To Make the World a Better Place [Marus Weiss, PK]

[Frostdrop1 1843]

 

Spoiler

 

To Make the World a Better Place [Marus Weiss, PK]
 

165 SA - 197 SA

Ambition is a curse.

Kindness is a curse.

For those who tread the fate of both, nothing awaits.

 

Stepping out of the gates was a weight lifted, even if only partly. Each foot-fall fell heavy but steady. One would be mistaken to think the journey over the bridge short, for it was perhaps the longest walk he felt he had ever taken. Once his would-be doom, now it stood a stretch to his freedom from that city of spite.

Weak, she called herself. Weak, he never believed her.

And so that left one option.

Manipulation: purposeful and calculated. For greed? No. He would never believe that of her. Yet, he would believe it of the terrible loneliness that was saddled upon her by her blood, the cardinal and the royal bastard. All of them were blind to the damage they did. Perhaps she thought he needed a shackle, too, and so she did unto him as others had her.

 

It didn’t matter. He never needed her hand  in marriage to stay, nor any kind of love. Not really. He, too, wanted someone who he could trust. He, too, wanted someone who would stay. It was an innocent desire. Perhaps, somewhere along the line, in a society he never quite fit into, his understanding blurred. Something was wrong with him. Something he couldn’t change in himself was inherently wrong, but he never quite knew what. However, one thing was always true: he would always have stayed, and though he could no longer trust her, he desired to. Eventually, perhaps, he would again find some of that happiness he finally had when he could speak freely to her of all manner of things.

 

At the end of the bridge, he rounded the slope on the right side to peer upon the city walls. A cage. Never had he felt safe there, even if it had become his home. Never, though, had he felt safe in any home but Kovgrad - so perhaps such a thing was just normal. But now he had a chance to be safe, and to finally recover. For in all those long years, no matter how long it had been, all had been strife. Never could he have recovered without closure, and never could he recover surrounded by daily torment. Time alone could never have healed a wound so deep. The cardinal had lied, but only because he never really understood. Stanislav had lied, but only because he never really understood. 

 

In his ignorance, he thought Rezalisa might have been true to her word and remain by him to see him through his own recovery after her chance was given. A hopeful thought. Venom. He didn’t deserve hope, at least, that’s what Stanislav had taught him, despite the warning he provided.

No, rather, she allowed his slander in all manner, despite her own hand in the circumstances. She enabled it. Perhaps she enjoyed the power of it. That thought hurt, and it lingered like a splinter that became infected. Maybe he had just been blind to it as he let her take and take what warmth he had to fill the hole in her own heart. And yet, when they shared that time alone, it was like the rest of it all had been but a bad dream. Things were terrible, if only because other people had become involved. And now they shielded her, just her, as a wall of blades.

And somehow, in some way, everyone expected him to just be fine. It was all they ever expected, really. A shallow thought. Yet, Rezalisa never did. He was just supposed to be fine when he was abandoned by his parents. He was supposed to be fine when he was laughed at and needed to be ‘fixed’. He was supposed to be fine when his best friend, his anchor, pretended like he didn’t exist, and when she indulged the slander against him. He was supposed to be fine that his suffering became a joke to people. He was supposed to be fine that he was never supposed to get closure.

 

But that didn’t matter. She was the shining princess, and he was the criminal. How repulsive he felt, for a thing he never understood. The kind of personal repulsion that made him wish he could tear his skin off, and start anew. His reflection disgusted him. And yet every time he helped someone, it had always eaten at him. People were like vultures. And every time, he tried again.

 

Marus took a breath as his lone gaze swept to the path ahead. Now it was different. Now he had a chance at closure, and a chance to finally recover. Maybe he didn’t have to run away, and start anew entirely as he had so pondered time and time again. He had the support of Verena, who understood what he needed. A gift that was torn away three years prior.

 

And a gift returned comes with a price - for it was the start of his end.

 

For the next few months, he sought a place to be. While he wanted to take lodgings with his mother, she was absent. He met a new person, Lucy. A cursedkin working to write for The Church’s investigation. He felt hope for a moment, and promptly quashed it. Hope was dangerous. Petra seemed friendly, he liked it there and he could pretend to smile, and people would accept it. Leikn, a friend, counseled him to seek to understand what Rezalisa did. Maybe there was a misunderstanding. Maybe he would.

