SON OF EAGLE AND CROW.

[MCVDK 2830]

SON OF EAGLE AND CROW;

the INHERITANCE OF MATEUSZ SARKOZIC.

________________________________________________

 

ℑn the hallowed halls of Adrians, where the banners of the Eagle and Crow fluttered high, an auspicious ceremony unfolded — one destined to echo through the annals of Adrian history. Markus Marie Sarkoz, the Exilic Duke, sat upon his seat of power, his eyes, though weary with age, still burning with a resolute fire. Before him stood his grandson, Mateusz Marcin Sarkozic, a young man who bore the weight of his lineage upon his shoulders. Watching was Stefan Euler, the Turtle Knight, and Sarkozics assembled from near and far. 

 

Markus spoke, his voice a blend of command and fondness, "I have charged you, boy, with soaring free once more to remember the world of Old. Out there, grandson, is the perverse realm of Man — consumed by politics and devoid of any true mission or quest. Where once there were knightly orders with glorious quests, now there are knightly councils that cannot even raise a sword. But your quest will not end with this day, Mateusz Marcin Sarkoz — you are charged to continue it, to develop the piety of a king, so that you may carry on my mission, o' my heir; that you might bring great glory to the House of Sarkoz, to the Eagle and Crow!"

 

With a steady hand, Markus drew the sword AVENTINE from its scabbard, a blade passed down from Victor Sarkozic, Count of Owynswood within the first Adria in Athera. The Duke brandished it aloft, its steel gleaming with the memories of countless battles and oaths. Lowering the blade, he declared, "Mateusz Marcin of Sarkoz, I name you knight and Count of Aldersberg! Step forward!"

 

Mateusz Sarkozic stepped forward, his head bowed in reverence to his grandsire, his hands folded behind his back in solemn respect. "You honor me, grandsire, and I shall accept your charge," he intoned, his voice steady, yet filled with the weight of the moment.

 

Markus pointed the tip of the ancestral blade downward, tapping it lightly upon the shoulders and head of his grandson. "Sir Mateusz of Sarkoz — receive your sword," he proclaimed, turning the blade in his hand so that the hilt was offered to Mateusz.

 

Mateusz reached out, his fingers curling around the hilt of the storied blade. As he grasped the weapon, his eyes traced the intricate designs etched into the steel, each mark telling a tale of valor and sacrifice. The sword left the grip of the elder Duke, and in that moment, Markus's age became starkly evident. He fell back into his seat, a haggard breath escaping his lips. With a voice weakened by time, he commanded, "Brandish it with audacity and auspice, Mateusz! Know your role in history, and play the part."

 

Mateusz lowered the sword towards the ground, its tip resting against the cold stone floor. He sank to one knee before the seat of his grandsire, his voice ringing out with the pride of his lineage. "My lord, I am Son of Eagle and Crow, Descendant of Sigismund, Saint Adrian, and the historic High Duke Markus," he vowed, a smile breaking through his solemn expression. "And I vow, on this day, before God alone, that I shall continue the Elder line of Sarkoz, and its High Seat of Aldersberg, which was established by the first Son of Sarkoz, Saint Adrian. I shall stop at no turn to ensure that the legacy you have kept pure, that which our ancestors forged, endures for centuries to come."

 

And so, in that moment, the torch was passed from the elder to the younger, the legacy of the House of Sarkoz carried forward by the hand of its newest Count of Aldersberg.

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HAIL! THE COUNT OF ALDERSBERG, MATEUSZ MARCIN SARKOZIC.

[Nooblius 7965]

The Elder Sarkozic coughed blood into his hand. That had been the third time in the hour. Doctor Tuvyic said the medication would help, but Markus knew better. He sat on a chair upon Aldersberg, the lofty tower he had erected- and looked upon a drowsy Beznov, stirring from its slumber. Markus Marie Sarkozic, Exilic Duke of the Adrians, smiled the sun's smile as he watched his grandson ride through Beznov, and the Adrians which joined him for a new generation of quests.

[marikandaperc 1817]

BACK HOME IN SILASIA, the young Lucia de Montelliano had caught word of the new Count while conversing with the other soldiers at the barracks. She had only just returned from her trip out, and was already regretting all she had done while on her visit to Adria. "Ah. . . So he is Markus' son. . ?" sweating cold, the Illatian quickly made for the aviary in order to pen a letter. "I hope my Duke won't hate me, if my little sling will cause diplomatic problems... Either way; I shall send my congratulations. Perhaps that will be enough to apologize." 

[Laeonathan 5889]

Caught between pride and sadness of what was to come, Vasyl stepped forward in prayer. His father was dear to him, yet any great man would have to die eventually. His gaze fell upon the young Mateusz, his nephew, and hope of a new generation filled his heart. They had not seen the exodus, what was done to them.

 

Mateusz would make a great count, he was certain. 

[Gaja 1311]

Stefan Euler thought much of the young Count. Within him he saw the fire needed to spark the land to life, and the determination required to work hard for years on end with no reward.

 

Indeed, the Turtle Sage saw the Way of the Turtle in the young Mateusz, whether the Sarkozic knew it or not.

[Baccaaa 490]

Regina gazed around the new home of the Adrians from the hill upon which Alderberg sat. Her eyes sparkled with dots from the lights that radiated from each now inhabited home as if its the sky of Aevos blooming with the shine of shoals of Sparklight. It had been long enough since the Adrians built a new home for a new generation to arise without the hardship they had faced, with homes of their own above their heads. Perhaps it was time for the new generation to bear the flaming torch of hope and keep the light of Adria alive unto the newer times. That is what was racing upon her mind atleast.