No King Rules Forever [PK]

[Andustar 4143]

Spoiler

 

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No King Rules Forever…

Less than two-thousand of John II’s warriors remained. They were among the last survivors of their defensive efforts against the Holy League’s fanatical genocide, and he had gathered them before the gates of Portoregne. All stood alongside him willingly; those who sought to escape the carnage had already fled years prior. Noblemen, commoners and foreigners alike, bound together in faith. Once, they were but a blur of faces, streaked with mud and blood. Yet now, after all they had been through together, they were brothers and sisters in arms.

All of them knew the truth of what was about to happen.

A host nearly eight times their size stood outside Portoregne, and mercy was not a virtue they took to heart. But where other old and famous states had capitulated overnight, the Kingdom of Balian endured, knowing their destruction was inevitable, until there was but one bastion of resistance left.  From the start, it was the League’s desire to purge the land of those who opposed their ambitions of conquest, unto the last. 

 

This was the end. 

 

It filled John’s heart with sorrow, knowing his people would be displaced and driven from their homeland, if not murdered for their loyalty. And yet, despite the sombre nature of what was to come of their city - their Kingdom - he was proud. Proud to have fought unto the end. Proud to have done, in his mind, what he believed was righteous and just. Proud to have been the ‘Good King’.
 

There was but one last thing to do before the final battle commenced.

“Sir Sigismund and Sir Theo de Lyons.” He commanded the newly raised knights to step forward. Their task was a simple one. “Deliver this unto my son.” Cloudbreaker, the sword of the King, fell into the hands of the honoured couriers, and they accepted their task without another word. 

 

Then, with his regalia cast aside, John drew steel and took position before the portcullis. 

 

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Burgundy and their allies formed ranks before the front of the city, presenting themselves and their intent for all to see. They sought to instil the fear of God and his so-called ‘chosen’ host. Yet, John’s heart no longer bore fear. Excommunicated twice, they sought to humiliate him. Yet, John’s heart flared with a pride he had scarcely felt in his entire life. He knew the foe’s cause was not one of holiness, but of ambition and a desire for power, spurred by a hunger for vengeance centuries in the making. 

 

“As my city falls, I shall fall with her!” He would gladly give his life in defence of his people, to whom he had pledged his allegiance. His only regret was that he had not picked up his sword sooner. The portcullis raised. The banner of Saint Lothar waved triumphantly in the wind, alongside the standard of the House of Novellen. Defenders and bulwarks smashed into the League’s lines, the battle cry of “Death!” on their lips as they sought to rend one final blow unto their foes.

 

His sword of plain steel was unfamiliar to him - it did not know him like the Cloudbreaker - but still it found purchase upon the Burgundian ranks. The edge, wet with blood, arced amid rasping breaths as he felt a sharp pang in his chest, a hammer caving in his breastplate. John swung with a riposte, intent on carving its wielder, only to be halted by a strike to the gorget. A lance extended, intent on puncturing his neck, becoming lodged in scratched steel from the years of battle. John ignored it, grasping the haft with his spare hand, lacking the room he required to swing another blow.

The retinue who charged with him committed themselves with equal fervour. Upon finding themselves packed together, they resorted instead to fists. The weight of numerous hands bore down upon the King’s shoulders, and yet he struggled regardless. Slashing, pummelling, clawing, fighting! Even as the countless daggers dripped with his blood, he never shirked. He never wavered. Not one step was taken backwards. 

 

Not. One. Step. 

 

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[!] 

A Final Testament

Published throughout the realms.

 

My beloved subjects,

 

The end is nigh, and you have given unto me more than I could have asked in these final moments. We fought this war for glory, nor conquest, but because we believed it was right. And yet we have lost. Our beloved city is destined to become a ruin, and the civilisation we have built here in the south will be reduced to ashes. Some may call this a less than fortuitous ending. But with every conclusion, there is a new beginning. 

 

Balian was never just a place. It has and always will be a dream, carried by its people wherever they may walk. We are more than just a banner and a Kingdom. We are a culture - an idea. And so long as the memory of that idea endures, it matters not how many swords we may face. 

 

To those of you who fought with me unto the end, who live to yet speak of our last stand. You have my eternal gratitude. Those of you who have already passed - Rylee, Warrin, Thorin, Owyn, Louis, and so many more. Soon, I will join you in death’s embrace.

 

To my former allies who still live. I do not blame you for laying down your arms, nor do I wish ill upon you for capitulating. You did what you thought was right, not merely for yourselves, but for your people. Sometimes, that is all we can do. 

 

To my beloved family, know that I will always cherish our precious moments together. Nothing brought me greater peace than that which we spent together. My beloved wife, my children - the shape of the future and the stewardship of our people. These things I entrust unto you. 

 

And to those of you with whom I was estranged. Live out the rest of your days in peace. 

