Dragons Till The End

[Chronics 482]

 

 QUETI TEMPUS ✦ NO TIME TO REST

 

 

ISSUED BY THE

 

ON THE

16th OF PETER’S GLORY, 160 B.A.

 

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“AND YOU SHALL DISCOVER STRENGTH OF HEART AS YOU WORK THE FORGE AND THE PLOW.”

Scroll of Virtue 4:7

 

A depiction of the Duchess praying over her House

HOUSE D’ARKENT HAS LONG STOOD with the Kingdom of Balian; we have held our oaths of fealty for well over a century and a half. However, ROGER DE ROUEN has proposed to House d’Arkent that we defect from our oaths and join under the Druscans banner, retaining a status as Barons among their men. Let it be known that whatever belief led you to think that House d’Arkent would abandon its allegiance and honor for cowardice is beyond my comprehension. Perhaps you mistake us for a House that trades honor for the likes of convenience?

Allow me, ACHILLIUS D’ARKENT, to make this clear. We plan to stand with Balian today, tomorrow, and until the very end. We were given options to leave; we chose to stay. We will never trade our dignity and our legacy for the hopes of survival. Should our city fall, House d’Arkent will be there, swords drawn, banners flown, and heads held high.

 

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FROM THE DUCHESS-EMERITUS,

Stop asking us to join you. This is the fourth time. 

We know you are desperate to have us join you, but I am bored of watching my kin repeat themselves.

 

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His Excellency, ACHILLIUS ARTEMISIO D’ARKENT, 

Duke of Sunholdt, Count of Salia, Baron of Selm, Lord of El Palau del Sol, Patriarch of House d’Arkent,

Constable of Balian, Strategos of the Regiment of St. Lothar

 

Her Grace, LAURELIE CELINE OF AQUILIAE, 

Duchess-Consort of Sunholdt, Countess-Consort of Salia, Baroness-Consort of Selm, Lady of El Palau del Sol, Matriarch of House d’Arkent, 

Arch-Magus of La Cort de la Taronja, Medico Anziano of the Clinical Society of St. Julia

 

Her Royal Excellency, ESFIR ARTEMISIA  D’ARKENT, 

Duchess-Emeritus of Sunholdt, Elder of House d’Arkent, 

Amiratus of Balian, Lady Seneschal of the Crown, and Chief Minister of the Royal Duana

 

His Lordship, PETER  MARIUS D’ARKENT

Heir to Sunholdt

 

Her Ladyship, BERYL AUGUSTINA D’ARKENT

Lady of the Lake

 

[Lalosia 988]

Young Peter clutched the missive in his grasp, his free hand moving to scratch harshly at his cheek - perhaps as a sign of stress.

 

He folded it up soon after, using it as a bookmark in his plethora of novels within his family's Portoregne townhouse.

[Cheese 8882]

"No time to rest..." The former Duchess murmured her House's motto as she began to sketch blueprints and sign her approval on orders for weaponry and armor. "Never any time to rest." But she sighed; it was all for Balian, for her people and kin, and that would be enough for Esfir to die content.

[annanicole__ 2802]

Beryl Augustina d’Arkent tightened her grip on her little dagger, eyes fierce and jaw set. “They took Sunholdt, and now they think we’re just gonna run to them for help? No way!” She stood up taller, shoulders squared like a tiny general. “We’re dragons! Real dragons! We don’t cry and give up—we snap back like snapdragons! We’re tougher than they think!” She raised her dagger high—even if it was small—and shouted with all her heart, “Ave Balian! We do not give up! We fight back!”

[xDisarray 552]

Sir Aurellius Greye had joined the d'Arkents during the meeting. He found it foolish that the de Rouens, the ones who had killed off the allies of the Balianites, the de Savoies, had offered them the title of Barons and land within the nation that killed those who live amongst the d'Arkents. He also found it odd that the man would speak of his Burgundian superiors in a way that one would not allow their underlings to speak about them in such a manner. Sir Aurellius "The Dauntless" was appreciative of the d'Arkents and their loyalty to the nation. They were quite lucky to have such a family fighting alongside them.

