cholesterol DEATH BY POLITICK

[framalam 837]

Spoiler

 

DEATH BY POLITICK

It was said many times unto Ildriunn, son of Aldric, that it was unbecoming of a Numenedan to die of old age. And so, from so so young, did Aldric the Harrenite bestow onto his young boy the flepirly light, that untainted seedling of the Ruach HaKodesh to bring about the tzimtzum. To be so carelessly loyal, devout, unwilling to accept wrongness, and eager to learn. To be flepirly, content to stand in a guard post, all day, each day.

All the same, it was not enough. 

 

It was said many times unto Ildriunn too, to be untrusting of the ‘macecatcher’, of the ‘knife-ear’, ‘treehugger’, ‘twiggie’. And so, from so so young, did Aldric the Harrenite bestow onto his young boy his ambition, to be grander, to be Horenite.

 

It was said many times unto Ildriunn, the code of Uther Pendragon. And so, from so young, did Aldric the Harrenite bestow onto his young boy the VANDER-HARRENITE dream. To serve his Tar, and redeem his race, whether he knew it or not, and to do so with honor, with courage, with that which all goodly knights had before him.

 

It was said many times unto Ildriunn, the Radiant Guardsman, that he mustn’t discriminate, that he must abandon his pride, abandon his inflammatory nature, that he must abandon that which his father made him. But so too did his father make him a servant of the House Arthalionath, so why would he stop in one, and not the other? Why did the good Canonius come before him, teaching him different? Oh Tiberias, why did you leave him so? Why must you have politicked!? Tiberias, why!

 

It was said many times unto Lucien, the orderman, that he should be humble. And so he was humbled, when he lashed out in the same pride and anger that had begrudgingly had him plunge himself into battle by the side of the Numenedain, the same that had had him stripped of his post as guardsman, castigated from his people. But he would not listen, for his father surely knew better. To be goodly, to be honorable, to be courageous, to finish every endeavour, to say everything you say with conviction. And so Lucien said with conviction, ‘This is no justice!’, and so the prince dove at him, and so he swung, and so he kicked when the princess drew her sword, and so he fell when the crowd fell on him.

 

It was said many times unto Lucien, the exile, that he should be loving. And so he was loving, when his wife cradled him to Kretzen, when his uncle had him speak before Gelimar and Saint Tylos, and genuflect, somehow, atop a saddle as he tugged on his horse of miasma more than flesh, and listen, ‘You have come at an impasse, Lucien, where you must choose between your people, and your faith’, and all man that would be loving would say, ‘My people, my wife, my family!’. But he would not listen, for Canonius surely knew better, for Callahan knew better, for the Church knew better.

 

It was said many times unto Lukas, the Apsinthion, that he should be dutiful and diligent and steer clear from all sin. And so he was dutiful, and diligent, when Barend left, when Lug left, when there were none to steer the Judites but he. And so he was dutiful and diligent, when he lassoed the knights-of-benevolently-pink-yechidah, whose flepirhood he smelled on the air, as he smelled the lemon tarts of his mother, as he bore her feather in his helm. And so, as he investigated, and investigated, he was diligent and so dutiful and so well-tested and resolute. But he would not stay such, for the An-Gho knew better, for he, Lukas, surely knew better. For surely, he cannot look upon a being has been taught to kill, one that should despise him, and be accepted, rather than cut down? For surely, they are redeemable.

 

It was said many times unto Slawomir, the Leper, that he should be noble, and prudent, and never lie. And so he was noble, and prudent, and honest, when he forged his story from lies and spun it, and so he was noble, and prudent, and honest, when he hunted down Stein and cleaved his head from his shoulders alongside the very Orc who had kicked him to his knees so many years prior. But he knew, looking to the eyes of Raguel, of Caius-Brandt, and of Callahan, that he was not noble, nor prudent, nor honest, nor penitent. He was not penitent, for surely he did no wrong. But he is sinful!, but he would not say such, for surely he, Slawomir, disciple of Bogomil, knew better.

 

 

It was said many times unto Lukas, the flepirknight, that he should come and hold discourse. And so he did, and he came, and he talked with the Father Callahan, and he talked with the Father Brandt, and all he knew was all he had known, that they were arrogant, that he was arrogant, that they would not listen, that they would not see the goodliness, that they could not love like he could. For as he cut down every beast, every lich, every demon, so too did he, in the throes of their wallowing tragedy and torment, so too did he see, within almost all, humanity. But, if they had fallen, and they were once human, why would they not be accepted as penitent? Why can they not be penitent? Why are they not penitent? He brought no change, and he grew haughty, angry, arrogant, that he, and none else, could ever be right.