 

Eventually, he found lodgings with a friend, Ceres. A cursedkin. They drank and spoke. She guided him. She counseled him to avoid Rezalisa, for it was upon those that wronged you to reach out for repair. It seemed harsh. Maybe she was right, everything he tried, or didn’t, went wrong.

 

And then as he drank in the teahouse in Celia’nor, a flash of someone familiar passed him. With a delay, his gaze swept after the blue-clad brunette before he followed. Soon enough he found her, Verena. Taking from the fountain with gentle cusps of water, she nurtured the flowers.

“The flowers. They are quite gorgeous here - are they niet?” She murmured in response to the familiar presence.

Marus peered over her in a quiet moment. “…They are. The world is a beautiful thing when vy can ah… spread vyr wings in it.” His foot lifted to step by her, stopping by her side as he, too, peered to the flowers and the flowing water. “ … Are vy ordak?” He asked, for even in his state of recovery it was others that came first, always.

The woman's veil caught the breeze, fluttering much like the bottom of her skirts. “Can sei promise mea something Marus?” She murmured, her dampened hand reaching out to study the flower buds. Her hand carefully plucked at the dead petals.

“… The last promise ea made almost killed ea.” He warned her, turning the wine bottle between both his hands. In some ways, it still was as he sought a way to rectify the rift and stay as he had promised. “… But vy can trust ea, Verena. Ea… ea hope vy know that.”

“.. Ich know. Tut mir leid.” She hummed simply, her head shifting to turn to Marus. Something flickered in her expression. Fear. She had not felt this sort of fear in so long, it was difficult to come to terms with. “Keep them safe. Ich have asked this before, but it has shown cause for reinstatement…” 

“… Ea'll do ea best, Verena... Vy aren't going to do anything … rash, are vy? … Ea care for vy. Ea care for them. But vy… have been there when ea needed vy … ag they need vy too.” He chewed lightly on his cheek, a bad habit he has assimilated. “…What happened?”

“Nie, Ich am niet. Ich walked towards Valdev to see mein boy, mein sunshine - being stopped on the bridge. The children did niet understand why he could niet play with them in the city… they are niet born with hatred.” She breathed out, accompanied by a light and solemn look. “He is alright, but ich was taken aside to be spoken to. Ich was told ich doomed the families by allowing them to interact with mein son - and that the church's decision is swaying towards murder.”

He listened in silence, raising the bottle only at the end to drink. “… Of course they're niet born with hatred. The grand powers that be in the politicking of men decides who we hate - ag people adopt those beliefs to protect themselves.”

“He… was the same who told mea that if niet for the alliance…” Her hand came to be placed upon her throat, a glimmer of fear - a paling in her expression. “That ich would have been hung the moment he found out about Reinhard. There were children in that room…. Listening to a woman be told that she should be dead…” She murmured darkly, seeming to wilt in posture.

He gripped the bottle tightly, his gaze slimming with an unsettled anger at the words. “Someone dared say that? A spiteful creature-” He started with a hiss. “Who?”

“Joakim.” She muttered his name as if it were a ghost haunting her. “Easy… sei have to stay nice. For Rei's sake… he told mea that it would be wise to stay away from the city… ich told Reinhard he was niet allowed there nie matter what. The kids would have to come to the keep to play. Marus. If anything is to happen, ich need sei to promise mea that ihr priority is Siegmund and him. Even if that means…”

Quiet, simmering rage flashed in the gentle giant. Rash thoughts careened through his mind. His jaw tensed; the bottle lowered. The repeat idea of a promise came back, returned. Whispered death. A heavy ask on a wounded soul - one who would give everything, and practically already had. “Verena,” He started, “They are ea blood, ea family as much as vyrs. Ea'd give ea life.” 

He promised. 

Surely, she never meant to shackle him again. They shared their sentiments, and yet he needed to escape. He needed to be free to get better, but he couldn’t deny her. Her couldn’t deny anyone.

They talked more, Verena wishing to see her family safe, caught in the midst of a conflict so grand that no single person could solve it. And, still, she was so willing to let herself be dragged away, for the mistake of a child. It was a fight he pursued for many years. A fight that people laughed at him for, that people berated him for, one that some were entirely deaf to. And still, he tried.

