THE WAY OF THE WARRIOR [PK]

[Herod 1417]

 

THE PATH OF THE WARRIOR

 

 

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihGi8UNaTrE

 

 

Ailred, in his last moments consumed by the Angel of Justice, Raguel.

 

 

“All Despair does is fuel determination for right a wrong.”

 

A black sheep, a troublesome runt and a vicious fiend, all of these were words to describe Ailred, bastard of Druzstra castle, as he was flung out of Vidaus, forced to live the remainder of his life as a bastard and an urchin.  There came a strength to his lips, whether he braved thoughts of the first days outside the warmth of a Keep. To fight others for a gob of bread, to flee the watchman during the cover of darkness, to steal wealth, to lavish the few seconds of a fire.

 

“Families serve like a stream in a riverbank, the trueborn must follow the flow of bygone generations, we bastards are free.”

 

Pursuing strength through pain and determination did the bastard of Druzstra begin to make his mark upon the world, a hermit to the countryside, a traveling warrior that strides across from the adventurer’s path. His teachers were a curious, irregular bunch, but they gave him confidence and the excellence to defeat what evils wrestled the innocent world around. A crazed cousin, a righteous Knight and a fallen twin, they had all shaped him to the path of the warrior which he braved to take.

 

“Fate is inexorable and destiny is all, everything. This life was a god given gift, but gifts come with obligations from above.”

 

Luck had come to the Knight with twisted humor, for those he had hunted for much of his life, became his wife. A flaxen haired woman, marred by a previous life without a soul and a thirst for blood, comforted him. Ser Ailred had felt at home, during those brief moments in life, but duty called still, when the world twisted itself into chaos and war and thus, he resumed his learnings by the ever Righteous Knight.

 

“You may always fall, as many as possible, but never collapse.”

 

Upon the completion of his trials and tribulations a tragedy struck and his wife, sickly and withered from childbirth, died in his arms. The fabled Knight, overtaken by it all, chose to head to the hills, becoming a hermit, living by a cave and with little to no food. He was content yet tired, full of defeated foes yet ridden of his friends. It was hard, yet it only made him a better man when he had chosen to adopt a tawny haired girl, benighted and scared. Despite his tribulations and everlasting grief, it was what shaped his last years to be sweeter.

 

“Age only hardens the heart.” 

 

The last years of his life were a blur of combat, lectures and trials of sinners. It was not he who had chosen to be a Cardinal, but rather a twist of fate that commanded him to  step in an hour of need for dear friends and allies of bygone times. It was starting to get painful for him to stand and walk, let alone fight, but for a final grasp of life. He would only give his best.

 

“A light cannot go out Rezalisa, it can only dim and be extinguished by a blazing inferno.”

 

Church bells sounded loudly, a cacophony of prayers and a rumble of blades were followed when a spawn of Dragonkin had entered the Church for a trial by the Aengul of Justice. An execution took place, followed by a baptismal of fire and death. His weapon drawn, the Knight-Cardinal dashed forward to fight first but was struck critically in his face, on the eve of death. Staggering backwards in a daze did his life begin to drain out, he stared at the heavens on the eve of death and muttered.

 

“Archangel, give me one final battle, one final trial. Let the fires of your fury wash my hands.
MALCHEDIAEL, AENGUL OF COURAGE!”

 

The Knight of yore raised himself from sure darkness by the shadow and stood taller than most in a blinded rage, to the sight of stunned onlookers he raised his arm and cried for the Angel of Justice, Raguel, to join his brother in giving him one final push. He was taken over by the Angel and given a contract of his final moments, to wash away the scourge of light that came within the Basilica of God. 

 

“Let the fires of righteousness waste theirs of corruption and stone.”

 

The possessed Knight-Aengul used his newfound strength to combat the Dragonkin and their heralds, with roars of fury and desperation did he kill some and push the rest out of the Basilica before an ulterior power inside of him forced their doors to collapse onto themselves, shielding the innocent and wounded that remained within the blessed Church. At the face of a dying child did the Aengul finally leave the brazen Knight to save her life.

He could only walk a couple steps forward before he fell to his knees.

