The Night the Bone Wolf Howled [PK]

[Destructokeith 1142]

 

The Night the

Bone Wolf

Howled

 

The sound of boots on wood fill the silent halls of Vissingren as an old man walks through the castle one last time, at his side and ever loyal walks the bone wolf, Detlef, a living doll pulled from the darker corners of this old man's mind a mind now thinking of times gone by as he descends the steps to the throne room

“Flame haired, Firebolt, Flamebringer”

While the first was a name he was bound to get for his long red hair, the other two he had earned, earned in battle with steel and flame. His right hand begins to tremble, a side effect of war, he had always claimed it was from the battles, the force of his blade meeting his foe but he knew the truth, that hand alone was how he earned his name as he burned countless people alive.

Flamebringer.

He was proud of the name, that he had left such a mark on history and yet.

The cold winds of the black hills bite at his face as he walks through the door and heads down the stairs, at the base of them he turns and looks upon the stone face of his father, Karl.

 

Would he be proud?

 

The question always caused turmoil in the man's mind, he knew some of his actions would cause his father great pain but would the good he did in his life outweigh the bad?

 

He turns then and enters the forge, the place he had claimed as his own, he turns to the mural on the wall depicting himself carved into the stone so many years ago. He turns then to the wolf, a silent nod passed between creator and creature as the man descends into his study, he looks now at the painting of himself that hangs behind his desk, is this how he is to be remembered? A warrior in his prime? A hero to some and a villain to others?

 

The man heads for the lift, he enters the halls of his lab and stares at the door.

 

El.

His beloved.

The mural depicts his proposal to her under the memory tree.

It was the second time he had Proposed and it was the second time she had said yes but this time it had been done with the blessing of her mother, he places his  hand on the stone next to him and the mural falls away. He enters the heart of his lab.

 

As he looks around the room he sees many things, trophies of fallen enemies, weapons and armour forged for his younger self but his eyes instead fall on a glass display, within a metal shell of a man,its chest opened and a gearheart resting before it, his eyes look up into a face that mimics his own, a manifesto to himself that he could have lived forever.
 

No..

He had chosen this, for to be without El would be to be nothing at all. A cough wracks the man's body, causing him to stumble and fall, resting his hand on the table in the center of the room, the mace that lays atop it rolling into his steel hand.

The Mace.

While having been a swordsman before meeting his family he had only been trusted with a mace by Karl and for good reason. With the Frankish armies on one side, and the Adrian rebels on the other The men of Theonus had no time to test his ability, Artel didn't mind as the weapon was new to him and he took to it fast, becoming a force of nature on the fields of war.

He stands and lays out his weapons, each made with a single goal in mind, each serving him faithfully

The Black Blade, Forged by his kin and enchanted by a friend to control flames and the shadows of his mind and defend him from the Jester

The Heir of the Flame, Forged by his hand in the dead of the night to be wielded against the forces of the dark as they closed in on him.

His Rings, A way to glimpse into a different world, one where instead of the blade, he had learned the ways of the Arcane.

The Black Blade, forged not only by his hand, but with his own body, a blighted weapon to bring peace to The Commonwealth.

But now his time was done, the weapons had served their first master and were ready to be handed to the next. The man moves on leaving the heart of his lab behind as he walks the halls towards the exit once more, he thinks of all those he had lost…

Karl.
Annette.
Catherine.
Niko.
Lucia.
Alphonse.
Adalia.

Artemisia.

The man pauses in his tracks. His mothers face burned into his eyes as he stared down the dark hallway. Did he care what she thought? Would she even care about him? The man shakes his head and enters the lift, heading back to his study where he would sit behind his desk and begin to write.

Once finished he would stand, the ancient man beginning to walk once more, leaving behind his study and entering the forge he is met with only a voice.

“Hey good looking”

A smile creeps across his ancient face as there waiting in the moonlight is his El.

“Hallo mein love” he says as he steps to her side, taking her hand in his “Would du care to join mich for ein walk in der garden?” he asks as he begins to walk.

“I thought you would never ask” she replies as she follows. Detelf remaining a few paces behind as the pair walk down the path. They remain silent as the moon above lights their way, stopping to enjoy the smells of the flowers and the soft sound of the water as it runs into the pond.
As the pair slowly begin to climb up the steps towards the church, Artel can't help but think if this was the right course, they both knew their time was up, tonight would be their last, but to do this?

Yes, he thought, he had been the one to find his mothers body, alone within that cave, he had ridden to collect his fathers body from the rose fields he chose to fall in and Artel would not make his children do the same, they would not be the ones to bury him.