 

“I want to make the world a better place,” a younger boy had spoken. Finding fairness for all kinds of peoples, this is where he found that better world, even if all it ever did was make his own life hard and miserable. People hated him for it. They looked upon his actions as if he had something to gain from them, and yet all he ever did was lose. And still, he tried. He tried for Leoni, for Ceres, for Lucy, for Reinhard. He gave his heart for Verena, for Siegmund, for Rezalisa, for Felicie. He forgave all the wrongs laid upon him, even if he never got his chance to resolve the final ones. Leoni was dead; he was still working to grow his trust with Lucy; Siegmund had long since become distant again; Felicie felt betrayed by his decision to leave Valdev; and Reza believed he thought her weak, lacking in control, too. He hated that those last words they shared, she must truly have hated him. Even Marius, the king, the man they all considered a friend, had left him and the family to rot, rewarded with abandonment for their loyalty. His words were but ashes: meaningless, weak ashes as he failed to fight for his people, and held the door open for their suffering. For all the ways Marus hated Ivan’s rule, he had long had to admit that at least the man had cared for his people and fought tooth and nail for them.

 

Malna was the familiar face he saw last, at least last in friendship. A nice visit to a kind friend. She never seemed to quite know how to help him, not truly. However, it was a comfort of sorts to have her. He was glad that she was recovering, though his heart was still heavy, weighted by new promises. His liver was loathing him for his alcohol intake. Eventually, he relayed the concern in him, all in an absence of smiles. He wanted his family safe. Malna seemed tired, exhausted: “If I could do something, Marus, I would.” She told him. She had fought all she could, and her tank had ran dry. 

“Malna, please don’t give in. Vyr voice is one of many - a voice is only heard if it shouts over the crowd.” He returned. 

“...I will try Marus, but know that in the end, you have to be prepared for a good or bad outcome.” Her eyes closed as her mind wandered elsewhere, a touch of sincerity finally showing from behind her giddy facade, “None of this is going to be pretty.”

“A bad outcome…” He lowered the glass to his lap. “… Ea've had enough of bad outcomes. Ea life is in ruins, ag ea shan't sit idle to see that of ea family torn to pieces, too… What ought ea make of eaself if ea let that happen?”

“… A man.”

Marus gave a faint chuff, “A failure of one, if ea aren't already.” His fingers tapped the glass, rhymically at the sinking feeling in his gut and the sheer dread that always hung over him. Worthlessness. “… Ea didn't wish to return. Ea don't, really, ea don't think. Eam… going to... Need to go back for all this, though.” He watched the ripples of the water. “… The koeng gave us his word, vy know. At this time he… stands with us, or against us. … Ea thought things would get better under Marius.”

“To think and to live through it are two very different things, Marus. I've seen almost four generations in Haense. The only good one was Queen Amaya.” She went back to the kitchen seemingly needing to clean something. “You do what you can Marus, whether it fails or not… be proud you tried.”

“It's hard to be proud of anything these days. Ea know fighting for them is right but… it's hard.” He turned the glass - turned, turned, turned. “Isn't it funny how everyone loved Amaya, yet we canniet follow in her footsteps?” He smiled faintly at that, the hypocrisy of man. “Ea wish… ea'd the chance to meet her.” He fell into quiet as Malna showed him all that she had left of The People’s Queen: a tiny, knitted fox. “… A gentle soul who found their way to power… ag did what they could.” He commented in a heavy, mournful way. “.. Maybe if we prayed enough she'd hear us in the Seven Skies…?” A childish notion. Desperate.

“Just like you do what you can.” She chuckled, “I see part of her in you…. Villorik always said I was so much like her but I think she is in her people… a little bit within you all. Perhaps, perhaps she would hear you… but we will never know for sure.”

They continued then, speaking of Grense and their hopes to smooth relations and see a better future for all. He said he would visit again. Eventually, they parted - she gave Marus a packaged sandwich for the road. He told Malna to take care of herself.

“You better be safe, too!” She called, all smiles as she cuddled a new-found pet.

