Dark Horse [PK]

[TomFunks 756]

 

Dark Horse

BALDRIC VOURKEHARDT

144 SA − 228 SA

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The din of galloping hooves abided upon reaching the gates of Caladras, soon replaced by the heavy footfalls of the once-Chieftain. The halter from around Eclipse was taken ahold of, the black stallion led to stables as a wordless affection drifted across its withers, sourced from his gloved hand. The scent of earth and brush faded into smokey embers and faint lavender as he returned to his hearth.

 

Terse, dry coughs sprang from him once he had sealed his way past the entrance; a chain of keys deposited aimlessly within his heavy robes so that his hand was freed to restrain his spittle. He steadied himself afore wandering the halls of his keep, a slow ascent to his chambers at the castle’s crest. It was here that he found a strange respite, a quiet he would betray himself. His words, though hushed, were of a lover’s parlance. He knew not whether she would hear them, only that God was near to those broken hearted, and that perhaps the words were as much for himself, as they were for her.

 

He reminisced upon that period of which rot festered upon her, as sickness wilted his flower away from him. In that weakness, in that unfamiliarity, it would have been simple for her to assuage conviction for fear, for malice. She had, in her many years, held her tongue like a dagger unto those of which she held a great disdain for. And yet she spoke in a delicate croon, one which had ordinarily been secluded for only him. She sought to avail those who visited her, that she was at rest and ready to depart for the Skies. It is terrible then, to be so intimate that one could see the fear that lingered beneath a cloak of bravery, no matter their countenance or words. As exhausted as Valeska was, she wanted not to depart alone — but she knew she could not ask Baldric to rise with her; there was far too much left to do.

 

When she had passed, she had made him promise to keep their children in sanctuary, to ensure that they prospered. He knew not the difficulty, but he vowed even still never to surrender this oath. It was a pillar that he held to, a crutch that allowed him to muster a resolve formed by piecemeal. And thus with nothing else to steady him, the death of his son Valos brought this pillar to crumble, and the crutch to snap.

 

A shattered promise was unfamiliar to him, something he had deemed difficult to contend with. Of course, one could claim that he had left a promise behind in the lands of the Waldenian West, and he’d equally retort that a Pontiff, a Prince, and a Princess had permitted his family to leave the lands unfit to them. Even in the East, the murmur of a broken vow to conspiring royalty was abolished through the excommunication of a foolish king. It is a solemn fact that this Highlander carried, that the only oath he had broken was the final promise to his wife.

 

And thus, he fell away again and knew his despair was soon to consume him. He began to surrender himself, an offering to relieve his mind. The seat of his House, imparted to his children so that he might find rest. It was that inability to keep his oath that choked away his confidence and led him to imprudence.

 

He meleed, cracked his fists upon skulls in hope he might be dispossessed of the strength to stand.

And yet, he defeated those rivals he had been cautioned upon.

He began to wander roads afoot and alone, seeking to become one marauded by dagger and scorn.

And yet, he had captured outlaws and levied upon them the weight of justice.

He plunged into the depths of lairs to crumble thrones and fell demons, making peace with an end

before these descents.

And yet, he departed these burrows with unabated breath.

The terrible bells of war sounded, a possible selfish peace glinting on the horizon.

And yet, he defeated soundly and captured enemies, watching as the war began to end.

 

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It was not the first war that he had watched come to a crippling halt.

 

Harsh, frosted winds had fallen upon the city. The draped furs and cloaks upon the bodies of these brethren seemed almost as if they were not worn at all as the cold remained unforgiving. Baldric settled near the hearth, though faced his fellow soldiers still as they exchanged dreams of battle and spoils to be taken to their tribe. The news of a declaration upon the nest of ravens to the north had sprung, and these green men raucously awaited the first march that would never come.

 

Upon the first raid, they found an abandoned city with none to contest their presence. The soldiers pillaged what they could, but truly found little to endeavor upon. As brave as their rally had been, this would be a forgotten war, if one could even declare it one at all. Where grandeur was desired, only a chase for phantoms was had. For all the anticlimax that it had been, the future-Chieftain at least had the wherewithal to seek out a singular opportunity within the stables. He had been the first to arrive and exercised his Waldenian heritage, stealing four thoroughbred stallions of which the foundation of his family’s fortunes would later be built upon.

 

His time in Reinmar was spent honing himself, proving his worth. He planted half the fields outside of the city on his lonesome, even erecting farmhouses and towers through grit and sweat. Later, he was elected as Lawman under the tutelage of Father Gregor, and rose up the ranks of the Host of Saint Johann under his mentor Wilhelm von Berkhoven. He was granted the responsibility of being Juliya Barclay’s personal guard, she who would one day become the Queen of Hanseti-Ruska. It would be Princess Adalfriede von Hexenwald who offered him the opportunity as the Studmaster of her Heather Court, working alongside Sir Stanton Stroheim in the matters of husbandry.

 

It was this same Princess Adalfriede who had been seated when he had made a request for permission to depart from the Principality, once he and his family’s obligations had been fulfilled. Though he desired to remain, the wishes of his family were always held ahead of his own, and the sneering that they had felt by the other tribesmen had led them to seek a separate future. She had told the young Vourkehardt that songs would have been sung of him if he had chosen to remain. Those words never escaped his mind, though the memory was attached to intention, rather than ire. He made himself understand that, from thereon, personal glory was incomparable to that which his family desired. Faith and trust was placed upon him by the tribe that he led, and he would not dare to snuff their hopes.

 

And so the motley tribe departed, a band of four with little coin and few prospects.

 

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When they had left, there were only two requests that his future-wife had made of him. Firstly, a large family to fill the halls of their home and bring them gladness. And secondly, a large home that would keep them and their family safe. She had always wanted nothing more than for her children to flourish in their wants, to seek out their own challenges with the bolstering of their family.

 

He would fulfill these dreams, finally, when they came to live within the lands of the Exilic Kingdom of Númendil. She had become the Lady of Caladras, and he the Lord. They had watched as their many sons and daughters set upon the world with full bellies, tailored clothes, and lofty dreams. It was a far difference from the pauper’s lifestyle that their parents had been accustomed to.

 

Though she passed, he continued to speak to her in the mornings and nights, telling her of his plights and pursuits, of the follies he had encountered. He hoped beyond hope that she was proud of their family as she looked down upon them, observing as they realized their potential. To Baldric, there was no collection of souls he could be prouder of.

 

In the namesake of the House that he founded, he would not simply rest. As war dawned, he worked with his family to amass a great breadth of material for the campaign. He funded the purchase of territory in the Ashlands and, with the Crown Prince, raised a new tower for the Númenedain. He raided barns and cities, amassed great armaments for his kin, and sought to leave them in a stronger position than he had been in himself.

 

He had never been destined for a life so adventurous. And despite the lack of noble or ancestral lineage, he had found a path. It was not he who songs would be sung for — he had no interest in being remembered by strangers after all. But it would be his family, his closest of friends, that carried on his memory. It was them that he strived to embolden and sustain. As he knew well, any weakness within him would be wilted through his efforts, and thus would grant his family that which they desired.

 

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Though, with each effort taken, time began to sink its fangs deeper. That venom invaded his very breath and drew it heavier. It slowed his muscles and limbs, and they stiffened with each rattle of volatile steel that he lambasted upon the faithful’s anathema. And so, his life would come to an end upon an ordinary, if dangerous, expedition.

