In Your Dreams [PK]

[ItsMisterPip 409]

 

Spoiler

 

 

Two figures appear...

 

A young boy and a brilliant humanoid blaze of fire. The flames wafted in the air, calmly and serenely flickering in the space it occupied. The boy, his face a mask of fear, seemed to shrink in the presence of the fiery figure.

 

“What are you?” The boy asked of the flames that towered above. His eyes were wide with uncertainty and fear, looking into something deeply unknown. His voice quivered, “Where are we?”

 

The blaze’s figureless visage looked the boy over with intent, for there lay curiosity within - an empathetic curiosity. The boy was familiar.

 

The blaze lowered itself down upon a knee, and that boy could just make out the formation of a gentle smile where no face looked ahead. It had to have been a trick of the eyes, but enough of a trick to assure him and bring needed comfort.

 

“My name is Kazimir,” the blaze spoke in a gentle tone, words warbling as the flames continued to dance, “and I am a warrior.” A hand extended out toward the boy, his palm inviting the boy into a warm clasp.

 

The boy winced, his left eye shutting as if poked by a needle on the iris. He then gasped, tears building up within his eyes as his free hand quickly moved to grasp his forearm, where a searing pain began to throb.

 

“It hurts,” he whimpered, a saddened gaze turning upward at Kazimir. “I’m scared… Am I going to die?”

 

The blaze slowly shook its head, enveloping the boy’s arm with its other hand.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” spoken ever-so softly. “Do you remember what Tancred told you?” His head canted subtly, his eyeless face studying the boy.

 

The boy’s head lowered, looking at his arm before the knowledge sprang into his mind. “To not be afraid of dying. To understand it and to keep it in view at all times.”

 

It was recited as if written on paper, being presented to a classroom filled with friends, with the scrutinizing gaze of a teacher on his back. When he was finished, he looked back at Kazimir, but scrutiny was far from the pride and amusement the blaze held in the boy.

 

“Everyone’s end is different, but there comes a time when we all must pass away,” Kazimir’s voice echoed with a fatherly tone, but also stern and strong, offering a sense of comfort in his words. “Endings can seem frightening, but they are a part of what makes life beautiful.”

 

The young boy had trouble comprehending his words, and before he could piece them together, he whined as a twinge of pain pierced through his neck.

 

“How can it be beautiful? It hurts and is messy. It’s sad!” The boy had been slowly changing during their interaction. He began to grow in height, no longer a young child, but perhaps a young teen. His hair grew longer, and the skin under his eyes formed dark bags. His voice and the way he spoke began to change along with his temperament. “I don’t want to be sad or make anyone else sad! That isn’t what I want!” - “It’s not fair!”

 

Frustration and anger began to lace the boy’s tone, his eyebrows furrowing and tugging his expression into a scowl. Kazimir took a step back, looking down at him with arms crossed over his flaming torso. The flames began to take shape into something more solidified; the start of a suit of armor. Stiffer flames sprouted from his head, forming a visor’s wings.

 

“It will make others sad, but that is okay. It will hurt, but if others feel sad from death, then that means they cared and that they loved. Death is the mortal reminder of why life is so precious and so beautiful. A devastating resolution to our existence.”

 

Kazimir remained steadfast in his way of speaking, and aiding these were features that began to form upon his flaming head. The bridge of the nose and indentations where eye sockets may be, all forming above a definitive mouth. “Your family, friends, a wife, and children- they will all be sad, and there is nothing we can do about it.”

 

The boy’s hand clasped near his stomach now as another twinge of pain burst into his senses. His teeth gritted, but curiosity sparked in his mind. Still, he continued to grow, closer and closer to matching the height of the blazing figure of Kazimir. The bags under his eyes disappeared, and a fond smile began to crease the corners of his lips. “A wife? Children? I get to have my own family?”

 

“You do, and they are beautiful.” A blissful hum emanated from the blaze, “even if there were nothing else in the world, they’ve made our life worth living.” Kazimir’s flaming figure began to manifest further into a more solid form of fire. A cape hanging from his shoulders with the mane of a lion on his mantle, and plates of brilliant steel beginning to adorn his entire form.

 

A moment of silence passed, and the boy, now becoming a young man, rubbed a throbbing ache in his shoulder. This was mainly disregarded due to his new interest in the topic. “... Dove-” he paused briefly, “and the kids…” He exhaled sharply with a widened, astonished smile, but the smile began to fade. “Will we ever see them again?” The young man’s long hair started to part and thread into braids running down his head, a beard beginning to grow thick and full.

 

Kazimir’s flaming figure took on hues of dark maroon and black, brass and silver swirling into the mix. The colors swam around in the blaze, not quite finding their resting place yet. He shook his head slowly, “In another way of life, maybe, but you were destined to go down this path. You’re destined to end like this, despite how you wished to end.” - “You can only do what you can do. How do you die?”