“Ea will try. Ea've got a purpose to fulfill - it doesn't always lend itself well to safety.” He warned, all too well knowing how his compassion was met with violence. Still, they parted ways on good terms and were eager to meet again. Perhaps, things were looking up even if life weighed heavy.

 

Not far down the road back towards his home, he waved down a man on horseback. One Brother Vincenzo. A man of the church, so shouted loudly by his adornment of lorraines. Pleasantries were exchanged, and the man even gave Marus a donation of bread. Marus did as he always had with men of the church, and enquired after their opinion on the cursedkin, and the current stance of the church Verena had seemed so fearful of. Soon enough, they began to debate. 

Marus argued for compassion, for patience and temperance. There was hope for these people, and the only way to break the cycle of violence was peace, he claimed. To walk in wrath and blood was the way of The Deceiver. To honour the memory of Amaya was to walk in her footsteps.

A sentiment not shared. 

The brother spoke back of how the cursedkin were the spawn of Iblees, they deserved to die no matter their age. To protect GOD’s flock was to exercise wisdom and cleanse the land. To honour the memory of Amaya was to learn from her mistakes.

Eventually, aggression grew: “Repent now, or face not just my blade, but the wrath of GOD Himself.”

Marus’ mind stilled in that moment. There was no room, no wiggle in the brother’s words. The man of the church had been serious, as his hand turned to the hilt of his blade on that lonely mountain path.

“… Eam a man of niething if niet the principles ea've chosen to live by.  Ea do niet see ea path of peace as one to repent of,” He dipped his tongue out of his mouth to wet his lip with his growing nervousness. “… Ag ea shall niet rebuke it under threat. Ea wouldn't have chosen it if ea didn't believe in it.” Marus replied. A firm refusal. 

He would die for what he believed - he always would have. Principles meant nothing if one would not die by them, he had been taught long ago. There was never a bone in Marus’ body that would bend to demands made in aggression and rage. Those were always demands he shunned, he broke. His heart didn’t attune to it. Still, he had one request: “Ea would just ask vy take ea home to Valdev before anything.”

“Your remains will be brought back to Valdev.” The brother declared as his blade readied.

 

Marus chuffed bitterly, smiling faintly at the cruel joke that was The Church. He hadn’t been home in months. He hadn’t found his peace. He felt betrayed, lost, worthless. Even in his death, he was not permitted his wish. “…Szam, Verena.” He muttered, then, merely averting his gaze to the mountain pass below to allow his mind to wander to the one thing that gave him calm: the wilds.

A moment later, his head fell loose from his body without resistance, the donated bread quickly blooning, saturating with the blood of nothing more than an innocent. Schneelowe remained at his belt, never lifted in fight. His letters, those received and those unsent, were pasted in red. And, too, the engravings a familiar locket ran thick with blood, the pressed and dried edelweiss within tainted with death.

 

By his word, the brother returned Marus’ body to Valdev, where Malna grieved, and Nerida sewed him whole, and Viktor retrieved him, and Ailred scorned, and Stanislav beat the corpse that remained. 

Finding himself in an inky void, he came to be by an all too familiar presence. Her. Garbed in a long blue robe, embroidered with the tapestry of lions long since past, the old, hooded woman met him again. She was always there, always waiting. He knew she would be here. Unlike before, they needn’t wait. There was no waiting for a body that had lost its head. 

 

Again, he was forced to face death in the way he feared. Again, he walked into it alone with none who cared for him remaining by his side. Life was cruel, in that way. Her presence was a meager comfort as she outstretched her robe to take him in, too. However, it didn’t cease the ethereal tears that tormented his gentle soul when he came to understand that his fears were true, again. Still, she never left him. Together, they walked and walked until he might find some semblance of peace.

Spoiler

Thanks to all who interacted with this character. It's honestly been a stupidly chaotic rollercoaster. Who knew that playing a character with the simple premise of be nice could be so miserable?

Very amusing, if purely a sad tale.

Of course, special thanks to @Werew0lfwho let me play his stupid son, @SethWolf and @UnBaed who both played a major parts in crafting the arcs he would go through. Further thanks must go to @ellielove15 who sparked his cursedkin fascintion and @Leyrin who continued it.

