State Funeral of Queen Amaya the White Flame

[JuliusAakerlund 1780]

 

 

KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM

 

Issued by

Erik Edvard Colborn

on this 14th of Jula ag Piov of 522

 

 

 

Hearken, all of Aevos, for Queen Amaya has fallen. 

 

Her passing ought not be marked with sorrow and denial, for she was greatly favoured by the Light in death, as much as she was in life. 

 

For, in life, she wore her crown as Queen of Haense. She stood astride her lord husband on the battlefields of the Covenant War, from the historic triumphs at Breakwater and Hippo’s Gorge, to the bitter defeats of Westmark. She wielded her glaive as the General of the Rosen Banner, who marshalled even the courtiers of the Esrova Palace to bear steel in battle against the Veletzians and Orcs. She was lauded as the Queen of the People, for she was ever a present warmth on the streets of Valdev, and her grace was exclusive to none. 

 

In death, she was the White Flame. Though her body grew weak and blighted, she was favoured with death in battle against the Infernals she had once shown mercy to. She was blessed as the Blossom-Blooded, for when she bled upon the soil, fresh tulips bloomed to mark her favour in the Seven Skies. She was the Summer Rain, for, when the bells of Valdev marked her passing, those who loved her so wept until autumn had come - and those that loved her so were beyond counting.

 

Let all the realms of man come pay their respects.

To Amaya.

Queen of Haense.

The White Flame.

 

OOC DETAILS

Spoiler

Saturday 23rd, 3pm EST starting in the City Square of Valdev (sponsored by shadow writer Conor)

 

Lord, Erik Edvard Colborn, Grand Elder, Holder of Lysnir the Shadowbane

 

[PrimnyaQuorum 1036]

"-She was a doctor, too. And kind, and caring, and just-" Haus mumbles as those cosmic eyes sweep over the paper. There's no real reason for him to take such offense over such words - everyone knew she was kind, and caring, and just - but he does, anyway. His head turns up and away from the paper, as if to exaggerated his point in the isolation he sits in.

 

Those eyes still water regards, and grief weighs heavy on his heart. The tiny bit of mock offense he tries to hide behind washes away, and all that remains with him is lament - over what unspoken words he can never say, that he was not there for the Queen-Doctor as she was for him.

 

He is old, and yet still another has passed on too soon, and all that remains is to carry the flame of their memory onward. 

 

It's not fair. It's his curse, still, but it's not fair - is all he laments behind tears