 

He fell away in battle against a beast that towered at a height of three men, a monstrosity that wielded the elements violently. An arm sliced, air choked, bones jolted, and a body carried unto stalagmites below. His cyclopean sight looked to Viago in the final moments of his consciousness, fondly reminiscing upon a mote of memory from the very saint’s day — his wedding. There, in the deepest of chasms, he may have imagined his own wife awaiting him with their son in the Seven Skies. He thought of hearing her voice once more, and the stories he was excited to impart to her. He thought of his family.

 

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House Vourkehardt Family Portrait
Hardt Vourker, Wernher, Valejandres, Vanya, Lucia, Vandrake, Emmeline, Viago, Baldric, Viktoriya, Auris, Ceru’wyn, Anneliese, Safiyaa, and Amon.

 

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F I N A L   L E T T E R S

These letters are sent directly to their recipients!

 

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Lord Viago Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Viago,

It is difficult, truly, to communicate everything within my heart when it is in regards to you, Viago. You have grown into someone with a confidence and faith unshakeable by the cruelty of this world. Even when you have earned something, as you had your Knighthood, you sought out further challenges to solidify this claim to your name. It has only been a pleasure to see you branch your connections and foster relationships with so many varied lives, to see you reinforce the legacy of this House. You build your family now, perhaps a tad too early, but I hold no personal judgement of the matter. I will be happy to see it grow and strengthen, that this will be a House reinforced as I pass along from this realm.

I charged you with succeeding me because I knew that you could do far more than I could. Where I had built the foundations, you will raise this family further. Do not take this to mean that you must find eternal glory or find yourself under the pressure of limitless expectations, but rather that you have now a freedom to do as you please. You have the resources left to you by your mother and I, you have the responsibilities of our House to respect. You are not lowered by the spats and rivalries, the petty disputes of your father’s leadership. Take this as a new beginning, to mark this chapter as yours and not mine. I am doubtless that you will achieve what you wish, and that you will not unmake this creation left to you.

When you had been younger, I had remembered fondly watching as you donned your personal armor and looked around. Even beneath your visor I could see a great curiosity for this world, and I desired only to cultivate it. If your mother were around as well, I am sure she would say many similar things to you. I am sure she is more than pleased to see you taking up our mantle, becoming the Lord of this House. You lead in uncertain, yet exciting times, as the war comes to an end you have with you the opportunity to shape the future of this family well. I hope that I have taught you as well as I could have before I had passed. There was perhaps much left for me to say, but in some cases it is better for you to learn through experience rather than speech. As you well know, one cannot learn to use a blade simply through the perusal of a tome. It is that clash of steel against steel that is your greatest teacher, it is in that song of clanging metal wherein your lecture lies. I only insist that you trust yourself, your instincts, your judgement. You wield a fair hand and must remember that there is a great strength in mercy and forgiveness.

My son, I would only wish that I could continue to write to you as I depart. That as I sit upon the Skies I could continue to hear your stories and tell you tales you have likely heard countless times already, but I know that such is a fruitless wish. I hope that you will remember me for the good that I had done, though I would not be so selfish as to ask you to neglect where I had made mistakes. There are many regrets, as you have been told of, and I wish that they would serve as lessons rather than barbs upon my memory. Thank you, once more, for taking me fishing with the rest of our family. I had found myself lacking in invitations and to share in their presence was one I cherished. I will miss you, so very much. I will hope that — in a very long time — I will hear from you in the Skies, that you will tell me of your family and your adventures. I cannot imagine never being able to hear your words again. Be strong for your family, do not let grief consume you entirely, but do take your time to let sadness pass through you. I love you, and always will. You are my greatest achievement, and I will miss you and long to see you again.

Ser Vandrake Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Vandrake,

You have a valiant soul about you, son. When you were younger, there was a sort of whimsy which seems to have been quelled. A multitude of reasons for this, I am sure, one of which might as well be the simple answer of maturity. Still, if I might make a request within my final passing, endeavor to bring that amusement to this world. It is something we are scarce of, at times, and one which might be necessitated in my passing. I do not demand it, of course, you may grieve as you desire — but you are a shoulder that many will need. I also do not necessitate that you seek to bring your bardic talents to light again, but it would surely be a sight to see for your children, perhaps an inspiration for their pursuits. They seem a tad free-spirited, and it may be good for them to have a fashion of which to divert their excitement.

There is a rare strength to you, one that is uninhibited by pride or ego. You seem to move freely about the world, acting in the paths that you deem best fitting for your ambitions. It is why I was glad to see you find a partner that paired you well, one which you have raised a family with. I hope that your pursuit of a cadet branch will be fruitful, that you will succeed and build something for yourself to pass unto them. You are, of course, as capable as Viago is to lead. I can only hope that you had not felt scorned when you were not chosen as the heir to this House. You had the capacity to do as much as he, and yet when you had told me of your wishes for a branch of your own, I understood that this was a challenge you desired. You have now the opportunity to do something that I had done, alongside Valeska and Wernher before. You will, I am sure, only raise the station of your family and insofar as that, make your mother and I proud. I have not and will never doubt your ability to succeed.

I would also wish to take this opportunity, since I am unsure if I have ever stated it, but you have settled firmly within the rank of our family in regards to facial hair. Your mustache is a revelation, a striking exclamation of your forward thinking. I implore you never to shave it, to keep it trimmed, and to ensure that it is kept at its best quality at all times. You wear it well, my son.

I will miss you very much. You had always been the sort to never slow your steps, to keep moving, and to always work hard. You carried the tenets of this House well, and I am displeased that I will not get to see you do more with your own family. I am sure in any case that I will be proud as I watch from the Skies, my son. Take care of yourself and your kin and be kind to them, I love you.

Auris Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Auris,

My wayfarer, how much love I have held for you in my life. I know that you have forgiven me, and yet I still desire to apologize for the trouble of your upbringing. You were dealt difficulty from the moment you were born, having to raise your own brother and do so without a true father to watch over you. When we had found ourselves once more in Balian, I was overjoyed to come into your life. You had grown into such a complete person with such splendor in your heart, and so much to give this world. You made me proud, and with each passing day I found myself more and more honored to be your father. I should never seek to take credit for your accomplishments, your tenacity is one which you have the entirety of claim for. It is something which inspirited my own efforts.

Our paths were similar, in some respects. You had found yourself pursuing law, just as I had early on. And yet now, you exceed me — you have become the Royal Speaker for the Arthalionath. It cannot be said that you have a limit to your heights, I await to see just how far you will go as I watch from the Skies. I will hope to see you and Ceru’wyn’s love continue to blossom, to see you become all that you ever wish for. You deserve as much, and deserve the life that you desire.

Though I had never wished to impose it upon you, when you had come to live nearer to home within Caladras I was ecstatic. Your mother had always told me never to smother you, for fear that you would grow to resent it. But indeed you had given me a great gift, to see you walk the halls of our kin and share your smile to us. I hope you did not feel guilted into living within the keep, and I hope that you will still find those moments of peace and respite despite the many who clamber around the castle.

Your life will be a long one still, and I hope that you will continue to take care for yourself, and for those that you are closest to. Please, watch over Viago and Vandrake, ensure that your two brothers do not get into spats as they might be prone to do. And, for myself, I would request you to ensure the memorial to Valeska is kept properly once it has been constructed. Surrender yourself to nothing except love, and to a life worthy of your presence. I will watch and await from above, I love you with all of my heart.

Anneliese Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Anneliese,

I remember fondly, and often recite the story, of the first day that we met. When you had been racing upon the roofs of Kretzen, before finding me. One of my earliest inclinations was to ask if you had needed support, but not yet weighed the notion of adoption. It seemed strange to me to offer it, when you were still understanding the limits of your own independence. But as you grew, and as our connection strengthened, it became an inevitability. I am glad of it, that I was granted the opportunity to call you my daughter.

