diary Goodnight Sweet Prince

[BuilderBagel 1203]

Entry 14 of The Frankland Diaries



Below is an excerpt from the personal diary of Leon Barclay
[!]
 

 

I had never engaged the Franks before that day. I, nor my father, Grand Prince Ferdinand, expected a fight. I was told stories, but I had always dismissed them as exaggeration. Quickly, I learned that I was mistaken. We were supposed to meet with an “informant” in a secluded thicket in the Franklands near the keep of Velen. We were urged to dispose of our weapons before the rendezvous and, trusting our would-be allies, we obliged.

 

During the meeting, I admit, my mind wandered. I regret that. We should've known that diplomacy, peace, and decency are all alien to these savage peoples. As my father spoke with this "informant", he was offered a drink and assured it was safe. I watched as he drank from the same wineskin, though they did not share a glass. I don't know if it ultimately caused his death, but his drink was poisoned.

 

After my father drank of the poisoned wine, and we had all been lulled into a sense of safety by the Franks' deceit, the "informant" tore off his disguise, and revealed his plot. He declared that he, the Roach, had poisoned the Prince. I knew almost nothing of the Roach, but I can say now that he is a coward and a traitor, and that I will make him pay. 

 

The Roach quickly dropped a smoke bomb, which then filled the small meeting area as he made his escape. The heathens then lit the underbrush on fire, trapping us within a hell of their own making. The two Franks that were still within the thicket assailed my father, who was unfortunate enough to be within their reach. They gouged his eye, but he fought them off as long as he could. My grandfather, The Cardinal Albarosa, came to his aid with the brave Johanna von Minitz. Had it not been for her and my grandfather, I fear my father's demise would have come much sooner.

 

The rest of us, in a frenzy, desperately struggled to claw our way out of the burning thicket. My first thought was to flee the way we came in, before realizing it had been blocked off by the traitorous Franks. I watched my father’s Knight, Sir Varik Sturmweber, and our Warchief, Roland von Sturmweber, break down the barricade, and I did what I could to aid them. 

 

Once we managed to free ourselves from the blazing grove, we were met with Franks, blocking our escape. The Cardinal Albarosa and Johanna, thankfully, managed to secure my father. I stood alongside Sir Varik and Roland as we endeavored to fight the heathens back. My grandfather, having returned from ensuring The Grand Prince’s safety, handed me a dagger and buckler that he concealed during the meeting. I held the shield high as the Franks stabbed at me. They surrounded us, and we found ourselves forced into a fight for our survival. There was hell at our backs and Frankish spears were aiming to drive us toward it.

 

As the situation grew increasingly desperate, hope was nearly lost. I heard Roland pleading for GOD to save us. It was then that my friend and champion, Yvon Galken, arrived with a small rally of allied Franks, led by The Hawk, Olaf von Reinmar, and Ser Alfred Barclay. As they approached, we saw more of the traitorous Franks rushing from the forest. We were surrounded, but now, so was our enemy.

 

As the ambush morphed into a skirmish, myself, Roland, Sir Varik and The Cardinal Albarosa found ourselves forced back, closer and closer to the flames which licked at our heels. The melee became dire as the burning flora of the thicket began to bake us in our armor. Outnumbered as we were, we barely held our ground before our reinforcements could turn the tide. I personally witnessed my grandfather’s valiant heroics; he saved both me and our Warchief from Frank spears that day.

 

As our saviors, Alfred, Yvon and Olaf crushed what remained of the Frank ambush, we thought we had won, but we quickly realized it was at a great cost. My father, the Grand Prince, lay dying just outside the thicket. Prince Alfred made many attempts to save him, and I stayed by my dear father’s side in his last moments. I held onto him as he spoke his final words to me before his demise. I pray he did not suffer in the end, and that he went to the Skies.

 

We attempted to take my father’s body, along with our wounded, to Velen, but the Roach harassed us with bombs. He threw Godsflame onto me as I tried to escape, carrying my fallen father. I collapsed, writhing in pain as the Roach sent another down at me; the coward was hidden in the treetops. I was saved by the heroic Olaf von Reinmar, who risked his life to mitigate the blast by leaping atop the bomb. By the grace of GOD, Olaf’s shield protected him from harm, and we were able to escape without further casualties.