The pair stop for a moment at the entrance to the crypt, Detlef, ever loyal as he was, would take a seat, knowing he could not follow. Artel would place his steel hand over the glowing seal atop the wolfs skull “Look after them, all of them” he would say before turning once more to El.

“Ready, mein love?”

“I was waiting for you”

With that the pair would enter the crypt, stopping briefly at the grave of Isavella before carrying on deeper into the tomb, coming to a stop at a single large sarcophagus.

“Ich couldn't leave du alone now could ich?” he asks Eloise with a laugh, a deep red smoke shrouding his arm as the lid slides open

“I would have come back and dragged you with me” she replies as the ancient pair slowly climb into their resting place. With a turn of his wrist Artel seals the pair inside before he closes his eyes and presses his lips to hers.

At the surface, Detlef, The living doll of bone and wire, ever silent lets out a heartbreaking howl. Some say it was the doll itself, others say it was the wind and other still say it was the souls of two lovers passing through the bones on the way to the skies.

When Artel opens his eyes next, he is looking into the face of his beloved Eloise, the pair surrounded by faces long gone…



Sir Artel “The Flamebringer”

Von Theonus
1902 - 2006
SA 106 - SA 210

[!] The following day, letters would arrive to the following people.


To the citizens of Petra I leave my name, let it be remembered or forgotten, let it be given to the next generations or let it be cursed in the dark, that is for you to decide

To the commonwealth I give my deeds, I can no longer give my blood nor my soul but I leave you with what I have done, from the battle of Whitespire and the siege of Breakwater and to all the battles that followed I have defended our lands and our people and now I rest.

To Sabine,
@Itz_Cookie

Spoiler

My Little Bear, do not mourn us too much. Know that we love you even now.
Keep an eye on your brother for me, and keep your spirits high, you are the reason I fought for so long, to make a better world for you. Take this chain, I wore it every day as part of my armour, while pieces were replaced and new capes were made. I kept this chain, the chain you loved so much as a baby, to remind myself why I fought.
I love you Sabine, now and always and I am so proud of you
-Your father, Artel

To Weylin,
@Hom

Spoiler

My Little Wolf, Hold your children tight for us, Know that we love you even now.
Keep an eye on your sister for me please. I tried to make a better world for you, one where you would not need to serve in a military. With that said, I am so proud of everything you have achieved. You are a good man and a good father. Please stay safe as I don't want to see you joining me so soon.
I love you Weylin, now and always
-Your father, Artel

To Konstantin,
@Deets

Spoiler

 

My dear rich little cousin, I know if I do not square this debt with you now you will dig me up and sell my steel arm for a profit so with this letter I give to you stolen pirate gold, lifted during our defense of Chambery, with that I think I am free of the some one thousand mina I owe to you.
Keep an eye on the family for me

-Artel

 

To Atticus,
@Hom

Spoiler

My dear friend, don't mourn for me too much, you are far too busy being retired for that.
I still stand by my claims that you are the greatest mage of our time, one who does not crave to be a god but instead uses his magic for good, you may have noticed a jacket of mine left in your manor, within its pocket you will find a single ring, this was handed to me by my teacher and while I have not been your teacher in many, many years, I give it to you.
Be well Atticus, I hope you don't try to join me any time soon.
-Your Friend, Artel

To Farah,
@Spoopy_Duck

Spoiler

I told you I would go first, didn't I? Don't mourn me too much, but keep my family in mind. With my death I pass our shared burden to my blood, find him, teach him the ways and keep an eye on him. But keep an eye on yourself as well, in time duty will call for you once more, I am sure of it and when it does you will rise to face it. Stay safe, my old friend
-Artel

And with the last of his connections, two hooded figures would ride off into the world with a letter each, bound to the darker sides of Aevos to deliver them, one sealed with a jesters mask, and one sealed with a snake.

The Jester,
@Trey
 

Spoiler

Funnybone,
I am sorry, not to the creature you are but to the man you once were, I was trusted to keep her safe from you a lifetime ago and yet I failed. I mourn for the man you once were, but I curse what you have become. May your death be swift and you meet the fate you deserve.
-Artel

The Snake,
@Itz_Cookie
 

Spoiler

Freya,
I know you will not mourn me, I know you will not care, but it felt right to at least inform you myself of my demise. I am sorry for the loss of your son, he was a dear friend and the world seemed much dimmer without him. I hope to you that one day you find peace in this world.
-Artel

OOC:
 

Spoiler

 

And thus he dies, my first persona has come to an end and I post my first PK.
Firstly I would like to thank Zaerie even though you hate what you have done, i am very thankful you got me on this wild ride.