 

It was said many times unto Lucien Aldricson, the goleh, that he was a blasphemer. And so he was lashed, and so he was starved, and so he was chilled, and so he grew infected. He festered. But more than he, the shard of Ein Sof, of the shattering of the Ruach HaKodesh in their golus, so much alike to HIS golus, it had embedded itself within him. And so he saw the FOUR KINGDOMS of DANIEL, and so he saw the heretic in Silasia, and so he rebuked them, again, and again, and again, for Raguel was true. For he had seen Raguel, again, and again! Everytime he slept, he saw Raguel, he saw the angels, he saw the Lord, and he saw the palaces. He saw the palaces, and in his stupor, he walked them, and the Light whispered to him, ‘You will not die, for it is not your time. You will not die, for it is not your time, for you have the hard case of Sin to shatter on the hearts of men’, the seraphim whispered all at once in unison to his ears as he gazed upon the moss as his hand grew steady as his hand grew unsteady and wrote and wrote and wrote and never ceased again. But he was not free.

 

It was said many times unto Harreniel, the kohen, that he must make them flepirly. And so he tried, and tried, and tried, but never enough. Never enough, for his father left him, and his father succumbed, and succumbed, to the illnesses of his hermitage and pilgrimage, to the illnesses of the politick that the Godwinite so evilly whispered into his ear. And so he tried, and tried, but never enough, for his king had left him, and his people had followed and left their king to stay and infect themselves with the lies of Druii. And so he tried, and tried, but just enough to turn the Ivori-Oren-Shills loving. He tried, and he tried, but it was never enough. And so in all his stress, in all his writing, in all his works, he tried. Why are they not penitent? Why are they not penitent? He asked, again, and again, to icons, to himself, to icons, to saints, to visions, ‘Why does the boy see, but I no longer?’, he asks, ‘Why am I not enough for the Collegium?’, he asks, so poopslave they call him, so noob, they call him. But he was noobly, and he was a poopslave, and he was, at his heart, the same flepir he once was. But despite all he had seen, all He had shown him, all blinding emanations of His light, the merkevah shot across the sky of Kretzen, he could not change them.

 

It was said many times unto Harreniel, the shepherd, that he must keep his father from the politick. And so he tried, and tried, but never enough. He never could keep the taint of the tinge of Sin of Ibliz from rotting the lemon groves, from seeping into the oils of his anointment, and so he was never enough. And so he passed it unto his acolytes, all six, and so he hoped, and he prayed, that as they were loving and flepirs-of-of-benevolently-pink-yechidah, that they would do so after him. That they would love, that the Great Rift be mended, that Villorik may die knowing that all that Caius-Brandt had fought for was not in vain. That Horen may look down at his peoples, and say, to himself, to his Lord, ‘Lord, look, they are one again!’. And so he fought, and fought, and fought, and threw himself to every fight and every debate and every resolution and every baptism and every penance and every penitent and every heathen and every little tinge of the Corruptor he could ever find, merely to find, he was not enough.

 

So they said a final time unto Harenniel, ‘You cannot die, father, you cannot die!’, and so he heard his child’s cries within the door. And so as he seized, before the icon of the Blessed Caius-Brandt, and as the sneering Crabspawn said, ‘We have no free will! We have no free will! Let my husband into the Collegium, let him in! He must be in!’, he froze. It was all too much, as he saw, no matter how much he fought, no matter how much he preached, no matter how much was burnt into his skin, no matter how many limbs or eyes the Lord gave him back to fight anew, no matter how many sermons he gave, no matter how many slop-theses he threw out to Candonom, no matter how much he fought, and fought, and sobbed, and fought, Lucien Aldricson was not enough.

 

So, the Keen said a final time unto Harreniel, ‘The Lord welcomes you with a smile father,’ so the vile Petrine delayed her healing, so the Ivori bickered between themselves of how to best treat their priest, and so he knew, in his heart of hearts, that his time had come. He knew, that no matter how much he had done, that the Crabspawn, that any sinner or Saulican that can hide behind the mask that Adrian of Ascalon had once done, could do so, again, and again, and again, and forevermore. He knew, and he saw, that that mask of the Crabspawn, was too the mitre of the Cardinal, and he knew that there was no use any longer.

 

Poison, fate, a clot. It did not matter how it happened, for the keen said a final time unto Harreniel, ‘He welcomes you with a smile. It is your time.’, and the priest, in his heart of hearts, knew it was true. But he did not pass quietly. He would be accepted as penitent, and so in one last cry, he said nothing of note at all. A true noob. But in his heart of hearts, he knew what he wished to cry out,

 

‘YOU MAY GIVE UP YOUR PURPOSE BUT MINE IS ASSIGNED TO ME BY HEAVEN, AND I DARE NOT!’