With the passage of every year, I am prouder to have raised you. You have become masterful in the practice of medicine, even imparting those lessons upon your son as well.

You have been here since the founding of this House, and have been an inseparable part of it since its inception. I thank you, as this House would not have reached its heights without you. I implore you to not take these words as mere excess, or exaggeration. You ensured that this House still held a beating heart whilst Wernher, Valeska, and I had focused our attention towards the art of commerce.

And despite all of the turmoil that you have had to endure, you have remained steadfast. Despite the perplexing state of your mind, despite the betrayals you have felt, you remain strong. I know now that there still lurks doubt and uncertainty within your mind, that you are unsure of the state of you and your children — but know that their love is not to be lost so easily. You are in their hearts, as they are in yours. Seek them, do not fear from those you have raised. You have been a good mother to them, even if you have made mistakes. I have, of course, not been infallible and yet we find ourselves in the same capacity of love.

I ask you, in my absence, to believe in that love that you hold. It is that same compassion that drew us together. It is that very same love that I held onto when I found myself unsteady at the perils of life. Be well, Ani. Thank you for being a part of my life. I hope we found time to sit upon a rooftop together, and if we didn’t, feel free to take one of your children up so that I might watch the both of you enjoy the sights from above. I love you, always.

Vanya Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Vanya,

Vanya, I can still remember when you held such ire for the then-King of Balian that you were prepared to write against his proposed law regarding Knighthood. Although such did not come to pass, I was happy to know that you had a preparedness to work against those who were foolish.

I would have hoped your path of squireship would have gone better, though it is not your fault that your would-be mentor ended up being debauched. Your new pursuits, as an author, will hopefully be fruitful to you. I will hope that they have brought you much joy.

Hopefully you enjoy the time you have amongst your family. I love you very much, Flame Guide.

Wernher Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Wernher,

My brother, you have grown as cold as the steel with which you tinker with. I would grant you many recommendations for fanning that hearth of your heart, but I can only assume that you have long decided against such. I will leave you, at least, with a few notes to carry for a time in my memory.

Have patience with the children. They can be a rambunctious sort, but they mean well. They are interested in your talents, and I’d implore you to allow them a lesson or two if you find the time. You know that Valeska would desire it so, and I know that you still hold love for your dear sister.

Moreover, find time to settle amongst the family once more. You spend far too much time in isolation, surrounded only by automata and metalwork. Break this ritual, if my death can be so striking as to demand one final act, and sit amongst this family we have built.

You must, of course, remember that it was not built solely by me. I have never claimed it so, and hope you know it just as well. This House is just as much mine as it is yours, and it is one that I am proud to say we have led to success. You are a determined man, and I can only hope that my death will not mean your own nearing finality, but hope that you have many years still ahead to garner success in.

Thank you for building this legacy with me, be kind to yourself. With much love, Flame Guide.

Viktoriya Leiselotte Weiss

Spoiler

Viktoriya Leiselotte Weiss,

My dear Viktoriya, with the chaos upon the world and war being waged, I am unsure if I will be granted the opportunity to wed you before I pass. I want you to know that my love for you was a true one, and one that I had wished to celebrate with you for eternity. If you desire the ring I would have proposed to you with, it shall be stored within my vault for you to take.

If ever you desire comfort, I am sure that my family would impart it to you. I can only hope that, in time, your family within Reinmar would be able to do the same. Perhaps now that they have vassalized to nearer lands it might be a simpler prospect.

I appreciate that you were a part of my life. I bid you great fortune in the rest of your years to come. I love you, and be well.

Ceru'wyn

Spoiler

Ceru’wyn,

It seems difficult for me to imagine that, at one point in time, I held quite a distrust of all Elves. Of course, there are many who eased this burden of my mind, but you were definitely one of the foremost candidates for it. You brought forth an abundance of energy and spectacle, truly encompassing the elements of being a bard. I hope you still find time to perform, and that the schematics for the theatre eventually gets built. I would have wished to see you and Auris upon a stage together, but alas.

Thank you, as well, for making my daughter happy. I can still remember those days in Portoregne, calling over the streets towards the estate that you both lived in. Those are pleasant times, and I remember Auris being talkative but only of the subject of you. I’m glad things worked out well between you both. I will also say, of course, that you did bring happiness upon all others too. Valeska and I were always fond of you, and glad that you came to call our family a part of yours.

I’m not entirely sure when I will die, but I can only assume given your more safe pursuits in life that you will surely outlive me. To this, I will say drats! I’m sure I would’ve caught up, eventually.

I hope you continue to bring joy to your friends, and to strangers. Be well, and Flame Guide.

Safiyaa Vourkehardt Glennmaer

Spoiler

Safiyaa,

Little Safi, for many years it seemed you looked just like your mother. In recent years, of course, things have changed. However, I have always been happy to see that same outgoing, inspired nature of hers in yourself. You are bright, with a smile capable of easing the tension and worries of those around. You have many great things ahead of you, it’s difficult at times to try to predict where you will go or how high it will lead you. Still, I would never wager against your success, and hope you attain all that you desire —  including a Princely Crown, in Garenbrig.

Your father’s sins clouded you for a time and, though I am not one to claim knowledge of your mind, I hope that you have felt that torrent lighten. His mistakes, his stupidity, it is something that should not hold in your mind any longer. You have prospects far greater, and brighter, that needn’t be plagued with the utterances of his name. I would wish I was able to see all of your aspirations come to fruition, though I am sure I shall watch from the Skies with admiration.

I’ll miss your stickers and grant my permission if you would like to stick one on the urn of my ashes. Pick a good one, though! Be kind to yourself, I love you very much. Flame Guide.

Amon Vourkehardt

Spoiler

Amon,

Young Amon, it was strange to me, given how outgoing your mother and your sisters are, that you had always seemed a rather reserved type. There is nothing wrong with this, of course, but I had always been curious about the matter. I would only say in this regard that I hope it has never been an aspect of yourself you wore because you felt your words held a lack of significance. I have appreciated the moments that we have been able to conversate, and hope you did as well. You seem an insightful person, one who knows more thanks to their keen observance. I hope this trait will serve you well, in your years.

I now make a request, though now it is one that might be difficult. Still, I make it knowing it is something you’d desire as well. Please, take care of your mother and sisters. Anneliese is a sensitive sort, her emotions are as unpredictable as a storm. I hope you might help her navigate them. And, in regards to Safiyaa, I hope that you can assist her as she continues to place upon her the many duties of her positions as Consort and Master of Revelries. She would appreciate having one to grant her rest, I am sure.

And in your cause, I would hope you find time to seek things you enjoy. You are a masterful sort in alchemicals and medicine, but your value is in more than these assets. The family, I am sure, will always enjoy your presence and I have always placed you in high favor. Be well, and take very good care of yourself. You are a good person, with a mind open to accepting the flaws of others, you will make many better in your years. With much love, Flame Guide.

Matthew Galken Smythe

Spoiler

Matthew Galken Smythe,

We had both left Reinmar at the same time, for separate reasons, and with different destinations. I must say, though, I had always found myself just a tad jealous of you. You were quicker to be wed, quicker to have children, and quicker to reach a significant position within your nation. Whilst you were becoming the Lord Marshal of Petra and fighting off those of Aaun, I was in Balian restarting my entire military career.

Still, it was never a jealousy that led to a darker envy, rather I felt impressed by your efforts. When you had named me Arthur’s godfather, I was never more pleased. Though still, I was thankful that you did never pass away before he was grown — it would’ve been exactly one too many children.

