor of the clinic next to Ludrik's bed where the man slept. Saddened to see the father of his tribe so deranged, he leaned over and hugged Ludrik, patting him on the head. Hours had gone by of him sitting there, he left a beverage on the bedside table for when Ludrik would wake. He stood up and made way to the exit looking back at Ludrik saying,  "Feel better, Ludrik." Turning back to the exit, he left the clinic. 

[woodylego 70]

Ulrich checked on Ludrik several times before returning to his home.

 

He checked Ludrik's right eye stitching, which would be the first time Ulrich had stitched someone anywhere. Then he checked on the eye the Karl had burned shut, and the deepest dagger wound of the pair. At some point, he had realized he fell asleep on the chair beside Ludrik. He had fallen asleep several times it seems. Every time he awoke, he gasped in fear of an amalgamated visage of a variety of men. He noticed a new glass of water was put on Ludrik's side -- someone else from the clinic must be looking after him now.

 

So he sulked back to his home to get rest. Yet he did not find rest. He found ghosts in his head, and thoughts of death danced. "Gott save us" he whispered to himself, wanting more than anything to close his eyes.

[Frode 36]

Kasper would come run to Minitz to check on Ludrik, has he sees the body laying down on the bed he goes get some very important chocolate and lays it on Ludrik bed and leaves the room.

He would stay at the clinic's door and pray for Ludrik to wake up, and in the end Kasper says: "He needs to wake up, what are we Katzak going to do without him, he is our leader". Kasper then gets up and goes get a panting that both have stolen and lets it on the clinic wall next to Ludrik bed.

Edited April 15, 2023 by Frode

[Sander 3155]

Acolyte Arnaud sighed deeply as he came up to the second floor of the clinic again the day after the incident. He’d eye the unconscious Ludrik with a mix of emotions; the man had attacked him, but he’d heard some stories about what had happened to the Katzak and he’d met him in church as a decent man. In the end, the acolyte did what he came in to do before leaving; he’d light some incense beside the bed and say a few prayers for the injured Ludrik.