 

It was after we had escaped the Roach’s final assault that I took a long look at the burning grove, and wondered how this could have happened. Under flag of truce, my father, Grand Prince Ferdinand, was slain by Frankish savages; poisoned and brutalized. I will never forgive this heinous crime. The Roach will pay-- By blood, by fire, he will pay.

[Sarven 2619]

"I will make sure Leon does not find himself stranded in his new duties...You ought..."

Gottfried spoke almost as if it was a matter of fact, though his steely veneer faltering as sorrow took hold of him.

"Brother... may you rest well in the seven skies..."

He spoke softly as he looked on at his now lifeless younger brother, teary-eyed.

[Gandhi 3225]

Alfred wandered the Keep of Kanunsberg, following the battle outside Velen. There was no doubt he was late - maybe, despite his lack of affection for combat, if he'd showed earlier, Ferdinand would have lived. Nevertheless, he wasn't intending to dwell on it - just a simple oddity, only a week following his inheritance. He was promoted with the title of High Chief.

[Olox_ 4318]

Spoiler

 

 

"It looks like we are all going to die a martyr's or hero's death, Ferdinand".

Heinrich II Lothar, the late Prince of Merryweather, said to his cousin as he entered the Seven Skies

[HugoAntero 1962]

 Ferdinand Alexander Barclay smiled proudly from within the skies, holding high hopes for his sons.

The fallen sons of Reinmar chanted,

"Wer Rastet, Der Rostet!"

For is there a more glorious death, than to fall in battle. The Prince had done his ancestors proud.

[marikandaperc 1818]

Spoiler

 

Amid her chambers, a grieving Princess wept endlessly. Not once had she loved anyone besides her husband, and not once had she felt the need to. Yet something lingered at heart, and it stung, repeatedly. Perhaps, one day, she had wished for such a death. All who knew her knew how much she lamented the lack of a present Prince, yet she never left. She endured for the love they once cherished and the fruit of such a love: her dear Leon, the little Albert, the awkward Gertrude. 

 

Any servant who had attempted to enter the room and aid the Princess had all met terrible fates, for she had become crazed and no soothing word may ever pacify such a fury. Chairs were commonly thrown, and along with them came bed sheets, jars, and God knows what else. Only after a week’s sleepless rest had she found some sense. She stood from her bed, and all of her jewels were placed on her desk. She made sure to preserve what little thing remained of their union; the reforged amulet, wedding band, and whatnot. She had not once thought he could die, not even during the battles he had fought in while in service to the Lord God. She had never thought her husband to be the type to fall in war, no.

 

After grief, came the guilt. “Maybe, if I went too…” she thought to herself quite often, pulling at her white hair. “Perhaps, if I told him to stay…” the Adunian’s head fell between her hands, desperation filling the air. She did not know what would happen next, or if she could ever forgive herself, yet her heart had felt all too much pain in the recent year. All she could feel was the urge to escape, run away, be free. But while the heart longed for liberty, the mind spoke of their children. She could not possibly leave Leon alone with the aged Brandt, who had long gone senile. Although it would be quite the struggle, Helena of Formindon decided to push through and carry on with the life she deserved. 

 

“Reserve me a space up there, my dear.” she spoke to a newly lit candle, a smile pressed on her lips. 

 

“Ruhe in Frieden, Ferdi.”

[Irishmanmichael 504]

“May the prince never no sorrow in the skies.”  Wilhelm spoke softly as he stood silently for a time. In a show of respect. “Wer Rastet, Der Rostet, good prince I shall see you in the skies when I have done all there is for me to do.”

[BlauRps 545]

The aging Landser Highlander, Hildibrand Brawn, stood beside Wilhelm (@Irishmanmichael) as he also showed his respect for the fallen Grand Prince. “With ‘he time we ‘ave left, we will see our people shine ‘rightly now an’ after ‘his bloody war.. Wer Rastet, Der Rostet.” He spoke before saluting to no one in particular just a sign of respect.

[MadOne 4945]

Brandt, once the former Grand Prince and now a man of the cloth solemnly looks up to the skies, seeking the will of his Master, who had decreed that a father should outlive the son. There, he saw a new star appear within the tapestry of the night's blanket.