To see you retire was surprising, though I suppose it was expected after the many years of service you granted unto the Petran peoples. I only wish that Alteon could have been there to see us through these last few years. Hopefully you’ll enjoy the next years of your life. Thank you for always being a good friend, and one I could count on. With much love, Flame Guide, friend!

Ivona von Ostturm

Spoiler

Ivona von Ostturm,

I am off to join Valeska now, and will tell her of the champion you have become. I have nothing but respect for you, and your efforts. I’m glad, after so long, that your tribe has finally granted you respect and seen your work for what it is worth. Your strength was always an inspiration to me, and one I hope your children will embody. Your tribe is fortunate to have you in their ranks, leading their soldiers.

When I had first met you, I remember you being rather afraid of blood and battle. How strange it is to recall, given how much more accustomed to it you are now. You seem an entirely different person, but one I still admire and would battle for. In that regard, though, it was strange to be at the other end of your blade in the battle of Kretzen. Know that I held sadness when I saw the moot hall burnt, the very same that had granted me the Blooded name I still use. It was where my tribe began. You told me once that you would have left had we asked you to, but I had never wanted to take you away from a place that seemed better to foster you. You would’ve hated the beaches of Balian, anyway.

I hope that your next years are ones you enjoy well, it seems age does not take you very easily. You seem as mighty as you were a decade or so ago, and I shall hope that it remains so. I love you very much. Flame Guide.

Llewyn Glennmaer

Spoiler

Llewyn Glennmaer,

I write to commend you of your vigor and spirit, that you are steadfast. You are perhaps one of the most skilled warriors I have seen, and I should only hope that you are able to impart those talents to some of the younger folk in my family should you ever have the opportunity. You will lead Garenbrig well, as your father did, and raise his sword where he had sheathed it, to continue to lead the vassal to a great status.

Your plans for a Princely Crown are lofty, but I am sure you will reach this ambition in time. It is difficult to navigate the politics of the capital and vassal lands, but I hope it has always been clear to you that my House has supported these lands since our arrival. I shall hope it continues as such.

I will also note, and I will be bluntly honest because this is a letter of which you cannot respond to, you are a strange lad! Why did you ask me for my son’s skull when he dies? I’m not sure what I said in response though I can only imagine it was meant in good spirits. Still, I should state here in finality that it is not up to me whether you take Viago’s skull but I will only communicate that I don’t think you should!

In any case, I wished at least to thank you for bringing happiness to my granddaughter. Safiyaa seems quite happy with you, and she has risen to the task as your Consort well. You two make a formidable pairing, and I will hope that you continue to make each other happy with every year that continues. Flame Guide.

Jay Amaranth

Spoiler

Jay Amaranth,

I write with a certainty that you will surely outlive me. You have far too many friends in far too many places for me to believe you have an enemy capable of destroying you. You are, of course, also The Last Reinmaren. Now, of course, I have often called you my best friend though I must now admit that I have never been so certain you believed the same! Regardless, I am glad that we met and I wanted to express that I truly did appreciate those letters you sent anonymously when we first left Kretzen. I believe I still have them tucked away in my vault.

But moreover, I wanted to assert that, despite how strange you are, I hope that my family will consider you a friend forevermore. Despite your complex web of allegiances and relationships, I think it a lot easier to trust you than one might think. Perhaps it is a foolhardy thing, but I have not yet found doing so to sting me. That is to say, unless the cause of my death is related to you in which I must now tell you to ignore this letter entirely!

In any case, I hope you lead a happy life. I know that there was difficulty in the pursuit of love for you, I hope you find the opportunity for your heart amongst your children now. Perhaps, one day, they might hold onto your surname as well! Zinger! I jest, of course! I can commiserate, in any case! One of my bastard sons still uses his surname of Kolbeck. Ack, how difficult life can be, no?

Thank you for always bringing to me an insight and perspective I had not yet considered. Even if I disagreed, you have a candor to you that is admirable. Though I am gone, I should hope at least that one day I might find you in the Skies so we might converse once more.

Anyhow, here’s one for the Reinmaren in you — WES THU HAL!

Ser Alteon Gwynadar

Spoiler

Alteon Gwynadar,

If you’re still out there, one of your kids is quite rude. We had to build a prison in our castle to hold him. Can you believe that? Anyway, the rest of them are fine. If you’re dead, I’m not really sure who will get this letter. Anyhow, come back home and take care of your children you dead-beat (with love).

Josefina Barclay

Spoiler

Josefina Barclay,

I know not where we stand, whether friends or otherwise. I can only apologize if I had scorned you in that prior engagement regarding your family. All that there is to say is that you are a good person, and that I hope your life is one filled with more joy than sorrow as the years set in. Thank you for bringing to me some respite, and light, when I could only see darkness. GOD Bless.

Ser Hadrian the Hero

Spoiler

Hadrian the Hero,

I understand, of course, why you had chosen to do away with the name granted to you by the conspirators of your former home, but I will always hold you within my memory as Hadrian the Hero. In the aftermath of you uncovering your father’s plot to depose the Pontiff, you had inspired our House to try to better Balian, before they had been angered at our concerns and we sought to seek a new home instead.

And in this escape to the lands of Númendil, we had found our true home. I will always be indebted in this regard, that your bravery even when your own family had sought darkness led to my family finally finding safety. It is a courage that I would wish for all to wield.

As we continue to prove ourselves to the lands of these Adunians, seeking to become accepted, I can only hope that you have found yourself comfortable in your new home and station as well. You are one of the only men pious and righteous enough to reject the notion of a Crown, and for this I revere you.

My family shall, for generations beyond the both of us, remember your virtue and honor it. You are a hero of our realm, and one that I consider a close friend. Flame Guide.

Ser Arthur Marsyr

Spoiler

Arthur Marsyr,

You, who had squired alongside my son, had always been somewhat of a mystery to me. I must admit I know not the entire history of your life, only the remnants of which I had gleaned from conversation and at times had asked about directly. And still, I can only say that you are a remarkable and steadfast Knight. I am glad that you battle alongside us, you do so with grace both in battle and outside of it. Your fair judgment, your openness — it is something I had lost somewhere in my many years.

I know that there will be a tale yet spun of you, that there is much left for you to accomplish. I would only impart to you that my family will always be open to you, in support of your labors and perils. You are a paragon of our realm, and one that will surely make a mark on our histories.

I would also like to apologize at the end of this letter for not being around to assist you in the purchase of exotic materials! However, in the case that this letter is outdated and I did assist, then you’re very welcome! Hah, preparedness. Anyhow, Flame Guide!

Ser Runagleth

Spoiler

Runagleth,

Your father, Ser Raug, was an inspiration to many peoples, and was a man who had a sort of aloof joy about him that drew in many. He was revered, and I know not what it must have been like to have to live up to a name prior to you, but I can only imagine that it has come with its own difficulties. These difficulties, I can assure you, are ones that you have not only met but exceeded.

You are more than his daughter, though it is obviously a facet of yourself one would never wish to ignore. There is that same joyful spirit, yet moreover there is something newer, and more refined. You work hard. I had believed that, and perhaps this is simply ignorance inherited through my humanity, diligence was a trait only my family had in abundance. And yet? You have a willpower that cannot be understated, a firmness in your ability to take upon insurmountable tasks and surmount them. It is a trait of yours I admire, and one I must admit has astonished me at times.

