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[PK] A Prince Fallen.


Traveller
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The Once-Hierarch, Once-Prince who had come before finally finished scratching with his quill. 

 

The Black Books were complete, and in return his Lord had promised him peace.

 

His successor had been named, and finally he was ready to die. He had only to pass on the torch... 

 

How little he knew.

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The newly widowed woman nestled deep within her frigid chambers, a sinking dread gnawing at her. The feeling of lost opportunity seeped into her mind like a poison, as though a prize was snatched from her grasp. Her thoughts raced and spiraled into insanity; pointed talons tearing at her own hair in a fit of hysteria, as though trying to tear out the very source of her torment.


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It had been a while since she had seen him, Otton. She had spent in her room dwindling away, unreachable like a hermit in its cave, Comoară's eternal prisoner. A specific painting loomed on one side of the wall above a piano she kept, one of yore. Haunted did it hang; a reminder. There was no rest for the damned, and too often would she have to cross out another face on the portrait. Her former life once more continued to fade before her very eyes, even the ones she thought would be forever looming over her it seemed.

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Eventhough I havent had the pleasure to rp as a Silit for long with you I loved every single rp moment we had. Loved to be your student, loved everything you taught me and I have never been so grateful for a minemen character as Otton. Thanks for everything, @Traveller

 

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Somewhere, within the halls of a rustic castle, a follower of Otton swept the floors with a hay-fashioned broom. A solemn tune rang through the halls as he dwelled all alone within his own thoughts.

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A certain Margrave stood on a balcony as he was looking at the night sky. His ability to feel sadness was gone, yet something inside of him was boiling. His empty gaze focused on the trees that swayed in the night wind. He was faced with one certain fact - he was the last one. His father gone, his uncles August and Jindrich gone, his once beloved brothers gone. The creature of the night remembered all those good times with them as well as the bad times. He remembered the joy of his elder brother's return, the joy of his wedding and sour taste of loss when he and his family were kicked out of their home. In the face of his Otton's death he thought of why did he become what he is right now - the answer was simple for him, though for many it was a stupid reason - he wanted to protect his family. He could not cry but uttered a few words in the middle of his complicated thinking process "You will be missed, bracie." He shut his eyes and as he walked back into the dark interior he knew. He was now the last one, the last of Borys' sons...

 

Spoiler

Life of Otton was a splendid time that allowed us to strengthen our friendship Rob. I am very happy you did take the character when it was offered to you in the last weeks of Savoy and you constantly played him until you died. Many good memories, yet the road does not end here - plenty more awaits us on the new map

 

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A Elder who had been planning many things with the prince awaited for his return. She was ready to create a home, to give purpose unto the lonely prince and her family; together standing against those of stagnation. Alas, her plans were changed. 

 

No planned how many times she would contact the prince, she could not yet feel his presence. How could a immortal being disappear in such manner? Did he die? Impossible. Only a new purpose in mind grew. To find the prince and seek answers through remaining in the illusion of her own self-lie.

 

Spoiler

My pain is never-ending

 

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Brandt Barclay looks upon his new shiny dagger, 'Stonce', unaware of the whereabouts of the previous owner, after his had had been bashed by the men of Minitz. "I wonder if that ginger bloke truly died."

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A gruesome ritual was conducted to bring back her kin, unholy sanguine rites that by any means would have brought him back from any fate but the one he suffered. The gravest of sins cannibalism. To drink another of your ilk dry until their very soul is consumed, it was an act no immortal could stomach, at least not the civilized kind. Hesperia recoiled with the realization. This was an act of war.

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