 

“Archangel sent from above, I feel you course through my blood.”

 

Tears welled from his face for the first time in a hundred years. He craned his head down and accepted his fate, he had done his duty and now his judgement was due. A blazing inferno with a cross as large as a house came down from above to take him to his greatest teacher, the Archangel Michael. A light, dim yet unwavering remained to speak a final tone before it became mist.

 

“I walk the path of a warrior, to my children, I weep for forgiveness, to Canondom, reap the fire of God, justice and courage.”

 

The inferno waned, and then, passed back to the heavens, taking the warrior to anew to a hall of brothers and warriors of old.

 

 

Peace of mind.

 

AILRED CARDINAL DRUZSTRA, MORTUUS EST IN NOMINE DEI.

 

Spoiler

It's been a long 120 weeks playing Ailred, and what can I say except thank you to all whom interacted with him, I feel like this character will always be my magnum opus, and despite how my life had twisted and changed when I had played him, I did my best. I would like to thank specifically @Xarkly @UnBaed @ibiou @Boknice275 and many others in helping me shape this bastard into something more. I shall see you all later!

 

[Xarkly 17299]

 

As Ailred dissipated into dust within the burning interior of the Holy See, his hammer began to fall.

 

Before it clattered to the ground, though, the gauntleted hand of Villorik clamped around it. Through his visor - burnt and blackened from their onslaught against the Dragonkin - he stared at the Boomsteel weapon for his Cardinal-in-arms.

 

Villorik did not know for how long he stared at the hammer, clutched in his grasp, as the cackle of flames and groans of the wounded echoed throughout the cathedral. The mores of light, a mark of Ailred's departure, lingered in the air a moment longer, swirling around the hammer. He closed his eyes, and released a slow breath. He remembered well the day Ailred had introduced himself to Villorik when he was but a child, and how he stoked within him the zeal of a holy warrior.

 

It all felt so long ago, like it was a lifetime past. It felt impossible to remember how the decades had past, leading to this day, when they both stood as Warpriests, grey and grizzled.

 

" ... You fought well," Villorik said, voice low and hoarse, "and you died well."

 

He could feel the dragonfire lick at his back, still; searing his skin.

 

"Watch over us, Blood of Ruther."

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Word was passed unto Princess Milena late into the evening, as so often it was by a maid or page in service to the royal household. At first, she did not know how to react to news of Ailred's demise. On one hand, she knew of his desires to die in battle--stubborn as he was to meet death any other way. On the other, she had her growing reservations about this righteous aengul that was said to have possessed him in his final moments. All such remained unsaid and unremarked, the stern woman dismissing that servant without more than a flick of her palm.

 

She would not miss their frequent verbal sparring, or his criticism of her manner. She would not miss the man that had grumbled the name of her great-grandmother on many occasions, glowering at her from afar. But, for the sake of Rezalisa Kovachev, she would utter some small prayer for him. He had earned some semblance of her respect--even despite all that set them at odds. His efforts to ensure the Baroness of Kovgrad's protection had revealed some softness hidden beneath that aged armor he wore.

 

All the same...another man, to raise question against her, now met with yet another unnatural end. How strange the world seemed.

[esotericas 2674]

Charlie sat alone for some hours, after the blur of the battle and the blur of the days afterwards. An aching fact realized only belatedly: Charlie was the reason Ailred died. If they had stayed out of the fight, avoided getting injured, Raguel would not have abandoned him. The man would still live, to love his daughter and champion his faith. 

 

The once-royal teen stared out the window of their room on Lemon Hill, brows furrowed. "I drew blood at the battle, but... this, I think, is the first life I have ever taken." 

 

Holy light flowed endlessly from a potted rose on the window sill.

 

----------------

 

Manon sat at her desk, missive in one hand, tarot card in the other.

 

"How will I die?" Ailred had asked her cards. 

 

"With glory." Manon had answered.

 

She shuffled the card back into her deck, and stood. The budding hope of a friendship withered in her chest. The last pieces of the old world were dying. How long before she was the only one left?

[winterblood 11181]

 

Spoiler

 

 

In the depths of the winter cold, rest is found and growth of soul. . .