I hope that you continue to work hard, and yet find moments of respite in your life. You are a great friend, and one who I met when they were quite young when I felt despaired. I wish you well on your journey forth, and bid you the best of luck in building your House. Flame Guide.

Sylvia

Spoiler

Sylvia,

The time we spoke about so often has come! As unfortunate as it is, I’m glad I was able to see you happier. The darkness that had plagued you was one that you had to endeavor to cure yourself, and I am proud that you had done so. I wish to thank you earnestly for all of the memories and comfort. I wish you, and your family, the best of luck in your life. With Love, Flame Guide.

Baralin

Spoiler

Baralin,

I know not whether this letter will be received by you or if you will heed its words, but I must endeavor the attempt irregardless. I beseech you to come to the light, to step away from this darkness that you have allowed to ensnare you and understand that there are brighter days left to be had, that your greatest of days can be ahead of you.

I regret that I had never had that opportunity to raise you, it is something I wish I had been able to do. Even still, I feel I have failed you in a more significant way that you felt this plague was the only path to salvation. You were a beacon, a Knight of the Númenedain, and this pyre can still be lit once more.

Please, return home. Be with your family, let them support you and care for you. Let them find some forgiveness in you, and bring you purpose. You are my daughter, and always will be, but I cannot accept that this will be your end. Wherever you are cloistered, know that you can have a home.

I love you, Baralin. Please, come home. Write to them, let your family know that you hold remorse and determination. Let your name be spoken in our halls again. I would rest easier knowing that you would one day find me in the Skies when you are ready for rest.

Pierce Bishop

Spoiler

Pierce Bishop,

In the case that this letter is intercepted, I can say very little. However, I thank you for your friendship and assistance. I would hope that you find yourself still comfortable in the company of my family, that you would assist them if it is not inconvenient to you. You were a strange oddity to have found in this world, and yet one that enraptured me. You are kind and sharp-witted, I almost wish I had met you when I was younger so I would have gotten to learn more of your life.

I also would like to apologize once more for throwing coins at your wife that one time. I swear, I thought she was homeless. She was quite literally just sitting on the street next to a tavern. My apologies, though. Hopefully she treats you well.

Be well, Pierce! Hopefully you’ll still remember me by the time you’re a hundred years older. After that, feel free to forget me.

 

─◇─◇─◇── ✦ ──◇─◇─◇─

 

Spoiler

 

Thank you to everyone who I encountered while playing Baldric. I didn’t expect to be playing LOTC as long as I ended up playing but it was a lot of fun. When Irishmanmichael brought me over to Reinmar when the realm was getting pasted in I was very surprised to see how much fun it was. Every community I’ve been a part of has been really fun to participate in.

More than anything, I wanted to thank everyone who joined me on the project of creating the Vourkehardts. In specific, I did want to mention Melonth, ickyNuN, and confusedjester for helping create this family which has grown far larger than I had imagined. It’s a group I hold very close to my heart and hopefully it’s been fun to build for those involved.

I have been on a PK clause on Baldric since I started playing him and found myself pretty surprised to see he didn’t actually die until 84. At some point I had almost decided that I wanted to just have him die of a sickness but decided against it to try to keep playing.

If I forgot to mention anyone or write a letter, I apologize! I ended up making a list of way too many people and then had to cut a few by the end because I was not sure if I had the energy to write more.

To all of the people playing Vourkehardts or who have played them before, including the automaton, I appreciate you. I didn’t want this to remain something that only “belonged” to me and so I’m glad to pass over the reins (hah) to Suji who will do a great job, I’m sure.

 

 

[sujilicious 173]

It occurred mere hours after Viago's own wedding. The happiest day of his life, poisoned by the death of his father.

 

Whether blessing or curse, Viago had been there. His eyes had met his father's in the final breath between thunder and silence—the very instant life unraveled and slipped away. They had fought through countless storms together, shoulder to shoulder, his faith in Baldric’s indomitable spirit unshaken through each clash of steel. And yet, something in that last, violent foray had shifted—a subtle fracture in the weave of fate.

 

He had seen it all: the storm-split sky above, the moment the Storm-Caller’s axe sang through the air and parted Baldric’s arm from his body. Then the titan’s hand, closing around his father’s throat like a god plucking a mortal from the earth, lifting him aloft in cruel triumph. Viago could only watch—his heart pounding like war drums—as Baldric’s hands clawed in vain, the will to live etched in every trembling finger.

Lightning danced along the great waraxe in a flash, but to Viago it moved like winter through bones—slow, cold, inevitable. Each second unfurled like a lifetime, and still, it was not enough.

 

He would have given eternity for just one more.

 

---

 

It had all occurred under his command, after all; one of his few charges as the commanding officer. Was there perhaps an alternate path, one that would have resulted in a more palatable ending? Some subtle shift of footing, one last desperate attempt to wrench Baldric free of the vile grip of the towering minotaur? The questions circled endlessly, whispering what-ifs in the quiet corners of his mind. But no answer would ever come. Only the silence remained—haunted, gnawing—a guilt that fed endlessly upon itself, never full.

 

It was not for lack of trying, at the very least. Viago had saved his father from the clutches of death a number of times, and had fate allowed it, he would have done so a thousand times more. He had pried off the smoldering remains of a colossal Treeman that pinned his father down, had taken the then-patriarch's place as the target of a stone-forged golem's crushing blow—bearing the pain in his place without a second thought. The cost never mattered, nor did the danger; he would have given all he had. If only he was given the chance.

 

---

 

This sort of thing would always leave behind a trail of endless regrets for those left living. Perhaps one of Viago's greatest was the last sincere conversations he'd had with Baldric, in which his predecessor confessed the last of his sins unto him; and was met with scorn. The son thought he would have more time to reconcile with the father but death came swiftly, and with it, the bitter truth: time does not wait for the reckoning of hearts.

 

In answer to this cruel truth, Viago turned to the only salve he knew—duty. He buried himself in the remnants of his father’s unfinished work, throwing himself headlong into every obligation he could grasp. He was never accustomed to the more sentimental affairs, and though grief was no stranger to him, never before had it carved so deeply. So the stoic knight, ever composed, found solace in humble distractions—quiet labors he hoped his father might have approved of over grieving (Unlikely).

 

But the weight wore on him. His weariness grew with each passing day, a thousandfold, until at last—alone in the quiet sanctuary of what had once been Baldric’s chambers, now his own—Viago faced the one thing he had avoided: the letter. It had been waiting for him, sealed with care and addressed in his father’s familiar hand. He had set aside an entire day to read it, yet every time his tired, verdant eyes traced that handwriting, tears welled and blurred the page. He wiped them away—again and again—until finally, with breath held and heart clenched, he opened the letter and read his father’s final words.

 

---

 

Within the hallowed walls of the Bastion Temple of Saint King Caius, Viago eventually found himself cast before his father's casket. His gaze lingered distantly upon it, haunted by the absurd hope that Baldric might suddenly kick it open with a hearty laugh and a dismissive wave—as though it were all some cruel, elaborate jest.

 

But the silence that met him was merciless and complete.

 

Listless, Viago stood beside the coffin, the weight of grief pulling his shoulders low. At last, he spoke aloud:

 

"Your presence always held a warmth that was larger than life, brighter than flame. Now you lie still, and I'm nicht sure how to carry on without you."

 

A callused hand set itself upon the rim of the casket, but Viago could not bring himself to open it. He couldn't eye his father in this state.

 

"It went mostly unspoken, though I'm sure you know of how much I admired you. - Knew, I should say..." - "You were... the best possible father one could have ever asked for. You erred as men do, and only rose ever higher from it. From ashes, you built our house, and raised it into a stronghold. You gave us room to grow, to live, to become, and I'm never going to be able to thank you enough for all that you've given me, Vater..." 