 

[Samson Option 9652]

  

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

Spoiler

 

 

Mahpiya & Yusuf Amastan carried the body of Marus Weiss from within the corner of the clinic he had been laid upon to the horse of Viktor Weiss. Ahtadhir Mahpiya had warned Yusuf, pointing to a line of thick stitches that held the head between his shoulders; the two Farfolks cradled the body in the gentlest & most respectful manner. Mahpiya made it a point to keep Marus' head comfortable angled up against his slight paunch and carefully balanced between the shoulders as the two hoisted him up and onto Viktor's saddle. As Viktor started his horse off with as gentle a trot as could be managed on the cobblestones of the capitol, Mahpiya rested an open palm over his heart and his gaze reverently downward.

 

As Viktor rode away, Mahpiya sung:

 

 

[KillerMaid 636]

After what seemed like hours of sitting there in the church Malna stood up, a weird sort of deja vu falling over her.

 

"..... Its better, that he's somewhere he'll be appreciated." 

 

And with that she resigned herself to another death, another turn. She couldn't do much after all.

 

Spoiler

Aaaaaa thank you Frost for letting Malna be a part of Marus's story. It was so nice knowing ur character.

 

[frankdh 2418]

Spoiler

 

 

It would irk Stanislav for years to come, that the man did not die by his hand. He loathed the idea that Marus died thinking himself a good man. He died without ever being able to realize the truth; and the sickening nature of his actions toward Reza. Had Stanis only the opportunity... 

[Althea_ 381]

Upon last conversating with Marus, in the Commonwealth of Petra, Leikn had taken to the Memory Tree, and there the 'sylvan fiend of sorts' sat cross-legged on the dirty soil, watching as a neighboring serpent shed their scaly skin. 

 

"Hope that one-eyed goof realizes there's always time to start anew" as their gaze hovered higher to contemplate the riple in the waters which irrigated the elder-tree "Some memories are better faded away, so new ones may take place - in a new place! Maybey." A meagre smile curling up, as their focus honed back onto the snake "Isn't that right, sinuous friend?" as it hissed its tongue Leikn's way.

 

Little did Leikn know, that was the last time they would see Marus, at least with shine on his gaze, and after what's happened, they dearly hoped it remained that way. Upon finding the truth, would Leikn feel sadness churn their stomach, wondering if, had they spoken something else, or uttered things in another way, mayhaps they would still be able to meet their friend again. 

[esotericas 2674]

Good news travels slowly, bad news travels fast. Or so they say. 

 

We mourn the most for those we know the least. Or so they say.

 

The evil sleep soundly, the good are always restless. Or so they say.

 

The news arrived at Maristela's door quickly, borne from Petra in the claws of a mechanical bird. Cross-blazoned, Scroll-quoting news. Marus Weiss was dead. Maristela told herself she should not mourn. Siegmund was always her favorite. He knew her, Stella told herself. He was her favorite pupil. What did she care if his kindly cousin had died? 

 

But Marus had seen and judged what Siegmund could not, the sharp broken mirror at the center of her chest. "You made him this way. You manipulated him, you hurt him. You want someone to know you? I will be the one who knows you." She had played her games with him that night. She did not know how to stop playing her games. Lied and twisted and guilted, woven words to protect herself. They were the only weapon she wielded with any skill. In the end they were mother and son again, teacher and student. Bridges rebuilt, apologies made. But Marus had seen a truth, somewhere in there. She turned his eyes away, but still he had seen.

 

Stella stood before her bedroom mirror, watched the face of a woman she no longer knew. She'd gotten it wrong. She had done to Marus what had been done to her. There was a time when she had wanted to be kind, to stand for a cause. To die for a cause. She was once the awkward cousin, lovelorn and righteous and ignored. Always ignored. She had ignored Marus thus. A sharp knot of shame burned in Stella's chest. Had she lost her way so badly? Become her father, after all she had done to avoid that fate?

 

She didn't know, and the not-knowing dug at her just as much as the shame did. But Stella had purpose again. She lit a candle in the window, and arranged to have a headstone carved. She had no rights over his body, but she would not forget him. She was not so far gone yet. Then, when all the house was asleep, Maristela sat down in her workshop, and began to paint.

 

That night, for once in her long life, Maristela slept restlessly.