 

What lies beyond for me, I do not know. Perhaps it will be salvation, or maybe it will be retribution. None may know until we pass through the door ourselves. I sincerely hope my door will lead unto the halls of my forefathers, in whose company I will not feel dishonoured. 

 

I ask only this: Tell my story to those who ask. Be honest, of my ill deeds along with the good, and let those who would listen judge me accordingly. 

 

Vale.

 

IN HOC SIGNO VINCES,

HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, JOHN II, by the Grace of God, King of Balian, Prince of Providence,Duke of Helena, Lorraine and Reutov, Count of Pompourelia, Viscount of Eflen, Anatis and Valio, Baron of Renzfeld, Brucca, Valens, Malenos, Montcoure and Ciavola, Lord of Portoregne, Atrus and Monterosa, Warden of La Costa Rubinissima, Protector of the Heartlanders and the South, etcetera.

 

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Spoiler

 

 

Art by Idle28

~~~

HRM. John II ‘the Good’

1975-2028

 

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:OOC:
 

Spoiler

Thank you, everyone who stood by me as NL of Balian. I could not have asked for a more wonderful community who made the experience all the more significant. I am extremely grateful to @Harald and @SapphirePool, who gave me the opportunity to play John. Furthermore, I would also like to thank @MapleSunflower for playing Kathryn, and for making the journey all the more memorable. I could not have asked for a greater consort to John.

 

There are so many more people to speak of. If I neglect to mention you, I apologise.

@__Stal27
@Lirinya

@Luka_Rei
@xDisarray

@Cheese

@Wavey
@TaraJess
@tcs_tonsils_
@Kaii
@HogoBojo
@HIGH_FIRE

@Chronics
@andydreww
@harvestskies
@lalo

@BlueBudgie

@SmartScout
@Javert

Before I began my tenure as King, I said this would be my last character. For what it is worth, I intend for this to be the case, and I don’t intend on returning to LotC. Nonetheless, with it being nearly ten years since I joined, it has been a pleasure playing within this community, and I will make sure to hold on to my fondest memories. 

 

Take care all! 

 

[Kaii 572]

The Mirror Prince teared up as he stood atop his balcony, overlooking the ocean for the last time. A servant read out John's testament to him as he reminisced. Elias didn't comment on the testament before wiping his tears away, turning to those with him. "It is time to go, ai? Let's go Cassiel. Moving forward, it is what he would've wanted." He commented before departing from the city he once called home. 

@HogoBojo

 

Spoiler

Thank you for bringing me back to Balian to play Elias. Playing this character was an honor and also a lot of fun, despite how everything played out. You were a fantastic leader of Balian, and you did great work with what you were given. Enjoy your time being free, though this is far from a goodbye; you can't get rid of me that easily. 

 

[FarrStar 216]

 

Ave Balian

[tcs_tonsils_ 3666]

As Sir Sigismund de Lyons tread the waters endlessly, hopelessly, he could not outlive the idea that he had served his king... until their last dying breath. The sword had been tucked away, and a letter sent. It was not enough... it was never enough. He was going to die like his king, yet his death would be in silence- in shadow- in nothingness.  The void took more of him into her depths. 

[Luka_Rei 66]

Ave Balian

[Mescaffier 6197]

Spoiler

 

 

"Do you hope to see him again? Your brother?"

 

Helena ran down the corridors of the palace, a little wooden sword held aloft as she chased after her elder brothers. The little Novellen, with her tresses of red hair and her tiny crown their father had made, and her handmaidens with their snide remarks. Life was simple then, even if tragedies loomed soon on the horizon.

 

 

And then the tragedies began. Her mother and father were called before the Church for a supposed scheme to slay the pontiff, and the Crown of Balian was thrown in the air for all to grab and claw at. Her days were then spent being introduced to priests she cared not for, pilgrimages to little churches in the middle of fields she never wished to visit, and sowing and reaping fields to prove humility that the Princess didn't have. It was only fitting, then - perhaps judgement from GOD - that she was thrown off to sea. The Princess had disappeared for two decades, until fate would have it that she found her way back onto the shores of Aevos again.

 

 

"Tell them."

 

The first face she saw in her return was her brother. John Casimir and Helena Casimira - reunited at last. They spoke for several hours, teary-eyed in the Hanseni tavern. She returned to a humble life on the coast with her children, until her husband, Aslan, had driven her to her wit's end. So she took her children and made way for Balian, bruised, battered, and now widowed as she were. Pikes and trenches greeted them.

 

A war had begun again. John was excommunicated a second time, their family was back upon the butcher's block. She would not have her children die here, and she would fight for her kin - stubborn as they were - to live past this. John and Kathryn especially. All would be alright.

 

"Tell them the truth."