 

For a time, there was a silence that hung in the air as Viago watched the casket, lost in his mourning. 

 

"... You held within you a greatness that always seemed impossible for me to reach. There were... so many things I still longed to learn from you. Things I wished to show you. Things I wish we could have done together."

 

His mind wandered to the Zähmung, of Baldric's request to finally participate rather than to lead. That failure weighed heavily upon him now, a guilt etched deep within his bones. He knew it would never leave him.

 

With one last anguished sigh, Viago withdrew his hand from the coffin, and took a step back. The Lorraine was signed, that veil of duty settling once more upon his brow like a helm.

 

"Let your sins turn to ash in the presence of GOTT's Light. If there ist mercy beyond this veil, may you find it waiting with open arms."

 

 

 

He felt lost now. But he would make do, and he would work.

 

 

 

A portrait of the late Baldric, painted by his successor Viago Vourkehardt

 

Spoiler

i miss my dad

 

[ickyNuN 53]

 

Wernher would grasp the letter, waving off the automaton who had delivered it. His eyes would scan the letter as he stowed it away in his jacket. "Ein gutte thing ve have built, brother" The alchemist would stride across the room, now before him a well maintained husk being waxed by a group of clockwork servants. His animatii prosthetic would move to meet the construct, the precision he once had now fading as his hand would tremble against the cold steel. "Let us hope they do nicht lay ruin to it." The aging Vourke would step away, disappearing into the depths of Caladras. 

 

---

 

 

Vandrake would set the letter down upon his desk as he slumped down into his chair. His eyes would stare forth as his sight rested upon the massive horn that sat upon a small stack of books. The Knight’s breath would tremble as thoughts ran through his mind, one repeating itself over and over again.

“Ich should have been there”

 

 The chair would screech against the wooden floor below as Vandrake pushed it backwards, the boards showing the wear and tear of the motion that had been repeated so many times. He would wander his room mindlessly, looking for any distraction as he approached his shelf. Two gauntleted hands would reach out, grasping a handheld drum. Dust had made itself comfortable upon the instrument, time fading its features as it had gone untouched for years. A smile would grow on Vandrake's visage as a tear fell from his eye, leaving its mark upon the center of the drum where three black stallions reared in the snowy terrain of Ravenswood.  

 

The drum would be placed back onto the shelf, the dust still undisturbed on the instrument. Vandrake would grasp Kältestille, the Thanhium axe that his father had entrusted him with many years ago. He placed it firmly onto his back as he exited the halls of Caladras, whistling for his horse as he rode through the woods that neighbored the white bastion, hoping to find a certain trickster to take out his anger on. 

 

 

[confusedjester 815]

 

Anneliese was meant to die that very night.

She had signed her journals… prepared farewell letters.

At last, there would be silence.

Her letters carried apologies, extended gratitude, and expressed deep sympathy.

A terrible sob escaped her as she wrote.

'Dear Father...'

Her quill traced trembling lines across the parchment—apologies for her inability to endure, for not saying thank you more often, for the burden she believed herself to be.

Once sealed, the letters were gently placed atop her desk.

 

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

 

That evening, Anneliese made her way to the clinic, intending to craft salves and tinctures—a soothing ritual, a final act that brought her troubled mind a fleeting sense of calm.

But the peace shattered.

The sharp echoes of hurried footsteps, choked sobs, desperate cries for help—pierced the quiet.

Her distant gaze turned toward the stairwell as her brother, Viago, descended with the limp form of a Vourke in his arms—still helmed.

She rushed, breath catching, toward the surgical room.

Her father lay upon the table.

His skin sallow, his face rested, a gaping wound piercing into his abdomen.

Lifeless.

Anneliese stared, frozen.

 

She had lost her father once before. It couldnt- be..- happening- again.

 

It couldnt. It wouldnt- no. It couldnt be. 

 

Her lower lip trembled, her breathing frayed into shallow gasps. Her hands hovered above his body as though she might will the life back into him by sheer will. But he remained still.

 

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

 

The sobs of her brother—of her son—filled the room, each one a shard driven deeper into her breaking heart. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as she gently pressed her palm to his stubbled chin.

"Oh… Father," she whispered, before reciting a prayer in an ancient tongue—soft, sacred.

There was no time to grieve.

Voices still cried out from beyond the clinic’s doors. The world demanded her, and so she returned to her duty.

 

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

 

Later, she collapsed.

Truths she had buried fell from her lips—raw and unrelenting. That she was going to die that night- that it had been planned, before the chaos.

But it was the chaos that saved her.

She came to the hard realization- that her death, her self-inflicted demise,-—had it been her body on that table, her son’s wails would’ve been tenfold in anguish, saturated in sorrow.

It was her father’s death that tethered Anneliese to life.

She would not surrender.

She would not abandon those who still needed her.

She would endure—because that was her father’s final wish. And she would not follow him to the Skies.

Never.

With that, she made her vow.

Baldric— and her son—became the wellspring of strength she so desperately needed.

Yet another gift from her father… one she’d never have the chance to thank him for.

 

 

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

 

 

Valarie stared at the box in the cathedral. "..Vhat is zhat.."

 

She lacked any understanding as to why her aunts were crying over a BOX, of all things.

 

...Of course, the box she later found out- was a casket. A casket, containing her.. grandfather.

 

Valarie continued the day after finding out of her grandfathers passing in a daze.

 

Everyone was sad.. and she felt utterly confused. Death was foreign concept to her.- but he died fighting.

 

And that scared her. Her father was a warrior! What if the next time he left to fight, he never returned home? What would she do?! A panic arose- as she practically BEGGED her father to RETIRE, NEVER TO TOUCH A SWORD AGAIN!

 

Upon his refusal, Valarie went to cry alone in her bed- anxiety risen, as she worried for her fathers untimely death on the battlefield.

[MercyAzalea 405]

 

 

---

 

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

“He never asked us to follow blindly, only to ride with purpose, to endure with pride. The stable feels hollow without him.”

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

[!] Aside notice of the passing of Baldric, shortly thereafter would a poem be issued. [!]


In the stillness of these walls, where silence hangs heavy,
I recall the scent of leather and sands,
The sound of hooves breaking the quiet dawn,
Your hand steady on the reins, teaching me to trust the storm.

You placed me upon the saddle, small and fearless,
The mare beneath me restless, her breath an unsteady gale,
And with a voice like the thunder’s command,
“Grip firm,” you said,
“But never with force; let the horse feel the weight of your trust.”

Your grip on the reins was an iron bond,
But you let me find my own rhythm,
Taught me not to fear the buck of the beast,
Nor the wild gallop that followed in the wake of courage.

With each ride, I learned not just balance,
But to listen to the whispers of the lands,
My grasp upon the lance,
To understand the pulse of the creature beneath me,
And to never relent in the face of uncertainty.

You taught me that a rider is not just a master of the horse,
Nor master of the lance,
But a master of self,
To hold the reins not in dominance,
But in harmony with the very wind and soil beneath us.

Now, the mare is gone, and your hand is but a memory,
Yet the rhythm of hooves still beats in my chest,
Splinters where that handle was once grasped,
I carry the lessons of your saddle with me,
The steady echo of your voice;

“Fear not the reins, Vanya. You must command what is born of the earth.”

 

 

---

⋙✦⋘
 

---

 

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

 

Xenathra Netherwind was never very good at reading. It was probably for the best that Baldric Vourkehardt had not written to her, as she would have likely requested that some poor soul read it out to her.