 

Far in the heavens, a kohen falls in line alongside a man who had blown his legs off with grapeshot, a man who deemed him his greatest failure, and the Black Swordsman between them all. So Lucien Aldricson, with his soul devoured, was denied his eternal rest, to join the hyperwar he so valiantly fought to bring peace, and an end to. 

 

Let the Raev rip the Orenian to shreds, and the Renatan kill his grandson, and the Raev his grandson after him, and the Marnan his grandson, and the Raev his grandson, 

and the Veletzer his grandson, and the Raev his grandson, 

and the Holylander his grandson after him.

This land is mine.

 

Let hyperwar be here, let my failure haunt me forever.

 

Let Siegmund peck on carrion forever.

Let Owyn purge him forever.

 

REQUIESCAT IN PACE, LUCIEN.

☺

[!] Missives would be sent from Gottenthal to the last known addresses of the noob's acquaintances:
 

Spoiler

@Fleeperpriest@bumblefina @DancingZebra267 @Trifolium @confusedjester
barrel in temple of st lucien has the will

 

Edited January 11, 2025 by framalam
will

[wowj 9747]

HONK HONK Reverend Fatha Ted K. Brae honked his nose to remember the dead politickian.

[confusedjester 811]

Julia wept in the Temple of Gottenthal.

[HeyitsNano 1582]

Atticus Keen had not known him for the long life he lived, but he knew him in his finality. When He sent His servant, who lived long and livid, troubled by life, to shepherd his people.

 

He knew him when Lucien begged before the Altar, when he begged and begged, and yet the Ivori Princeps still refused, stubbornly.

He knew him when he threatened death upon him, when he unjustly casted him out as their shepherd, when he sinned against the sanctity of GOD.

He knew him when Harenniel begged, begged, and begged, that he repent, that he be penitent, that he show remorse for his pride.

He knew him when the Priestly Father made an example of his life as sin, and begged he not repeat his path.

He knew him when he begged that he learn to love others against his own spirit.

He knew him well enough until he finally knew himself as penitent, until he learned to beg and grovel for forgiveness, until that Lord Keen only knew obedience and love.
 

As he lay in the Petrine clinic, Atticus leaned before him in a final peace. He saw death in his eyes, and he knew death would come, no matter how many cries echoed from outside the door.

 

What were they if not for GOD's ineffable plan? Penitent.

[DancingZebra267 1626]

Holy Ser Vincenzo strode into the halls of the Temple of Saint Lucien, his expression weighed heavily by grief. Upon reaching the altar, he fell to his knees. With a trembling hand, he traced the Rhodesian cross over his chest. He then closed his eyes, bowing his head as he murmured aloud, “GOD Almighty, You have called back our brother, Father Harreniel, into Your eternal embrace. He was a faithful servant, a guiding light to Your flock. We thank You for his life, for the lessons he has taught us." Rising slowly, Vincenzo turned his gaze to the still form of Brother Lucien. “Brother, your service is done, but your light will not fade. Your name will echo in our prayers. Go now, to rest in GOD’s eternal peace.” Vincenzo gathered the body of the fallen brother, calling upon his fellow knights, they carried Harreniel’s body out of the temple and back to Ard'Karden. There, they would prepare his body for his funeral, and then the deliverance of his ashes to the Great Saint Lucien Temple of Jedih in Aeldin, so he may rest with the fallen Vanders of yore.

[needitallcash 58]

An Owynist acolyte of the foregone shepherd hears truth of his passing. Woe becomes him.

 

To the place of their introduction, he and his steed rode. And in the church, he professed his piety and weakness to that which was and is and will forever be greater than. And in the fields, he toiled with all his might. And in the smithy, he beat on the metal again. And again. And again..

 

In the end he kneeled, praying. For he was once lost, having been given way by Harreniel. 

[bumblefina 2766]

Clover received the letter, and recalled their last and now final meeting, and felt some strange pang in her chest. She considered for a moment, and then a moment more, and settled on the feeling being grief. She had known the man since she was but a girl, and though they had fought many a time, and exchanged terrible words, she knew he had always meant well. He had always tried to do right, even though he often missed the mark. And for that, she thought, he deserved some grief in death. So that evening, she traveled down the road from the keep on the hill and into her pasture where she kept her own small tabernacle, and she lit a candle and said a prayer for the departed.