The Novellen-Butcherer, the disowned Vuiller, many names that Ledicort had been called - all for their own reasons. He aimed to have the name Novellen trampled into the dirt, and yet, on a quiet eve he'd found himself speaking to one in their own camp. And Helena found herself speaking to the enemy. The man who she figured was the cause of all of this - she was not dumb, she had seen the writings. Behind her back she'd clutched a dagger with nothing but distrust in her eyes and hate in her heart.

 

He returned home after a conversation that lasted some eight hours, when the night sky began to lighten to a dull orange. Helena was left to ponder. To what side did she belong?

 

 

 

"I hope you find some piece of mind ..."

Time drew on. She fell in love with 'the enemy', started a family alongside 'the enemy.' She thought of him as that no longer. But then, what were her kin? Better yet, what was she to her kin? A day before the battle, they had caught her sister-in-law and John's wife, Kathryn. Helena remembered her fondly, the girl had been the elder sister she never had. Yet she had been the one to point the finger. 'That's ... my sister. My sister-in-law, Theveus.'

 

Nothing came of the capture. No closure for the woman, nor information for the church. And Kathryn left unharmed after several harsh conversations Helena had with the Haelunori, who to her horror, wished to disembowel the Queen Consort. 

And then the final battle arrived.

 

"I hope you find some paradise ..."

John was dead.

She learned about it beside the very man who wished him gone. The King of Balian was dead. John, 'the last', was dead. Her brother was dead. For several nights and several days, Burgundy rejoiced while their Lord Justiciar was left to mourn on her own. For who would mourn the enemy?

 

"John . . ."

"John, I'm sorry,"
Helena wept.

[LazyBacon220 600]

Spoiler

 

Nathannenel felt the movement of the beast beneath. Its lumbering steps a constant knocking in his head. Abrazân - steadfast, kept in line with the other mounted riders. The creature bore no armor, despite the constant peddling of his caretakers. He was simple and surefooted; a mount for a common man and not the former prince that rode him.  Surrounding the southron man, was the Numenedain march. 

A march to his home. 

The welcomed tropical heat rose up from the terrain as the march continued. Step by step, cadence by cadence they made their way through the thick jungles. Humid air clung to the skin, leaving the all too familiar sheen of sweat along his arms. A few men muttered complaints but to Nathannenel? It was home.

The walls of Portoregne rose up shortly after. Now littered with makeshift defenses- the markings of a city under siege, the Palatio still stood proud. Men littered the battlements. One of these, he knew would be his brother. John.


Hadrian had never loved his brother. At least, that was what he believed. "John this, John that." To Hadrian? John was nobody but an entitled brat. He bounced down the steps of Portoregne, spying John and their father. "Father looks angry today"
Indeed, he was. A broken circlet lay at Alexander's feet as he spoke to John. What were they speaking so angrily about? Hadrian had nooooo clue. Whatever it was though, it was probably John's fault. And so, second-born Hadrian continued on his way. More important things, like mangos required his attention!



The soldiers of Portoregne spilled out of their gates, their armor singing a song all too familiar to the Eruedraith. Abrazân had been sent off for some much-needed rest. Nathannenel dawned his helmet, for the battle to come would not be the graceful ones sung about in ballads. It would be savagery at the expense of good people. The southron's eyes began to close to begin his ritual and then... he saw him. Himself, really. Leaving the regalia of the crown behind, John led his people. And for the first time in decades, Nathannenel did not complete his ritual.

"THEIR LINES HAVE BROKEN"

A voice not his own, screamed out. Nathannenel did not care. He pushed and shoved his way through the chaos. Blood coated the front of his armor. He had to reach him. And yet, cheers rang out. The siege was over and all the Eruedraith had to show for it was blood that was not his own.

Nathannenel sat in the dwellings of Angrenost, armor tossed to the side. His family sat around him. Balian would still fight. His attempt to convince John to stop the fighting failed, and all by his hand. Something within him had been revealed that day and terror had struck him.
"Pen a new Quenta Uthyriad. Simply the records of a man. His deeds and his faults."
Aranuir's word punctured the fear within...or perhaps amplifying it. The warrior face fell away and for a split moment, he was Hadrian once more. The boy who claimed to hate his brother. 
"I'll do it"
And in those words, the fear dissipated. The hate faded. A new charge had been taken. To remember.

 

Upon that march back to Angrenost atop Abrazân, Nathannenel thought back on that night. Now, more than ever, that charge weighed on his heart. The gates of the fief opened at his arrival. The knight slid off the back of his mount; azure cloak billowing behind him. He reached the aviary where a multitude of letters were then written. Each one sent to members of his family and sealed with their sigil. He exited the aviary, heading to the gardens. Nathan knelt down in a clearing, brushing away sticks and rocks. There, he prepared a spot to bury two people.