And so she continued to live out her life blissfully unaware. She wore the colours Vourkehardt, not in dedication to their family but simply because he had gifted her the garb she sported most, which bore their family colours.

Had she any means of finding out of his passing, she would have cried.

Long Live the Horsefather.

---

⋙✦⋘
 

---

 

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷



"There were moments when we stood in the quiet, when the world felt too heavy for words. His presence was a comfort, as constant as the weight of my own duty. And I wondered, in those fleeting silences, if things might have been different, had life not demanded so much of us.."

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

Ivona von Ostturm stared down upon the concealed envelope, a certain measure of dread set within her heart. She did not quite know why this particular letter from Baldric had wrought such distress upon receiving it, but a part of her knew the moment her eyes laid upon the ink. It did not seem freshly written, based upon the ink. This letter seemed to carry an undesireable weight to it, one of which she did not seek to hold. Yet she held it regardless. The crackling flame beside her broke the otherwise still silence of that eve in Reinmar, a gentle tremor bore in her grasp. It always seemed to rear its’ head in the cover of darkness, in the comfort of the cold walls of the Ritter tower. Baldric had never seen it. She could never quite bring herself to encourage him to visit Reinmar, knowing her husband’s distaste for his blood. And thus she kept her dearest friend at arms length; their time shared wholly dependent on when she sought his company, and rarely when he sought hers.

The Dame-Warchief never found herself with a moment spare enough to justify the journey to Caladras. As she read over the letter, her steeled expression, for a moment, seemed to waver. Her lips thinned, tightened. Eyes narrowed, burning. Anger. It was anger she felt. It was not anger at him, she could never be angry with him. This hatred found itself directed inwards; why did she not make time? She had made her stance clear, that the Vourkehardts should not seek to visit her in Reinmar. She made trips to Balian in her younger years, and even so..

Baldric was right.

The sands of Balian were not for her. Sand irritated her, so small yet everywhere, latching onto every little thing it could no matter how hard you try to brush it off. You still find it in your clothes even if you wash them twice, yet thrice over. That flame in her eyes burnt, stung, hissed in the refusal to accept what lay before her. Blurred vision as she looked upon it more, until that anger manifested itself and left a salty trail across her scar-torn cheek.

“How dare you, Vourkehardt. How dare you leave me behind once more?”

⫸⋙✦⋘ ᛁ ⋙✦⋘⫷

 

---

WER RASTET, DER ROSTET.

[The Vulgate Cycle 577]

In the year that followed Lord Baldric's death Arthur spent a lot of that time trying to recover his own strength and bring back the use of a previously crippled body. He had had no time to grieve, no time to think about it. Something which he would always regret the rest of his days. He justified it to himself by saying that perhaps Baldric would not have wanted anyone to prioritize grieving for him over making strong a now frail and unsteady form. He hoped so in any case and prayed for the man who, while he did not know terribly well, was a man of presence and conscious. A man whom he had no lack of respect and admiration for to have come so far on so little. All of this coming to a head at the funeral, where as he watched the Vourkehardts mourn, he found himself at a loss to what to even say to a man so beloved and also so worthy of it. Till Emmeline touched his hand and snapped him out of his stupor.

As he had looked about the scene before him, the casket, the proud horse-lords and ladies of Caladras paying their respects. He himself, stepped forwards and said the only words that he felt could truly encapsulate such a accomplished man and to which Work Wilts Weakness.

"May you ride forever."

Edited April 20, 2025 by The Vulgate Cycle

[Tainga 521]

The night she watched them leave through the gate—her family, her friends— she already knew her father was going to die. It wasn't a thought, not really. More like a weight deep in her gut, something sick and still that she tried to shove down. She told herself she was just being paranoid. That it was just fear talking. She hoped she was wrong.

But she wasn't wrong.

It was Louis who broke the news to her. Louis who brought Auris Vourkehardt to the cathedral and showed her the casket—his casket. Her fathers. Her mind went straight back to that night. She should've said something. Told him to be careful. She should have asked the others to look out for him. There were so many small things she could've done. But she didn't. She always seemed to fall just short—ever so short of getting it right. She never did enough. And now, this would be one more failure to add to the list. 

But she couldn't think about that. Not yet.

The second thing that came to mind was her family. She was the eldest daughter—she had to stay strong. Someone had to tell the rest. Who even knew yet? She needed to find her sisters. Her nieces, her nephews. Her wife. Gods—Ceru'wyn. She would turn to her later, once she had the space to fall apart. But now? Now there was work to do.

Still, as she stood staring at the casket, something gave out. Her knees buckled, and suddenly she was on the floor, her forehead pressed against the lid, like she could feel him through it. But she couldn't. She broke there.

That's how her sisters found her—Anneliese and Vanya. Then came Amon and Valarie. They all saw her like that: not the collected, careful Auris Vourkehardt—but a daughter in pieces. And when she heard Vanya and Amon begin to cry, something in her clicked back into place. Duty returned like muscle memory. 

She pulled them into her arms. Held them. Told them it was going to be okay.

"I am here. I am with you." 

The rest of the day passed in fragments. Again and again, Auris returned to the casket—guiding others in, telling them the news. Giving them a moment to say goodbye. She entered meetings. She smiled when it was expected of her. She worked, because someone had to. 

Her grief would wait. Her failures, too, would wait. There was no time to fall apart. No space for regret. Not yet. Because there were still people who needed her. There were still things to do, especially now after receiving the letter her father had left behind. And so, she had left the dead to work on the demands of the living.

[LazyBacon220 600]

 

A young prince stood surrounded by a family that was not his own. These people, clad in black, gold, and crimson armor were truly no older than himself, yet they carried themselves as warriors. At their head, a humble man who provided, shepherded, and raised them each into honorable warriors.  To some, these men; that man was a traitor. And yet, his honor was unbound. Baldric Vourkehardt, humble horse merchant. The prince gazed around the small gathering. Just a boy but such responsibility was thrusted upon his shoulders. His greatest friend, a fiery red-headed girl looked upon him as the boy she first met was cast aside for the prince he must be. That humble man only looked upon the scared boy, encouraging him. There was a profound optimism streaming from the singular iris of the man. Somehow, he gave that prince the power to stand taller.

 

That prince was no more. What replaced him was a father. A knight. A husband. A warrior. Step-by-step, he climbed the stairs of Angrenost. A clang rang in a rhythmic manner as stone met metal boot. As he reached the top, his hands grasped each rung of the final ladder, the numb touch of his left hand- which once terrified the knight, had become a calming touch. The acknowledgement of both failure and resilience. The prosthetic bore his life on display, yet his mind wandered to the hands that made it. The family that cared so much for a forsaken prince to rebuild part of himself...to make him whole once more.

 

He stepped out upon the summit of the tower, its crested peaks rising in various directions. His hand glided down till it met the cold comfort of his hilt. The gunmetal colored blade was drawn, storm blue leather worn by years of practice. A whisper was given to the weapon, held deftly in his metal-plated hands. There was a reverence the man gave the sword. Twisting his wrist, the sword was made vertical before the sword was pushed into the gravel floor at their feet. He stepped off to the side of the weapon, now intertwining metal digits behind his back. His chest was broad, jewels and a circlet proudly displayed on his bodice. But the stance felt hollow. That no matter how long or how proud he stood tall, the pit that the loss bore could not be refilled. Atop that high tower, he gazed toward Caladras. How proud her walls still stood despite the loss within. How vibrant and lively her occupants were. How miraculous her rebirth had been...

"Despite all he did, he remained humble. No, his humility grew in his later years..."