To the Theonus, Deets, Trem, Petsch, Cookie, Care and all the rest, thank you for taking me in and letting me be me,

To Rosey, you poor, poor fool, thanks for giving a pink tag a chance and joining me on this wild story

From pinktag to ET in less than a year, and all the stories that came with it, here's to many many more.
 

-Keith
 

 

 

[Itz_Cookie 1974]

The eldest daughter of Artel and Eloise von Theonus cradled the note in her lap. Age had overcome her, and she knew this would happen as a knights daughter... but the grief and loneliness now was beyond comprehensible. That beloved chain from her childhood consoled her, held the cloth that kept her warm around her shoulders... 

She wept, and wept, and against the request of their final words--she mourned her parents greatly...

---

In the farthest corner of Aevos, on the tallest mountain where the wind whipped and the snow slapped her face, the Serpentess, as she'd always been known, gripped the letter in one hand and a cigarette in the other...

"You're not sorry."

She snapped into the wind, her head falling back as she blew smoke into the sky.

"And you know that there is no longer peace as an option for me. Not in this life. Not in the next."

She fell back, a gentle thud in the snow-covered mountain, a soul no one would search for...
She laid there, and in that moment searched for the peace that she once yearned for.

---

Their friend, and closest companion--Eloise's sister by choice and Artel's cousin-- The deceased Countess of Warsovia extended her arms to greet her friends. She wrapped them in a hug, trapped in her youth, as she welcomed them to the afterlife with the rest of their friends and family who had long since passed before them.

[mothsthetic 2250]

An old friend of the Flamebringer sits at his fireplace- A glass of whisky in one hand, and his glasses in the other. He does not cry, but he does regret. 

 

Artel’s daughter-in-law, however, weeps for the man who was more father to her than the man she never knew, or the man that died too soon. 

[Deets 1129]

 As the two entered the afterlife and embraced friend and family alike, the long-dead Viscount of Marignan felt himself looking upon the two for a long moment. Artel, the wayward son, though a son nonetheless. Such a state he held in common with himself, for both had walked the path of life and endured its many tribulations and had become far different men than they once had been. Often times in life he had seen himself in the actions of the Flamebringer. Ultimately, he was proud of who Artel had become. Once a boy deposited unto his doorstep, he had in time embodied the values of duty, loyalty, and sacrifice. Though he regretted in his later years that he had not come to know Eloise as well, he held great admiration for her, for he knew much of what Artel had become was through her efforts as well.

[StingyParrot 1595]

Another death. Arakawa would mutter to himself. Another loyal Petran gone now, far beyond our reach. 

He didn't know Artel very well, but the few times they had met were indicator of the man's virtue. He would mourn, in a quiet, respectful fashion, and offer what support he could to the Theonus.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And Elsewhere.

 

Elsewhere, garbed in shining steel swathed with a whisper of a green cloak, Sir Myrios Veiel would welcome Artel into the Seven Skies, a soft, friendly smile on his weathered features. "Rest now, Artel. Ihr work is done."

[JudgeTrudy 610]

Theodore Elwood frowned as news of the old knight's death reached him. Artel had not been a man that Theo ever truly got to know, but he rarely went more than a few months without hearing of the Theonus man's great deeds and efforts in keeping the Commonwealth safe. He knew, too, how much the Flamebringer had meant to so many others in Theodore's own life, and felt great pangs of sorrow for them in turn. That night, sat by his fire with a warm drink, the Grand Speaker murmured a quiet prayer for Artel to find some well-deserved peace, and for his loved ones to move forward with his memory and love within their hearts.

[Hom 1987]

Weylin von Theonus steps through the halls of Vissingren, returning from a patrol with his helmet tucked under his arm. Late into his middle age, there still lingers a boyish tone when he calls his father's name. "Vater! Du vill nicht believe vhat I saw today, I vanted to show du-" He pauses, at the eerie quiet that seems to have overtaken the usually-lively halls. A frown crosses his face, the wrinkles in his brow deepening as he turns and paces outside again, now making a beeline for the castle's forge. 

The fires there sit quiet for the first time in a long time, burned to their last ashes. Nothing but the faint smell of smoke, coal dust, and metal lingers in the air- The same scents his father carried with him every time he returned from work or battle, and scooped Weylin up into his arms as a child. A scent that had become comforting to him, which now carves a pit in his stomach. The bellows are unmanned, the hammers hung neat above the furnaces, and all is far too still.

There's a clang as the helmet under his arm drops to the ground, and he races through the keep with his heart seized by dread, hoping that his gut is wrong this time. 