Hadrian the Hero was buried in the grounds surrounding the Iron Tower. No plaque marked the site of this, but all knew it was next to the plaque for John II. There, a pedestal was placed that would one day tell his story. But for now, a piece of headwear was placed atop that pedestal.

The circlet of Hadrian. 

[Navigator 4260]

In the sands, clad in new clothing, Miguel dipped his head in reverence and respect.

"Ave Balian. Ave John the Good. I regret not fighting for you. May GOD grant you respite in the highest of heavens." 

 

=

 

In his post-mortem delusions, Owyn wailed and raged.

His mentor, whether the king knew or not.

His friend, whether the king knew or not.

He would've welcomed him to the high heavens, had he not gone to the deepest of pits.

[annanicole__ 2802]

Lorelei Mairi Alstion-Enswerp held the missive close to her heart. “Oh, Kathryn… this wasn’t how it was meant to be. I will keep you and your family in my prayers.”

 

Beryl Augustina d’Arkent looked up at her Grandimma and Pater, eyes brimming with tears, as she was taken away from Balian.

 

 

Spoiler

You did good  And we will miss you

 

[Cheese 8882]

The Princess Royal — could she even call herself that? — had long holed herself up in her tower. She screamed at every servant, every guard, who begged her to leave the conquered city.

 

“I’M NET GOING ANYWHERE!” Amadea shouted, tears streaking down her face. “NET UNTIL PA COMES BACK! HE HAS TO COME BACK!”

 

But her father, the Good King John, would never come back. So with every wail and shrieked protest, Amadea was forcibly dragged from the once beautiful city she called home, and perhaps even worse, she was pried from her beloved father who was slain within its very square.

 

Esfir, however, made to wander the halls of the newly founded Lotharia. It was unfamiliar, which she hated, and she was bruised both in body and ego, which she hated even more. She recalled John, the Good King, in his youth. When he was but a boy warding beneath her very own husband. Decades later, during his first excommunication, he had sought for her counsel. It was a great honor to advise the then-Prince, and it was an even greater privilege to become his Amiratus later in life. “Balian.. would niet have stood without His Majesty. We’d have fallen decades ago if niet for his leadership,” Esfir spoke to whomever was in her vicinity. “Long live the King, one of the greatest and strongest humanity will ever come to realize.”

Spoiler

You were an incredible leader, Gil. I cannot thank you enough for having trusted me with the honor of being your Amiratus and Princess Royal, and I wouldn’t trade any of my time with you or balian for the world. I wish you the best in life and hope we can keep touch!

 

[Lalosia 988]

Aleksandr helped aid his family and kin in their journey to the desertlands. He mourned those who had fallen and the only life he had ever known.

 

Good King John was the best man he had ever met, and the Arkent would never regret serving him.
____

Ave Balian

[Monty Cobra 921]

Aurus Greye sat in silence upon the battlement of their new home, his chin raised to the south where he knew the rubble of Balian lay smoking with the blood of the slain. But it was not blood, gore, nor death that occupied his mind, nor even the pain of the injuries he had endured in the final battle. One face remained on his mind -- Good King John's. Aurus recalled his father's knighting, earned for saving the life of the King. He recalled fondly how John had threatened him, as a little boy, with the punishment of mopping the barracks if he continued to run off without his father's permission. He reminisced of John standing ready battle after battle, stoic in defense of his kingdom.

 

He remembered standing besides John during that final battle, hours that felt like lifetimes ago. And he could have, if he so wished, relived the memory of watching John fall.

 

But he did not. So Aurus remained on the battlements, remembering his King, and the stories that he would one day tell his children.

 

Spoiler

Gil, you were the penultimate 'Good King'. 

 

[Chronics 482]

Achillius would read over this missive a few tears coming into his eyes all the memory's of his dear friend running through his mind "Rest easy good friend"

[xDisarray 552]

Sir Aurellius Greye knew today was the day. He wished he could be there standing side by side with his fellow Balianites. “Ave Balian.” he said aloud to himself. “Ave Good King John and the Royal Family.”  He then brought his hands together in prayer as he thought of those who had lost their lives throughout the war.

Spoiler

Gil/Andu, thank you for all the RP we had together, you led Balian well and were a big part of the community. We’re happy to have had you lead us and be apart of us. Even if I may have not known you for too long, you helped me get to where I am with my character and helped develop my character into who he is. I hope you are finally able to rest now that you don’t have to worry about LOTC. Hopefully we still see you around in call sometimes. Take care! Ave Balian!

 

[Jihnyny 5233]

Varg Ljúfvinasson dips his quill into the inkwell; a new story is to be told - for the first time in his youthful years there was no war, the child's faith now left in the path of peace and prosperity. The bodies of  Haensers, Reinmaren and Balianite casting shadows behind him.