[PK] Beyond the Tides

[tcs_tonsils_ 2829]

 

Spoiler

 

  

 

[!] A neatly written note would lay beside the aged man who had slumped on his desk, his quill resting beside his hand.

 

 

I am dying. I feel it coming when I lay down and when I get up. Yet I am not saddened by this. I have lived a life worthy of writing about. And so, I have dedicated my last few years to recounting it. In those pages I continue onward. In those pages, the memory of who I was lives. I am a storyteller, and I have told my story.  

 

I have been writing for a long time and yet I find some new story every day. There is not one that goes by that I regret the things that I have written, for each piece holds aspects of reality.

 

The Kingdom is so different than it once was. I am one of the few who remain from my time. So many have passed on and yet I continued to write. Now I am the one passing on. There is freedom in that, I think. I am finally able to see those long past. I long to hear their voices and to witness them smiling again.

 

It is close now, I feel it slipping away from me. My eyes grow tired and I have no reason to resist. 

 

So I say the last thing that is to be said, a final piece, perhaps, my best piece. Now, it is my time to sail beyond the tides, that place you cannot go.
 

~~

 

Beyond the Tides

 

The night draws hither,
O’ wintered breath,
The jovial turn to cold display.

 

Aged leaf from thrones on high,
Welcomed to the ground below.

 

The hour draws thither,
O’ crippled touch,
The desperate pray upon weak knees.

 

Purest light of God above,
Watch over as I take my leave.

 

The time is nye,
O’ faded sight,
When at last the soul relents.

 

A spark that fell from dulled eyes.
Trailed by quivering exhales. 

 

The end is here,
O’ Fallen Lord
The quill slipped from my grasp.

 

Taken to my olden friends,
To rest with those I love.

 

It dipped before the depths,
This last light of mine.
Descending betwixt sky and sea. 
 

 

 

 

Spoiler

OOC:

 

Honestly, now that Borris is dead, a part of me is gone. I still can’t believe that it has been a year and a half since I reinvested into LOTC and, through it, found a talent. I am an amateur poet, so I appreciate anyone who took the time to read my stuff. LOTC may be a game that we all come to have fun with, but almost every person seeks to invest themselves in the work they do with a character. If they didn’t, then the roleplay would be tedious and unenjoyable. I found something to invest in with Borris.

 

I want to thank everyone who has played a part in the development of Borris. Being the first child character I ever played gave me an understanding of how far I had to go to become a decent roleplayer. Through Borris, I began to understand the aspects of roleplay finally. Somehow, it took me 8 years. 
 

 

[Phersades 1165]

When the news finally made its way to Klara, she mourned quietly in her office that she had been so anchored to.

"Yam sorry Aedypapej, I wish we could have spent time together." 

-

Somewhere else though, The soul of a Kortrevich, once close to the young poet, flickered. Perhaps Nikolai was not always the best, but even in death, the memory of the eight-year-old Borris showing up to that empty keep was still one he cherished. 

 

Spoiler

Even though we weren't always in agreement on things, one of the best decisions I ever made in House Kortrevich was giving you Borris. Thank you for having given him so much life, Best poet in Haense. 

 

[Wretched Aidan 455]

Pyotr Ludovar welcomes his cousin to the skies. "At last vy join us!"

[JoanOfArc 4586]

Justinian Basrid, having been an admirer of the man's works and even participated in some, felt a chill come over his body when the good poet passed. He wrote a small poem in honor his friend,

 

Though the birch may whisper not a word,
And creatures of the field may not be heard,
Our eyes grow heavy with sorrow's tide,
Deep within, emotions cannot hide.

 

After being comforted by his wife, he at least knew one thing. The heavens, at the very least, will have another poet.

 

[CopOwl 1668]

The passed spirit of Adele Ludovar greets the man who was the closest she ever had to a brother. The pair of them aged down in the Seven Skies; the Lady Justiciar smiles with a youthful brightness unfamiliar to Borris - her gaze resembling that of something he hasn't seen for a long time. "Vy're here!" She cries, bounding towards him and throwing her arms around him, devoid of the wisdom that had filled her for a long time. The sight of her brother ignited in her the singular capacity to love. 