[confusedjester 811]

Felicie sat in her room of the Weiss’ keep. Silent. She looked to the door. Silence. She did not know what to feel. She faced herself with a hard decision. She wanted to leave. 

 

 

It would be better to just.. be alone, she thought. 
 

forever. 

 

Felicie thought of everything they were to do together..

 

Make lemonbread together, like she had with her parents when she was young,

 

Learn how to shoot a bow,

 

Go hunting..

 

She would never forgive herself for how their last conversation went. This felt like punishment. Felicie wished, begged, wanted to go back and change what she did. That was the last time she ever talked to him. A regret she would carry for a lifetime, forever looming. Forever weighing on her shoulders. 

She wished she had learned more about him. Wished they had one, last conversation.

 

Such a reality made Felicie want to run away, and leave all of this pain behind.

 

But, Felicie was not one to make a rash decision. She would inquire, but for now, she shall stay. Now was not the time to say farewells. She doubted the pain would ever leave, no matter where she went. Felicie had much to consider. 

 

 

Much to think about. 

Edited September 10, 2024 by confusedjester

[libertyybelle 6187]

The Grand Lady sat within her office on this dreary night, torn between two sides of a twisted story. She had not known the man Marus grew up to be, but she surely mourned the one she knew in youth. 

[sapphic_spidy 1089]

Arabella had wanted to confront him, though she did not know where to begin. But she delayed too long, and he was gone.

 

There is no closure, there are no answers, and the church seems to perpetuate violence which she abhors. Even if Marus was as awful as they all said... 

 

She received no answers from Nataya, and now Marus will be silent as well. This time there might not even be a spirit to whisper in her ear the promise that there is an explanation. That there is a reason things happen the way they do. That truth is real and can be found.

 

Marus thought himself too kind, when they last spoke, that that was the source of his misery. The thought now makes Ara want to scream. Clearly he did not try very hard to remain kind. Or maybe it was just dreadful rumors. 

 

He had said he fell for her kindness, that even after two conversations he felt something for her, that her husband wasn't good enough. And she had stood there and calmly responded to all of it. Ara has never raised her voice. Never snapped. Never lashed out. And Marus had the audacity to say he as too kind?

 

She will never know the true source of his suffering. She will never know the truth. And living with that, she fears, will never get easier.

[SethWolf 2340]

"To live is to suffer. To exist, an injury."

 

Siegmund sat in his study. That phrase was rather prevalent in his mind at the moment, for it was one of the last things he'd imparted unto Marus. The hour was late when he received the missive detailing the boorish knight's murder of his brother. He did not cry, nor did he feel much of anything. Relief, maybe. He understood perhaps more than most that Marus Weiss would die a man hated, for those of Mankind so easily forget their love of a person when they're reminded of their imperfections.

 

Siegmund thought of that silly boy who stepped through the gates of Valdev all those years ago. He thought back to those simpler times when Siegmund came to love him as kin, teaching him how to read, play-fighting with him, all the things an older brother should do.

 

Yet Marus more than any other was there for him. Through Siegmund's worst times, he'd only ever known Marus as someone who would give unto a total stranger his last crust of bread if they asked for it. Someone who could become best friends with anyone. Marus was a good man. Marus was a good man all the way up until his final moments, for he had the sheer force of willpower to become unshakeable in the face of the worst of his race. He was a hero both to Siegmund, and those he fought for.

 

Yet, he would be doomed to be hated by history. Such could not be helped, Siegmund supposed. Infact, he had told Marus as much in their last meeting. But ofcourse, Marus did not care. He stood on principle, and was the better man for it.

 

"I'll miss you, sweet brother."

Only then did the tears begin to fall like rain.

 

 

 

 

In the deepest parts of the Dark Forest under a resplendent full moon, an Elf found a place to sit beneath the choir of stars, a lyre harp in hand. He first removed a flask of Carrion Black from his belt before up-ending it into the grass, to symbolically pour one out for the Man who had died.

 

Then, Kalador placed his fingers to the strings of his instrument and began to play. It was not a sad song, but one of stoic triumph against an insurmountable foe. His song filled the night, and he would play until daybreak, for the memory of yet another friend who had died to make the world a better place.

 

Another friend he would never see again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Sandman_Plays 659]

[!]