 

-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-

 

Anchored is how she had come to feel, this tawny-haired woman.  She, who is destined to watch everything slip through her scarred fingers, and become dust to the winds of time.  Or so this is what Rezalisa Kovachev had come to believe is her fate.  One she writhed in and anguished over.

 

For it was much like a cycle.  Everything would wound up gone, and she would be without; yet as her soul became shattered, the pieces were never lost and would always come together–begrudgingly so.  Hope was a merciless power within her spirit, and was a flame that oft refused to be smothered; this is in thanks to Ailred.  For it was he, who molded her soul to be Enduring.

 

Their bond was a thorned thing, their ties together in this found-family was wrought of barbs and hooks.  It was not always easy for these two to see eye-to-eye; for Ailred was one of fangs and claws, and Rezalisa being of a merciful nature.  Yet there is no other soul that could come to be named as father, than he.

 

When the news of his passing struck her, it was a fateful day she knew was to come at some point or another.  Such was Ailred’s wish, to fall in battle; yet his prowess always delayed that end for so long.  Perhaps the foolish part of the Kovachev's heart convinced her it might never come, due to his unending skills. 

“I only pray you find peace in Malchaedial’s Hall, father,” Rezalisa whispered as she took to roaming through the winter nights of the north, in search of her own peace to mirror the deafening stillness found resting over the snows.  For him, she would never crumble despite being so tethered to sorrow.

[HugoAntero 1962]

"BROTHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!" Peter yelled out in the Hyper-War, unable to find his brother Robert- yet, relieved to see a friend, "YOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

[Frostdrop1 1843]

Callous, lewd, wrathful: that was all that summed the cardinal to the specter that remained of Marus Weiss. He had been a soul which showed no care for the young, the old, those he called family. 

 

He was a false creature who treated Rezalisa like a slab of meat, and he guarded his prey as did a wild beast. To what extent he hadn't quite understood, until he heard her single plea fall on deaf ears. Others were less than that to him - rotting scraps that weren't worth his time.

 

Something was wrong in his mind, and something was wrong in his heart.

 

And yet, Marus had tried to build bridges in the times he spoke to the cardinal. Always had he been treated like dirt but that was hardly unusual for either Marus nor was it unusual for the manners of Ailred. 

 

It had not always been so.

 

A younger boy had looked to that man as if he were a Saint, conjuring a shield of holy light to protect the brotherhood soldiers as they rescued the tavernkeep. How close that event had made him to traipsing down the same path, a path of fury and corruption.

 

A hero he didn't stay; rather, he became a demon. One so glut on self-righteous arrogance that the damage he wrought had run irrepairably deep. A demon that, alone, taught that boy the corruption and sophistry of the church.

 

Still, Marus had bid him well as the cardinal tried to obliterate his soul. He wished healing on his heart, and however he might have seemed to toy, the words were truly spoken in earnest. Perpetually, his self-destructive hope, his self-destructive kindness still dragged upon his soul even now. For it was that though he remained unaware of the fate of the cardinal, each day, in the back of his mind, he continued to pass his thoughts to the monster that hounded him, and he continued to wish him to heal.

 

 

 

[ibiou 2397]

 

 

“I’m afraid you will grow to resent me, Ailred. I fear that what I used to be — who I am — makes you see me in a different light.”

 

“I do not judge a person by who they were, definitely not when I am what I used to be, a creature of hate brought low by people I shouldn’t have invested my time with. You share the same history, I am afraid.”

 

 

---

A lost soul found the fate of Ailred of Drusztra, in the call of the night. Letters stashed into cabinets in the southern climates of Aevos, inscribed with years of pain, of love, of understanding. They would always remain in essence, despite the deaths of both the recipient and the writer, forever interwoven into the tapestry of nature and all things that lived. The sun and the moon; light and shadow. They coexisted, interchangable when the moment saw fit. It was the foundation of their marriage. He pulled her out of rooted evil despite his flaws and handed her a second chance at living. 

The wind howled in the name of Ottilie of Castile dreadfully for many nights to come. Nature grieved in her death, in his.