[PK] The passing of the torch

[Jayphynph 279]

 

 

 

[!] 

The missive contained a crude drawing of Ser Oliver’s personal knightly arms: Azure, a lion rampant regardant Argent armed and langued Gules.

 

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The morning dew covered the trees around him, as Ser Oliver Reye rode on his morning patrols. The air was calm and the birds had awoken, filling the skies with an entrancing music. The knight could feel the cold air on his face, his scars brightening with flame, a feeling he had become all too familiar with; a reminder of his past and his duty to serve.

 

With the city still asleep, he rode at daybreak through the gates of Haense to monitor the countryside and help those in need. Though mostly uneventful, the necessity of these patrols quickly showed itself as he came across a young boy, no more than 14 years of age, being beaten by a trio of ne'er-do-wells. Brandishing his sword he galloped toward the scuffle, driving the assailants away.

 

“Are you quite alright?” he asked the young boy, helping him on his feet. The lad had bruises covering his entire person, and could scarcely speak a word for blood. Lifting him to his horse, Oliver rode back to Haense and invited the boy into his home on Lendyystriet where they slowly got to talking.

 

---

 

“What is your name?” the knight asked, handing the boy a cup of tea and a plate of dinner.

“Karl.” The reply was brief; Karl eagerly chowed down his food with a haste akin to that of a starved beast. Oliver eyed the boy, noting his disheveled features and lack of substance.

 

“How did you come to be in such a situation, lad?” The knight started interrogating Karl, eager to learn about his past, but the boy didn’t answer until all the food was gone.

 

“I stole their bread.” Once a reply finally came, it was as brief as ever. Karl reached out for seconds, but was halted by an inquisitive Oliver. His ice-blue eyes peered into the boy’s mind, trying to rattle out more information. Karl felt a chill overcome him, sinking down into his seat.

“I couldn’t find any other food, Ser,” he said meekly. “Besides, they’re horrible; the bastards deserved it.”

 

This answer little satisfied Oliver. “How did you come to be in such a state as to resort to common thievery?” he asked once more.

 

Karl felt a lump in his throat sink deeper into his gut, but reluctantly answered that his parents had died, leaving him alone. “There’s little work going around for someone like me, Ser. I did what I had to do to survive.”

 

The contempt in the boy’s voice amused Oliver. “You are a fighter, aren’t you? How about I make you an offer, eh?” Karl nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Be my squire. Ride with me, heed my every word and follow every command. In return, I shall guide you and ensure that you will never have to steal again.”

 

It took only half a moment, before the boy eagerly accepted. With this Oliver smiled, relinquishing the dinner plate.

 

“Now! Have you ever held a sword before?”

 

---

 

Oliver taught the boy horseback riding, swordplay, tactics, and stewardship over the course of their two years together. The boy proved quite adept in the martial arts, and by the end his apprenticeship had become a formidable opponent for his age.
 

 

On the squire’s 16th birthday, the duo were on their typical morning patrols when they ran into the very same trio that had caused their meeting two years earlier. They were in the process of assaulting and extorting a young woman, when they were hollered at by the knight. Unlike the last time the villains did not flee, for they recognised the young squire and in their blindness and thirst for blood, stood their ground. Oliver descended from his horse, and met his foes on a level ground.

 

He ordered Karl to stay back, drawing his sword. In three swift moves he felled all three scoundrels, moving at an unreasonable pace for his age. To his dismay, however, he did not notice the dagger stuck in the gap between his armor. He fell to the ground just as the young squire slit his killer's throat.

 

“I always thought Aaron would go first,” Oliver chuckled, realizing his situation. With a few words, the two said their goodbyes. The squire claimed a few artifacts, but buried most of the knight’s possessions with him in the woods.

 

Somberly, but determined, he rode back to Haense. As the city awoke, they’d find a missive hammered into the notice board, its author having left through the gates.

 

 

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Good People of Haense,

 

A knight known to some of you as Oliver Reye, has been slain this morning, leaving behind a memory of competence and chivalry. This is a notice of succession, as I, his squire, now take up his name and legacy.

 

On this my 16th nameday, I shall take a new name; Charles Actius Reye. I shall carry my master’s legacy henceforth, and keep his memory kindled.

 

May the world know the name Reye for ages to come!

 

 

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SIGNED

 

Charles Actius Reye, Successor to Ser Oliver

 

 

---

 

 

 

[OOC]

For personal reasons, I have decided to PK Oliver Reye. He was my first character, so it is with a heavy heart that I do this, but it is the right decision.

I apologize for the abruptness of this decision, and that it is conveyed through a forum post and not in-game RP, but please trust that I have my reasons.

 

While I will no longer play as Ser Oliver, I will instead be assuming the persona of his protegé Charles, whom I have big plans for!

 

I’d like to thank everyone who has helped and supported me on my journey so far, and for making my first experience with LoTC a pleasant one.

 

Another thanks goes to @mojanghunter who helped me edit and format this post.

Edited November 21, 2024 by Jayphynph

[mojanghunter 566]

From afar, a Prince long forgotten mused upon the fortune of his loyal retainer in his absence. Prayerfully, he did beseech GOD for the man’s well-being, blissfully unaware of the sudden and sorrowful end which had befallen him.

[tadabug2000 4924]

Xiomara heard of the Knights passing, having become familiar to his face around her lands. She offered a prayer to DIOS above, signing the Lorraine, as she mourned his loss.

[ketof 44]

Aaron gazed with grief for a while at the piece of paper, nodding to himself. He raised his head looking up at the sky and said:
-  "The blade that cuts deepest indeed is sorrow - Bella res est morte sua mori - mine is still a mystery brother"  - He then lowered head and, with zweihander on his shoulder, marched off towards the gatehouse.