---

Atticus sits in his room hours later, a letter clutched tightly in his hands. Splotches of damp blot the ink, tears cast askew by the wrinkles and creases of the old man's face, wracked by quiet sobs as his head bows. Outside, the light of a bright day shines through the windows, casting upon his face. It feels wrong, that the sun should shine so proudly, and the birds should sing so clearly with what it all had lost.

He knew that Artel was not immortal. No, they both gave up that dream long ago- All the better for it, too. But in some childish part of his mind, he thought the man infallible. Artel von Theonus, who's steady voice was one of the first to become familiar to him in this city. Artel, his mentor, who taught him his first magicks, who advised and guided him, who kept him grounded when arcane forces threatened to sweep him off his feet. Sir Artel, who taught him to fight, who taught him to raise his voice, who taught him the qualities of a good father, when Atticus' own father offered him none. Artel, who had his arm cut from his body, and still clapped him on the shoulder with a smile the next day. Artel, the Flamebringer, who Atticus idolized. Every footstep Artel trod, Atticus clumsily followed. Every piece of advice, he listened raptly.

He stumbled after the man until he learned how to stride, until suddenly one day they were walking in step, to his surprise. Even then, his starry-eyed admiration lingered. For Artel was a boulder in the middle of a rushing river, a stone wall that no army could topple, a monolith. To so many others, Artel had been a force of chaos, unpredictable and unseen, bright and raging. But to Atticus, he was safety, security, sturdy. Unmoving, and unbreaking. 

He had only seen Artel cry twice- Maybe three times, in the half-century they knew each other. The last had been when his daughter died. He had never seen him so broken, so shaking, so close to collapse.

"I love you, brother."

His brother, the wall. His brother, the unstoppable force. His brother, the man.

Atticus never thought he'd know what it felt like, to lose an older brother. He couldn't comprehend, in that small, childish part of his mind, that older brothers could die. But this was the reality of it- That they did, usually much before yourself. They die, and no matter how predicted, a hole is left where a stone once stood. The air comes rushing through, and it chills him to the bone with a rush of memory.

Artel, arms wrapped around him, embracing him in his kitchen as Atticus' world falls apart around him, as he shakes with fear. He promised that the world would not end, and it didn't. Artel, shield raised to guard him as they fought, words unneeded when they worked in tandem. Artel, smacking him over the back of the head when he did something stupid. Artel, making up drunken stories of the accomplishments of his kinsmen, filling the tavern with uproarious laughter. Artel, overseeing his wedding. Artel, standing up for him, when he could not find the will to stand for himself. Teaching him, eventually, how to stand on his own two feet. Teaching him how to be a good man.

The chill turns to warmth as he remembers. The world had lost a kind man- But the kindness he gave remains. And through the tears, a soft, shaking chuckle comes. "I'll try my best," He whispers to the paper. 

But when his time comes, his brother won't have escaped him for long.

 

Edited December 9, 2024 by Hom

[MrGarden 295]

Matthew wakes up in the surgery bed confused as to how he got there, he adjusts the pillow and looks out the window for a few seconds until he notices the letter at the foot of his bed. Matthew takes the letter and reads it carefully, after doing so he runs out of the clinic and heads to the tavern . He asks for a glass of whiskey. After receiving the glass he raises it to the skies "To you Artel."
 

 

Thomas was making two rings when he was stopped by one of the guards who told him the news. "What?" He puts  down the hammer and looks up. "Thank you for everything you taught me, cousin Artel." He then lowered his head and went back to work, knowing that by finishing those rings he was continuing the work of a wonderful blacksmith who had taught him a few things.

[carebear 1291]

Calla von Theonus locked herself in her room for days, weeks, perhaps even months. All she knew was that her sister and brother-in-law were dead and gone. She remembered their adventures together; the battles against the Mori, the quiet moments in the refugee camps, watching Eloise and Artel fall in love with each other, raising their children together. The aging woman wept, then. Though she did not weep too hard, for she knew she would join them soon. Through her tears, her gaze rested upon a large painting, depicting her dearest friends and family. All of them were gone, except for her.

 

"I will see you all soon, I promise you that..."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dame Rowena's heart hurt. Though she knew old Uncle Artel was not long for the world, the loss of her sister and dear uncle in such a short amount of time was brutal. She knew Artel would not want her to cry and stay frozen in grief, but she could not help collapsing from all the loss she had experienced. She stayed with her children, keeping them company and watching over them.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

A wild red-haired woman bounded towards Artel and Eloise as they arrived to the Seven Skies. Nikoletta Colborn greeted them with open arms, overjoyed that her surrogate father had finally come to keep her company.