 

The man looked at the palms of his hands, gaze hollowed yet thoughtful. Each digit began to clasp slowly, and his hands formed into firmly balled fists. His head rose once more, beholding the armored blaze. “I will die well.”

 

A nostalgic feeling overcame the man, and another memory trickled into his mind. “... Like Konan said. Like we say.” - “Va ve Maan. To the last. To the death.”

 

The colors swirling in the blaze of fire began to situate and fill out Kazimir’s form. Maroon and black began to seep into the cape on his back, whilst gold-tinged tans and browns colored the lion’s fur. The brassy grey and hints of silver began taking their places among the plates of armor and mail in between. The blaze, still burning, was definitively adorned as the warrior Kazimir claimed to be.

 

The blaze that was Kazimir spoke once more, “You have done well. You are strong.” His hand splayed outward, and beyond the gesture were several other figures. The strength and brightness of these figures was waning, not nearly as strong as Kazimir’s form, but they were all recognizable to the man.

 

The man peeled his gaze from Kazimir to acknowledge those figures…

 

A man in dark armor with braids similar to his own, kindly and proudly looking onward. His father.

 

A woman at his side with wavy hair and lighter armor, stern expression paired with a soft smile. His mother.

 

A gathering of three men and four women. They all seemed slightly younger than he and all shared comforting expressions as they stared. Though two were not of his blood, their smiles could pass as being the brightest of them all. His brothers. His sisters.

 

At their sides are young and new adults, kind souls. They peer out with fond and admirable smiles, leaving a memorable impression in his heart. His nieces. His nephews.

 

A beautiful woman in a lovely dress with long auburn hair, decorated with a delicate bow. Relatively short and impeccably well-kept, she portrayed a love beyond words as her eyes locked onto the man. His wife.

 

A rambunctious crew of six kids, standing at her flank, with faces he couldn’t forget in oblivion. His children.

 

A woman of deceptive height, a confidant and ally in his later years. She smiled little for most people, but together they could share great joy and laughter even under dark clouds. She stared with softly glowing eyes and a shy smile.  His best friend.

 

A tall man with taller horns curling from his head, standing beside a familiar, lovely woman. His fangs stuck out from a small smile as the woman’s gaze seemed sorrowful yet loving. His cousin. His aunt.

 

As the man continued admiring those figures, more and more began to apparate at their sides. Flashes of recognition in each he viewed, each paired with the unique love he held. He loved these people. He knew this for sure. His smile grew and grew as tears formed in his eyes. Suddenly, a sharp and potent pain shot into his leg. Despite this, as agonizing as it might have felt, he did not flinch. He looked at these figures, and as a tear streaked down his face, he whispered, “Forgive me…”

 

The man finally reached the apex of his growth and evolution, standing eye level with the blazing warrior in front of him. So too did this warrior resolve its transformation. As the man stared into Kazimir’s eyes, he noticed something. The blaze of fire, although present, had now shifted into a soft and radiant light. A man stood within the radiancy, no longer made of fire but of flesh, bone, and steel.

 

The two stood and stared at each other. Any looming sense of dread washed away, pain falling off onto the ground like drops of water, and between them was a shared bond of courage and purpose.

 

“It is time, Kazimir.” The armored figure spoke, lofting his palm into the air before him.

 

Kazimir, the boy, then the teen, then the man, exhaled. “Though I may never see them again,” he turned toward the large gathering of figures, “maybe they will see me in their dreams.”

 

The finger of the radiantly armored figure reached out towards Kazimir, and when it touched between his eyes, the two figures broke apart into billions of motes of light. A brilliant scene and dance of illumination, drifting into the unknown.

 

The armor, worn by the blazing form of Kazimir, was revealed after the light dissipated into nothingness. It remained on an armor stand, sitting in the space they once occupied.

One sunny day in the streets of New Valdev, Kazimir and many of his comrades-in-arms marched out from the city gate to reach the river that encircled the capital city. A small, grassy plateau by the water’s edge, fit for training grounds. Lined up shoulder-to-shoulder among friends, siblings, and unfamiliar faces, the line of kids paid their attention to the Lord Marshal as he paced back and forth, reviewing their training plan.

 

Only after a run around the entirety of the city in full kit did they truly begin their training. Pairs began to form as they prepared to spar each other in single combat. Many found their training partners quickly, but Kazimir seemed to idle long enough to be called out by an officer. He was assigned to spar with a girl, one he hadn’t met before, not personally at least.

 

It was a downright outclassing of skill on his behalf, as this sparring partner didn’t seem very proficient in combat. Not quite to his level, at that time. Kazimir wasn’t too hard-pressed to find another and instead opted to learn about the girl, question her interests, and learn her name. Olga was her name…

The first time he would witness death would leave a great impact on his soul. Kazimir, in the company of knights, veteran warriors, friends, and his siblings, approached a dark gate to a tomb filled with death and horrors. Hordes of ghouls poured out from a portal that cracked and tainted the earth, and their line began to fight back those most wretched forces.