These words, spoken only to the weapon next to him drifted on the wind. That wind which once seemed terrifying now gave a potent reminder of life. A reminder that Nathannenel was still able to feel her touch on his skin and brush aside the curls that she released from his head. This wind was not something to fear, but to feel.

 

"A man is not just remembered for his voice or weight of his word. He is remembered through the stories that he makes. The honor that he showcases in his actions. Your honor knew no equal, Baldric. For the example you set, the friend you are, the man you became, I am eternally in your debt. Enjoy retirement, friend."

The Eruedraith maintained that posture. Till the sun kissed the horizon and the warmth shrunk away in favor of the stars. And when the stars emerged, beginning their heavenly procession, He finally turned away, moving toward his defiant blade. Flesh and steel wrapped around the hilt, raising it to the sky. His courage flooded through the weapon, enveloping it in a luminous flame. No longer did he stand for love; for duty; for honor. He fought now to remember.

[NoxIndigo 106]

Amon Vourkehardt's harrowed gaze remained affixed to the sealed epistle, its sheen, smooth surface held delicately betwixt trembling hands. It had been some months since Baldric's death, and he had since assured himself that, in spite of his grief, he would be okay; that the sorrow he had felt before had finally ebbed. Yet in this moment, he did not feel okay. He hadn't, he realized, felt okay in quite a while.

 

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Over Saint's Days, Baldric Vourkehardt's absence had festered silently within his heart as a growing listlessness. His ashen iris had, in time, grown cloudy and despondent; his already timorous voice had fallen to a hoarse whisper;  his aureate locks fell disheveled over his broken visage; and the marks of sleepless nights lined his countenance with increasing intensity. Yet all these harrowed shifts had gone unnoticed by him. They had been gradual, and rooted in the darkest recess of his mind; a place he had long suffered without ever being able to truly behold.

 

With little else to do, he had continued persisting. Idly living; dreading the feeling of waking each morning to realize what he had lost, and despising the moments prior to what little sleep he was able to muster, where he was left alone to suffer his thoughts. He had found scant moments of bright, tender bliss to stave off the tall night, but each languid day subdued the ability of his heart to feel both little and large pleasures. 

 

-------------------------------------------------------=+=-------------------------------------------------------

 

His sister, Nalia Vourkehardt, was sat content outside the walls of Caladras when he had received his letter, unburdened by the knowledge that he bore. With a sharp inhale, he approached.

 

"May ich sit here beside you?"

 

His request was met with a confused nod, and the immediate concern laced throughout her visage nearly undid Amon. Yet he continued, his gaze fallen; forsaken to the green country overlooked by Caladras's ivory walls.

 

"Have you been told yet. . . ?"

 

A harrowing sob was stifled at the base of Amon's throat as Nalia shook her head further, her distress reflected within the flicker of his remaining iris.

 

"Baldric was killed." His voice hitched sharply.

 

"Ich am so sorry."

 

 

 

Edited April 20, 2025 by DukeIndigo

[alienescence 1415]

Bishop Josefina placed a bouquet at the gates of the Vourkehardt estate, signed with her name on a small parchment as a gesture of condolence.

[MrGarden 295]

Matthew would be talking with some soldiers when one of them came running to him. The soldier would pass down the letter saying it was given from a reddish armoured soldier. Matthew would lift his brow thinking it was maybe good news or an invite to something for the Vourkehardts, he would open the letter turning to the soldier before reading it "Ah from mein good old friends. "Probably a letter from the Lord Old. . ." he stops as he reads through the letter "Das can't be. You only sent a letter like this when. . ." Matthew knew from the amount of letters he received like this before. His eyes would become hollow at the thought of his old buddy dying, he would turn to the soldiers dipping his head to them "If you excuse me I have some stuff to attend. . ." he would say as he made his way towards his house. Upon entering it he would look around as the memory of when he got the house the first time occurred to him. And how Baldric and Valeska were the first ones to visit him and his deceased wife. He let out a small laugh as he remembered the fight that had occurred in his main hall with the Black robes figure and how both of them helped in the battle.

 

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

 

At this point Matthew would be slowly walking as every memory of Reinmar, Balian and Numendil he shared with Baldric passed his mind. He would go down to his office as he would pull the chair taking a seat on it. He would lay the letter on the table as he would open a cabin removing two cups and a bottle of Galken Whiskey, after a hard time removing the cork with one hand he would fill the cups in half as he put one of the cups In front of him. "To you my old friend. It seems I was the one that won our old promise that we made at the Reinmar tavern." He says as he takes a sip of the whiskey still keeping his glaze on the other cup. Tears would start to fall down from his face hitting the note as he stood there "Ja, there were good old days. You speak about jealousy, my friend but you surpass me a lot. We both left Reinmar with one thought, a better life for both families, and that you did. You hold a good family with various ranches. You got a piece of land to have your own castle that you and your family call home.” Matthew says as he then gets up changing to a set of black clothes, he left his house with a bouquet with black velvet Petunias and red roses, he call his horse getting on top of it as he rode towards Caladras, upon arriving he would grab the bouquet laying in front of the gates. “Thank you friend for all the memories and the joy you gave me. The Galkens were always fond of you, my good old friend. I just wish we had more time.” He says looking to the tallest tower of Caladras hitting his fist on his chest.

[PufferfishTrash 75]

[Reserved]

[Turbo_Dog 3567]

Spuds Wick, in his Vourkehardt room within the confines of Caladras would fine no tears to rain from his eyes like morning dew nor any snot in his nose like alchemical sludge. He would find something different at the man’s passing. Thoughts in his small head. Those thoughts that would stay imprisoned in his mind until he couldn’t hold them in any longer. One man so great who had everything Spuds thought you could have in the world in such a short lifetime. Mina, respect, a family who loved you, loyalty, and most importantly love. Love in everything Baldric did he saw. And he felt envious. Why couldn’t he do the same? And he would never have the chance again to ask Baldric the burning question that now invited itself into his mind as it all spilled out into a screech at his wall “HOW DID YOU DO IT ALL?” 

[VoidDimensions 280]

Rúnagleth received the news in the bustling streets of Númendil, as her squire delivered the words that struck like thunder. Upon hearing of the death, the Orcess let out a guttural roar and drove her fist into the nearest wall, shattering both her gauntlet and the hand beneath. Stone cracked. Blood ran.

 

The tale of Baldric Vourkehardt’s fall spilled from the squire’s lips, each word cutting deeper than the last. Baldric. The steadfast. The dark horse. The friend. Without a word, Rúnagleth turned and made her way home, her heavy steps echoing with grief.

 

There, upon her doorstep, lay a letter. the weight of it was unmistakable. She carried it to her office, alone, and sat beneath the dim glow of the lanterns. As her eyes found the name penned at the top, sorrow surged. Her lips trembled. She read it once. Then again,  and again. Each line branded itself onto her heart.

 

Finally, with a strangled breath, she laid the letter down. Silence hung thick.

 

Then orcish rage.

 

She raised her fists and brought them down upon the wooden table with fury, splitting it clean in two. The wreckage scattered, but she didn’t linger. With bloodied knuckles and a hollow heart, she called for a servant to tend to the mess.

 

And then she left, not for rage, but for peace, walking to the church. There, beneath high ceilings and whispering flame, she knelt and prayed. For the Vourkehardt family and Baldric Vourkehardt, that he might reap the highest reward the Seven Skies could offer.

Edited April 14, 2025 by VoidDimensions

[Cryptic 549]

Good post! Not a deadbeat, just lost my soulstone