The Endling [PK]

[ItsMisterPip 409]

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

On one brisk morning ride, Viktor sat atop his steed, traveling toward the Haeseni homeland. He had just departed from a celebration—the birth of his great-grandchild, Siegfried Otto. The sun stared warmly, the trees towered looming, and the wind whispered gently, the sound of his horse echoing into the timber. He was in no hurry. He hasn’t needed to hurry for anything in many, many years. A sudden, strange feeling washed over him from within. Fatigue spread rampant, his vision began to blur even through his spectacle, and a twinge twisted in his chest. He thought he saw a blurry figure, a cloaked woman, before he fell from his horse. Within the minute, his eyes fluttered shut for the last time. Viktor was dead, his heart of stone proving vulnerable, after all.

 

Spoiler

 

 

Trekking through the valley of Novkursain, Viktor and his brother Walter, adorned in the armor of the Brotherhood of Saint Karl, were accompanied by several other comrades searching for a beast to slay. They were mere Initiates, at the time, seeking to prove themselves worthy as Footmen. Out of the corner of his eye, by some chance of luck, Viktor glimpsed a figure on the top of a sheer cliff. The band of brothers-in-arms climbed fiercely, and they were met by a highland manticore with a blazing coat of orange. Through the pain-ridden battle, they felled the beast with might and pride, their first taste of battle.

 

Viktor found himself grounded in conflict, though his withdrawn personality led many to believe otherwise in his more youthful years. His training began when he was young and persisted until he could not easily hold a sword in his elderly years. Even in wars, after gradually losing parts of his body, he would have appendages forged and fitted so he could continue fighting. Determined to fight, but for what reason? He didn’t relish the idea of battle, but it was what he often wanted. Perhaps this was one of the only places his value would show.

 

 

 

 

King Aleksandr II stood upon that rock shining with light, trying to pull the heavenly blade from the earth. Standing by Ser Audo Weiss, Stanislaw Weiss, and Walter Weiss, a young Viktor looked on in awe. The king had failed, and Walter was eager to try his luck, but his knightly father stepped up and pulled it from the stone. The blade was fit for none but those it chose. Its possession was charged to Walter, but Viktor looked at it with nothing but skepticism. Was this bestowment from the sky a blessing or a curse, he thought… Throughout Viktor’s life, that mortal blade loomed in the possession of his brother, and it changed him in ways Viktor would never like. It was capable of immense power, but in exchange, it traded the brother he knew for a ruthless one. One to be feared.

 

 

The disasters caused by the voidal horror in lands stretching from Aaun to Haense significantly impacted Viktor, a young man and improving warrior. He trudged through the flooded streets of Whitespire to recover the bodies of those who were swept away in the tsunami with the help of strangers and comrades alike. He witnessed death en masse, riddling his head with memories that would plague him forever. The brave acts of those around him inspired him. Those dedicated to saving lives did not quit until the city was cleared, Viktor included. Even during the blizzard in Valdev, Viktor persisted, helping those he could shelter during the sub-zero storm, avoiding spires of ice splitting the street's cobbles as they rocketed into the sky.

 

 

 

 

Viktor learned of the declaration of war on Veletz while sitting in his home beside his wife, Aurelia Weiss. It wasn’t surprising to him that the events in the previous period caused tension that was bound to snap. This was not scary news but was instead thrilling. He had trained and fought his entire life to be able to deal with the grueling tasks of major battles. He was ready… Viktor stood along the wall of their siege encampment in the Siege of Breakwater, cannon balls crashing into the towers and walls, trebuchet ammo sailing overhead, crashing into the courtyard not twenty paces away. The smell of black powder, dirt, and blood filled the air as he continued hunkering down. The call for a charge was finally made, and the grand army charged into the keep. Slaying beasts, hunting animals, and felling darkspawn were different from taking the life of a man, but there was satisfaction in the challenge—the many challenges. Every man, a challenge, and every man he crossed had fallen in that battle. He was where he belonged… Throughout the sieges and battles, Viktor became hardened. The deaths of those around him became naught in his mind. It was a matter of life, and he was surely going to keep his, for he did not intend on dying. Not then. He lost an arm in Westmark; he was slashed and stabbed at Brasca; he was shot at Stassion; he saw his mother perish, but he persisted throughout it all.

