The Fall of a once great Captain

[olpx 1013]

"A Lion Brought Low"

 

Slain upon the Alba Bridge, felled by the blades and black sorcery of Darkspawn. Surrounded, outnumbered, and abandoned by the grace of fortune he fell to his knees under the weight of his battered plate, struck down in the defense of his home. Slain upon the Alba Bridge, felled by the blades and black sorcery of Darkspawn. Surrounded, outnumbered, and abandoned by the grace of fortune, he fell to his knees beneath the weight of his battered plate, struck down in the defense of his home.

He never rose again.

When the clash reached its fever pitch on the Alba Bridge, Vangelis leveled his halberd in a final act of defiance. He swung once a wide, meant to keep the orc before him at bay. Steel met flesh, but not deep enough to end the threat. In that instant, before he could pull the haft back for another strike, a blade struck his backplate, driving home with a cruel hiss. The force pitched him forward, knees crashing to the cold dirt as the iron taste of blood filled his mouth. Then came the mace — a brutal swing from the side that caved his plate. He slumped there, his halberd falling from his grasp, the last breath stolen from him before he could muster another curse or rallying cry.

There was no last stand, no heroic rally, no grand sacrifice for a noble cause  only a battered knight left crumpled on the bridge he failed to hold. A life of stubborn pride, ended in the mud.

[Metamancy 1778]

Spoiler

damn

 

[blesseuropa 114]

 

Was it God’s nature to bring such folly upon such honourable and gifted men? Gedeon pondered. Standing over the blood-soaken earth where the miserable battle was held. He had fled, retreated from the steel of the damned. Was it wrong? Should he have died there beside the Ser Vangelis, should he have attempted to tackle the Lich and his many guardsmen by himself, only to bring himself down onto his knee as the Knight? ...Was it his duty? ‘No.’ he'd say in a closeted breath, brought to coil by the frost of the night. ‘There was no honour in this battle, no honour to die with but of the past.’  His hands swept over the blade that took its rise in his defense, wary. He took a moment to remember the Ser Vangelis, his promise to him that he’d take to greet him from yesternight on. To prove to him, he’d hold the will-power to become a Black Knight. But such memory grew a wound upon flesh unmarked. A promise was broken, and an oath found anew.

Edited July 11, 2025 by blesseuropa

[Coronate 5528]

“Damn… he’s dead?” The Master Swordsman spoke dragging on his cigarette. “Thought he could die and escape our rematch? Before I won?” Cutler sniffled. “Guess there’s nothing for it now.” 
 

Then lowering himself from the stairs he left a bottle of Sake on the rail near where the Knight fell.

 

Spoiler

 

 

[Random 1697]

Spoiler

“What did bro take my argentum for if he was just gonna die 🚬” the Mountain murmured

 

[LichinCrocs 257]

To Whom It May Concern,

"A Lion Brought Low" — how poetic.

I read your words with a kind of fascination, not for their sentiment, but for their naivety. You mourn the fall of a man as if his death is a tragedy, rather than the inevitability it has always been. He died upon the Alba Bridge, crushed beneath the weight of duty, pride, and battered steel. And yet, not a soul stopped to question: Why did he truly fall?

He fell because he believed valor could outpace inevitability.

He fell because he mistook honor for armor.

He fell because even the strongest lion bleeds like any other beast when the black winds of undeath sweep through the land.

You call it a final act of defiance. I call it futility.

What remains now is not the man, not the armor, nor the cause he so stubbornly clung to. What remains is the echo of his failure, and I Urk-vyr’adalm , am listening closely.

Do not lament. He has not escaped me. That soul, bitter and broken, lingers still—ripe for reshaping. If your kind weeps long enough over a grave, they forget to seal it. And I... I do not waste such offerings.

So let them sing of Vangelis the fallen.

I shall make use of what they leave behind.....

— Urk-vyr’adalm