 

"Vy're finally here," Smiles she, grasping his cheeks between her two hands. "Now everyone has arrived. It has been so long, borsa." Adele grins, releasing his cheeks to grasp his hand as memories of her joyful youth flood back. "Everyone has missed vy, Bo-Bo - Amicia and papej will want to see vy." She speaks of her family, leading him off to go and find them, while utilising her long-standing childhood nickname for Borris; one that she knows irritates him so.

 

As they begin to promenade, she looks towards his face as the holy light of the Seven Skies shines upon their heads. She lowers her voice, smiling all the while in a land without strife or hardship. "Welcome home, mea dear. Vy made it."

[critter 2470]

A Kortrevich mourns the loss of one of their House's greatest pillars of the last generations, carefully framing a few selections of the late Ser's work for his office wall.

[crazedpudding 2125]

Klara Elizaveta drew Borris into an embrace as he ascended to the Skies. She had missed him dearly, her young cousin who could've been her brother for how close they had been. "Ea missed vy, Borris. More than vy can ever know."

 

On the plain of man, Josefina Barclay whispered quiet prayers into the quiet of her office. Cantankerous Uncle Borris who'd published a poem she'd made about his feet was gone, and she wished she'd been closer to him.

[lalo 297]

Eileen Kortrevich sat in the corner of her son's home, staring blankly off into space as her mind raced with every memory she shared with her beloved husband.

Her once supple hand full of youth - now wrinkled with age, clutched the soiled handkerchief within its grasp. A particular memory continuously played throughout her mind on a loop. The memory itself had been Borris's original confession of his feelings for the woman when the pair were once teenagers. The sight of the old Jerovitz with the hundreds of floating lanterns was certainly something out of a movie. Eileen had originally believed his feelings to be untrue- as if attempting to disarm the man from breaking her heart by denying what he professed. That hardly made a difference to the grieving woman now. Now, she'd give the world to go back and claim the little time she had lost not being by his side.

She signed the lorraine across her body, slowly shutting her eyes and muttering a quick prayer for her husband now passed on. "Soon, ma dearest 'Ris. Ah shall join ye." She finally spoke aloud, promising the famed poet of their inevitable reunion.

[livrose 1594]

Queen Emma, from the Seven Skies, welcomed Borris into the place where all whom he loved had passed. Her nephew of witty tongue and weighted quill. She drew him in alongside Klara, offering a familiar smile he would not have seen for too long. 

 

Though, in her head, she could not shake a few lines of his verse. 

"This has been a race well run, a battle well fought. 

In this age, none shall forget your name."

[MapleSunflower 1049]

People live, People die.

Such was familiar to the aged Orenian soldier. It was the first lesson a medic learned. 

Now she was older and wiser and the years had caught up with her. It was impossible to sleep in her last years and she often found herself sitting at her window staring out over the lands of Stassion. The mountains towered high into the night sky and a cool breeze would stir through the window she peered from. Primrose drew a breath of crisp midnight air before resting her head against the back of her chair. Her fingers mindlessly pinched the fabric of the blanket draped over her lap, rubbing it between the pads of her digits comfortingly. 

 

She shared lives with many. Many had died.

Her children, lovers, friends, comrades...

Each plagued the old woman with a silent vigil held within the elder's mind each night.

 

Tonight was Borris Kortrevich. 

 

She had saved the boy and watched him grow. The collection of poetry had been tucked into her shelves and even with the burning of her home, pieces had been torn out and tucked into a notebook. The withered book sat on her bedside table, the bindings barely holding on by the threads. Each night since she had moved to Stassion, she'd read the notebook and the remnants of poetry.

 

Over and over and over. The beautifully scribed words played through her mind in a harrowing emptiness. 

There were things she regretted. Always was and always will be. 

 

One of those was not seeing her son in his final days. Had she not faked her death, could she have seen him? Why had she not trusted him enough to reveal her secret to him? Could she not stomach admitting her faults to someone who looked up to her? It made her sick. 

 

Dull chocolate eyes stared at the waning crescent that pierced through the night with its white light. Even as Borris' life ended and her own waned, her love never diminished. A shaky breath was drawn as Primrose whispered past her wrinkled lips.

"I'm sorry," Her voice wavered weakly with age, "I'll be home soon, my son. Thank you for waiting for me..."