The news arrives to the Lord Marshal and in the middle of a meeting he ordered everyone out of the room.. for a moment he just stared at the table.

 

”he… he just had to listen” he stated his voice wavering for a moment, the young Weiss had grown and matured in his order and now lay dead due to his own aspirations, Caspian shook his head before the rage set in, flipping the oak table to the side and burying his fist into the wood, this action would continue a moment until the anger subsided and the room was trashed, he huffed a moment.

 

”I care not for your pursuit of sin, but aside from that you were a loyal soldier and a good man for the most part, may the skies accept your soul Young Weiss” with that he sent off a gift to house Weiss to show his condolences with the offer to help fund the funeral should there be one.

Edited September 10, 2024 by Sandman_Plays

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Milena had come to arrive back upon the Isle of Maenvestiyaeo, seeking solitude within that royal tower which her husband had so recently seen completed. Away from the city, her mind was able to be free of the noise that emanated from those crowded streets, a welcome respite after what seemed like perpetual petitions and requests for her attention.

 

Marus Weiss had been her enemy, though in their childhood he had been no more than Siegmund's younger brother. In another life, where fate and her own heart had not ushered her into the arms of the Oracle-Prince, they might've been joined as family. Perhaps Milena Weiss might have had some sympathy for the man. Princess Milena Barbanov did not.

 

Reza was free now, of the manipulations and the pleas for her favor. The constant slander upon her house and the torment wrought onto the Kovachev heir, Varon--a boy who was already judged for the actions of his long-missing father. For that, atleast, Milena felt GOD himself had intervened. He had freed them all from this scourage, a man scorned for a mess of his own making.

 

All the same, the dour princess would spare no moment mourning that man nor the insolence with which he treated her. First Ivo, then Caius. Now Marus--men who had raised themselves as superior to her, now rotting in the ground. She began to wonder if this was the fate of her foes...something which did strike some fear into her.

[satin 7600]

A most inconvenient death, Phillipe reckoned, worrying and writing about the matter. ...But I suppose Marus was never one to bend to what was convenient for the rest of us.

[RatFromTheTrash 531]

A lily, torn from its stem, one of her last.

"..." 

 

Once blooming petals lie against the mulch in rest, till brown and spent.

[MadOne 4945]

11 hours ago, MunaZaldrizoti said:

All the same, the dour princess would spare no moment mourning that man nor the insolence with which he treated her. First Ivo, then Caius. Now Marus--men who had raised themselves as superior to her, now rotting in the ground. She began to wonder if this was the fate of her foes...something which did strike some fear into her.

 

Had Caius Primus, the High Priest had been there, he would have not considered Milena an enemy, or a foe at all. For all the eternal grudges the Oracle held, The High Priest had only rebuked her in time for meddling in utterly inhuman affairs, such as Aenguls, Magick, Vampires, and prophecies that were neither Canonistic, or to do with Exalted Sigismund in future. "How the Raev and the Carrions must weep," he said onto Frantzisko, @cadazio during a chess match unrelated to Milena's grudge, fore he had not considered a foe, or any foe of note but a sister in faith and humanity - although a misguided, Elven mystic one. "That their descendants meddle with Elven prophecies, boogeymen and bigfoot when real threats onto the realm exist." He cast a glance towards Sigismund there, alone and palely loitering in the corner of the Seven Skies, quarrelling, no doubt with the good Saint Robert Goodwill, as Nafis of Al-Dirakh chewed on some heavenly barley. Frantzisko, during the moment of Caius's separated attention moved a pawn somewhere, and uttered onto him. "Check. Bai, bai, xaxaxaxa!" Caius grumbled, ruminating on his true enemy, SARRYN THE COCKROACH, and he hoped that his people in humanity, including Milena would focus on their true foes; those that belong to Iblees, instead of those kin of theirs in Horen. Knowing that this will never come true, he wanted to explode with a force of thousand suns, until he threw the chessboard over from the table, and walked towards Robert Goodwill to calm himself with a true scion of humanity. No doubt a woman capable of communing with death, and gifts such as Milena's would be able to tap into this sentiment of the High Priest, should she attempt to do such. Though he himself woved to greet Milena's death with the same quips that she once afforded him in life.