 

 

Viktor’s career in the Brotherhood of Saint Karl was successful; his efforts in war and protection of his homeland from various foes earned him the position of Lieutenant, but in quiet times, he grew restless. The disappearance of his brother, Walter, the passing of his kin, one by one, the death of his father, Ser Audo, and the lack of conflict for him to partake in took a toll on him. He forged weapons, endured the bore of politics, and reminisced on stories of his past, all to pass his time until his next opportunity to pick up his blade. An opportunity that rarely ever came. His stay within the city’s walls unintentionally comforted him, and his search for fights became less and less as he grew older, but this change drew him closer to the family he had left.

 

His past came to loom over his head, but his heart yearned to be calm. Viktor tried to become a guide for younger Weiss, helping them in their paths and easing their troubles. His alchemy began to flourish with his absence in training; his smithing became more passionate than necessary, and he spent more time around family. He began living his own peace, worrying not about his ambition. He, the endling of his generation, finally began to live.

 

 

 

 

Viktor opened his eyes abruptly, leaning forward with a jolt. Strangely, his faux eye was gone, and his real eye had returned, no longer the metal prosthetic filled with a mysterious liquid. Lifting his hand in front of his face, too, verified that his prosthetics were all gone, seeing the skin of his right hand for the first time in over half a century. How strange, indeed…

 

However, when he looked around, he was not on that forested road where he fell from his horse and lost his life. It was so quick that he didn’t even know that he had perished, but everything was different now. Something had changed.  Looking around, that feminine figure stood above him—the dark blue cloak with embroidered lions shadowed her face, if it was even there. He couldn’t tell.

 

“What is this?” His voice seemed to echo towards her, a tone full of curiosity. Shifting a foot underneath him, he clambered up to his feet—gaze remaining on her concealed visage.

 

“It's your time to rest," this woman replied gently and soothingly, her hands folded over a cane handle at her front. Viktor deeply exhaled and began to turn around, expecting to see the path he had taken and his horse waiting for him in the snow. The shaft of the woman’s cane bumped his arm, prying Weiss’s attention back toward her. A hand had extended from the handle, raised to offer him guidance.

 

Viktor never trusted strangers, but this motherly figure seemed to relinquish his worries and distrust. He took hers with the hand he hadn’t had for most of his life, smiling. There were no other words he needed to say or questions to ask. Slowly, tears began to stream down his face...

 

He was ready.

 

 

Spoiler

Viktor was my first persona on LotC and a very interesting character to play. Looking back on him, there are things I think I could have done better, but being new to Minecraft roleplay, I think I did okay, starting off. He was an excellent character to learn from and get a jist of how the server is, learning the server's lore and experiencing so much fantastic roleplay. I want to extend a thank you to everyone who has given me any roleplay. I've made many friends and shared many wholesome, chaotic, and incredible moments with people, and I have no one else to thank but you all. Love you guys c: (I'm hoping the post format doesn't get jacked up, this is the first of few 'long' posts I've done)

 

[Bethinwonderland 2213]

 

Verónica had been sipping on her umpteenth piña colada within the skies while playing her guitar on her peaceful beach. She was playing a song near to her and a son still living. While performing the lullaby she decided to peer down upon him to check in. Using the ocean waves as almost a way to gaze upon those still living, it had been some time and she could see that he was starting to age. When had he started going grey?
 

Spoiler

 

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One day, the present day, she felt a tug that she hadn’t in a long time. She had to go meet someone as they joined the skies. There was a lurch at her, there were only a few people left that she needed to go meet. Deep in her heart, she knew she’d see her son again in “person”. She ran towards where she was needed, the ethereal sand kicking up behind her.

