IN RYCHWALD WE TRUST [PK]

[poki 354]

Spoiler

MUSIC

 

 

IN RYCHWALD WE TRUST

---

 

In the neighboring fields of a once verdant Druscan hill, Sir Andrik found himself amidst the swaying crops, pondering upon his journey from squirehood under Lord Edmond de Rouen to knighthood under Sir Gaspard, culminating in his fight in the enduring war. Battling illness for a year, he sensed his journey nearing its conclusion. Yet, unable to bid farewell anywhere but where it all began, he collapsed beside a weathered rock, his gaze drifting over the Petran landscapes. With a whispered lament, he mused, "Perhaps only the Mad King's Whip may grant me release, but it seems not."

 

Though he and his once-bastard comrade Fyodor, now Lord Kovachev, had never seen eye to eye, their paths diverged further amidst the change in allegiances. Nevertheless, Andrik remained by his side, standing by the values prized by their Order.

 

"Unity prevails beyond borders, a shared purpose in the crucible of strength."

 

As the memories of battles fought and their many defeats accumulated in his thought, Andrik contemplated the nature of it all. The once Grand Prizak now grappled with mortality, his spirit unbowed even as his body weakened. Each passing moment brought a sense of closure, a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable end drawing near.

 

In the fading light of dusk, Andrik found solace in the simplicity of nature, the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft caress of the evening breeze a soothing balm to his soul. He simply embraced the moment, finding peace in the knowledge that Rychwald would endure.

 

With a final sigh, Andrik closed his eyes, surrendering to the night. In that moment, amidst the tranquil beauty of the Druscan ruins, he finally found a sense of closure, his journey at an end but the legacy of the Order destined to live on.

 

---

 

Spoiler

 

 

My Dear friend Rurik,

 

As the sun sets on this chapter of our lives, I write to you with a heart heavy. Our journey together has been marked by an unmatched brotherhood. Through the loss of our comrades, defeats and victories in war, I am eternally grateful for your loyalty and trust in me. I perhaps should have told you sooner of my illness but sometimes pride steps in the way.

 

With your wedding concluded, I extend my warmest wishes for a union filled with love, joy, and prosperity.

 

Such said, I hereby appoint you as the Grand Prizak of the Order of Rychwald. 

 

Yours truly,

Sir Andrik

 

@woke

 

 

[Cvahotni 46]

"Rest in peace my friend..It was nice meeting you, and knowing you. May Rychwald live on." Dobri mourns his death

[CalvinOP 390]

cant believe your gone bro, big up sir andrik💙

[woke 164]

With a heavy heart, Sir Rurik bows his head in a final farewell to his fallen comrade. The chamber echoes with the silence of mourning as he rises to his feet, steeling himself to carry on in a world forever changed by the loss of Sir Andrik, his loyal friend.

[Radzig 546]

𝕱yodor felt the searing agony of an arrow tearing through his flesh, lodging itself deep into his leg. The bastard found himself assailed by the deafening crumble of Breakwater, the moan of a fallen nameless man clutching at a gash, likely the cause of his demise. Fyodor dragged himself from the courtyard, a mess of bodies, ruble, and melee, to the the edge of the now defunct moat, as it had become a receptacle for cruor and carrion. He began his descent when he heard a thunderous collision, the last of the ongoing barrage, hitting the nearby gatehouse. The structure collapsed upon itself. Fyodor peered towards his leg, ichor fluid pooling around the puncture. From the dust of the collapse came a figure, bearing the crest of the enemy. It pounced upon him, drawing a dagger and grasping at Fyodor's hair. The bastard grappled at the assailants arm, pushing the dagger westward with all his might, although it was turned back towards him shortly after, the glistening ferrum but a mere inches from his eye. 
 

The audible puncture of skin and flesh was the only thing Fyodor could hear,  blood spilling and pooling at his chin. A blade had found it's way into the neck of the attacker, the blade belonging to a certain Andrik Uldarik. Without a word, he reached a gloved hand towards Fyodor, helping him to his feet, where he would place an arm around his bastard friend, helping him down into the moat. Fyodor, shortly after, found himself lead from the lost Middelan keep, through the forest flanking Veletz, coming to rest at a certain calm little tower at the edge of the Druscan countryside. 

 

The duo signed a two-barred cross, coming to rest at the base of the structure. "I vould have niet survived." The bastard huffed, strained a coarse from dust and rubble. "Da. That is what I am here for." Replied Andrik. "Do niet forget." 
 

Fyodor Kovachev never forgot.