[Monty Cobra 921]

"Ave Balian — Ave D'Arkents — Ave John II," Aurus Edmond Greye declared, a fist thumping to his chest. Battered and bruised the young man was, but his eyes and his wolfish grin shone with pride for his kingdom and resilience against what was to come. 

[MapleSunflower 1889]

The golden sun hung high above the fields of wheat, casting a warm amber light that shimmered across the swaying stalks. Each head of grain wisped in the wind, their tips dancing like the waves of the ocean. A woman stood within that rocking expanse, her hoe held tight within her grasp. She was dressed modestly for the work; The veil she adorned protected her skin from the wrath of the day. 

 

Reaching underneath the veil that shielded her visage, she wiped the sweat from her brow. Dirt smudged across her cheek as the sun beat down. A courier runs up the path with a folded missive clutched in his hand. Those blue hues landed upon the man, dipping her head gratefully as she took it with calloused fingers.

 

Unfolding it carefully, blue hues scan the page, lips parting just slightly as she reads. Then, slowly, she nods — once, firm and steady. A flicker of pride lights in her eyes, her chest rising with quiet resolve. For a moment, she stands tall among the furrows - the wind brushing the fabric covering her head - as she faced the setting sun. Glorious rays of warmth, their colorful array lighting the sky with hope. 

[The Vulgate Cycle 577]

Arthur as he has many times when reading these missives, he felt a heaviness in his heart, the unshakable feeling that their loyalty would be the ruin of them. At the same time however, he could not help but respect, and even admire it. In Balian's final hours, it had proved in his mind, a power more worthy of respect than Haenseti-Ruska or the Covenant ever were. They have not given up the fight. For that, they are to be honored in his mind.

During the night, when his nightmares were at his worst, his haunting dreams too prevalent, he chose instead to quietly leave his home and go to the close by temple and prayed for their lives. That they all be shown mercy and be allowed the grace to live on. After-all, who else deserves to live than a people's most loyal in at the death.

[Vikenz 1162]

"Once, and only once, did I extend my hand in clemency, an offering of sanctuary and penance sent through John of Balamena. It was a gesture not of weakness or doubt, but of magnaminity, for even those who stand at the precipice of ruin deserve the dignity of choice. The Arkents, blind to the will of Burgundy, cast it aside. So be it. I do not move in anger, but with the cold certainty of command. Now, as the seven skies themselves bear witness, I shall no longer stay the tide. Let it be known across the realms of men, they were given their hour, and they squandered it." - Roger of Bourdon

 

 

[Radzig 747]

             

The road was choked by brittle thickets and the carcasses of once-rich olive trees, branches twisted against a still shining Balian sky. The scent of mud and charred timber clung to the morning mist, and beneath it, something fouler still. The distant silhouette of Balian’s walls was long behind him now. His horse’s hooves thudded against the earth, rhythm steady, though the animal’s ears flicked and nostrils flared as they neared the shallow ditch that bordered the road.

 

John slowed, commanding an armored Pate, with a horse of his own, to do the same.

 

Before him, the earth had been torn by war’s hand, an open wound in the land, half-filled with an assortment of men. Helms, tattered gambeson, and an amalgamation of fixtures acted as grave markers amid the heap of muddied faces. John sat in his saddle, watching. The wind stirred a loose standard caught upon a broken spear, its edge frayed to ribbons.

 

 

"They chose defiance when we offered them absolution," he uttered, a hand wafting itself towards Pate, his tone doing little mask some brewing commiseration. Pate grunted a response.

 

His gaze lingered on a boy half-submerged in the ditch, no older than sixteen. The boy's face was slack, one hand still grasping a dagger whose blade was dark with the inlay of the earth. John’s hand tightened around the reins.

 

"GOD have mercy on the Arkents," he mused, his expression unreadable, at least from Pate's circumscribed perspective. "For none here shall."