“Hijo!” Verónica called out in glee, pride in her stride as she walked over to him, tears welling in her eyes. She looked well rested, in her 30s, her smile whole unlike it had been in life. Full of energy in a warm heavenly glow she went to hug him like a bear “It's been so long! Gracias for taking your time though. Eam so proud of you! You did so well.”
 

Spoiler

What a well-written pk post, you did such a fantastic job. I can't wait to see what adventures you go on with your next characters. Viktor was a truly amazing persona. Thank you for playing him

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

It was none too long that it took for a knight, once marred in features, to approach the new soul. Raven-haired and piercing icy eyes set upon Viktor. Ever-vigilant on the below, the paradise built - Sierra - he oft left to the company of other family. A firm soul that forever watched the happenings, and had made a dutiful point to remain in vigil. 

 

At first a hand was extended in a formal gesture, before Viktor was tugged into a rough, firm hug. "Vy have done well, ea boy. Vy ought to be proud." The spoken words rang with a deep earnestness of something owed a long time ago.

 

"It took vy long enough. We have all the time in the world here, hijo. Relax."

[Werew0lf 24180]

A brother who walked the earth with deep hatred for Man bid the news of Viktor’s passing. Behind pallid white robes, his lips curled into a thinned frown. Every day, his mortal bindings were unshackled. 
 

On bare foot, the saint traversed, to find the grave of the fallen Weiss. Although he was unkempt of morality, having been drained of his heritage, still, did he remember fondly his human family. 
 

“What was the saying? Ah,”

 

”Va ve maan,”

[KillerMaid 636]

Malna stood, letting herself do her chores around the orphanage when a delivery came. When she went to see she saw... a portrait, of Viktor... 

 

She knew

 

It didn't make the sting any less bad, or her tears flow any slower that the inevitable end of one of her close friends had finally come. "This is what you get for working in a human city..." she murmured to herself as if it would help. After a while, she traveled to her home, gently putting the picture on the growing wall of them, so she never forgot their faces, or names ever again.

[juliaINC 592]

Within the chapel of her palace, Wilhelmina von Brandthof lit a solitary candle for the spirit of her grandfather. Her expression held a quiet melancholy, a faint shadow of sorrow for a man she had known only distantly in life, leaving her mourning not the bond they had, but the one they never shared.

[molly molly molly 1329]

Somewhere at a hidden cove along the southern coast, a cannon engraved with 'V. W.' coursed with lightning; then blasted a roar as proud and true as a Lion's, as it was shot in hallowed reverence for its maker. Two glasses of Carrion Black were poured that night by a flamboyant elf. 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

The devil, Reinhard, had a shock to see a body covered in the Weiss clinic. In a private moment, he hastened off others so that he may check who lay beneath. Staring at the face of a pale, deathly Viktor, his heart clutched and gut churned. A statue at the end of the bed, plated in the very black ferrum armour that the man had smithed him in his later years. 

A gentle man, Viktor had been. Despite his ever-gruff appearance, the boy -turned-man knew he could trust him. And, then, his lips pulled taut with regret: he never did ask for those stories of the man. Lost to time, they were. His lizardly gaze welled with a subtle shimmer at the thought. This man, who he would never see again, and he never found the time to ask his stories.  This stoney, pallid corpse was the last sight he would have of him, the last contact. 

In a bid to keep some connection, he began to rifle through the things left by the old sergeant: a pendant, his armour, a flask...
A flask. Antique, dented, simple and marked with W.S. upon the front. Frankly, the devil could frequently use a drink. Taking into his gauntleted hand, it was clasped. A material memory of the kind, elderly man.

 

Spoiler

Needed to do a separate comment since it wouldn't let me edit my old one! Grr!

Anyway, thanks pip - great son, great (great) uncle. Enjoy Kazimir!