 

With a new, swift blade, forged by the prestiged Falk Irongut, the young Kazimir dealt grave blows to the ghouls that came before him. A glorious clash of death and steel, though soon turning to worse conditions as the forces didn’t stop encroaching. His brother, Eryk, became pinned and the target of a mauling by one of the undead. Most frighteningly, a dear friend charged forward and became exposed to many dangerous angles. This was his undoing, and the hordes tore him asunder.

 

It all happened in front of Kazimir’s eyes, and there was nothing he could have done differently to stop it. Beyond his capability, beyond his insight, death came quickly and relentlessly to that dear friend. No time to mourn remained in the fight, and in Kazimir’s heart, a deeply seated planting of rage tainted his heart. Something he would carry forevermore, even if he hid it well. For that younger version of himself, it cost him many nights of sleep.

 

“You are alive, so I assume you won?” Karl, his father, asked him. Kazimir’s restless nights and near silence after the events of the death he witnessed did not go unnoticed by his parents. Karl brought Kazimir along on a short trip into the wilderness, to the peak of a mountain towering over their lifelong home.

 

“It didn’t feel like it.” Kazimir stared off into the valley below, at the white fortress they called home. His mind and heart were addled with the pain that loss brings.

 

“It does not, often,” replied his father.

 

“I couldn’t help him, and I couldn’t help Eryk either.” Kazimir rested his head upon Karl’s shoulder, and dry heaving sobs began to rock him back and forth.

 

The man wrapped an arm around the mourning boy, offering well-needed comfort. “You are alive, Kazimir,” Karl’s hand rested on the back of his eldest son’s head, “Your brother is alive.”

 

Kazimir’s head hung low, and silence filled the air. A soft mountain wind whistled and rustled through the trees and nothing else. A finger tapped the boy’s chin, prompting him to raise his head high. “One man can never do ‘enough,’ my son. A person can only ever do ‘something.’ Can fight, can guard, can shout, can shoot. They all have an effect, make a change, but not every change. Not everything. Not enough.” Karl squeezed Kazimir’s shoulders, then.

 

“No matter how hard one fights, they can never do everything. That is not… Shameful. It is not for guilt. It is human, it is life- the life that we lead.” - “But you did something, son. You did the most you could do, could’ve done… Lose no sleep for that.”

Kazimir stood tall among the siege defenses, roaming back and forth atop the walls of Xéniavaros. Tension strained the air until stone and steel were shot and thrown between battlements. The walls exploded from violent impacts, comrades toppled from their stations and defenses, and the smell of black powder and blood permeated the air. Chaos rang out in the valley as shouts, screams, clashing steel, and utter destruction.

 

A series of commanding voices filled the courtyards of the keep as the walls began to crumble, calling for retreat. Kazimir, with his comrades, had kept the enemy footsoldiers from reaching the top of their ladders on his side of the wall. No matter if there was hope or not, it was his duty and purpose. The call for retreat was heeded as a window of opportunity showed, and the defenders fled past chunks of stone and fallen soldiers in their path to escape.

 

A driving force and further turning point in the eventual fall of his kingdom, his home. Kazimir was stationed in the defenses of the capital city during the last battle of the war while his kingdom still stood, not present on that battlefield, and the news was brought to him hastily. He felt… Uncertainty. Rage. Sorrow. His children wouldn’t grow up in the safety of the walls that he had known as a boy. His family’s future was altered, but it was his charge, his duty to protect them and guide them. To Karoslund, they would go. Sworn to the line of Barbanov-Bihar, the Weiss would stay with the Haeseni people.

 

This was his measure, and the refuge it would bring to the rest of his family would be the first domino to fall toward his eventual end, unknowingly so.

Shepherded into the lands of Norland, Kazimir found companionship with several locals in those northern lands. Though united as Highlanders, their ways of life were different and difficult to adjust to. Kazimir found the guidance of a master of Malchediael’s Blessing to bestow a light in the courage contained in his soul. Anything he could do to protect and preserve his family, he sought to do. He was determined.

 

Soon enough, as time flew by and years passed, a large section of his life had been spent in Norland. Friends and comrades had been gained, a purpose in defending his new home had been found, and he was living a well and good life. Forces of darkness, puppeteered by The Mountain, pulled his focus. The world was against descendant-kind, and Kazimir would be the last to stand idly by.

 

New Valdev had been conquered once more, and he was witness to the chains and control of this daemonic entity taking his old home into its bindings. Then fell the Petran capital and the March of Cerulia. Shadows were being cast over the continent, and Kazimir was there to bring light to the darkness, however he could.

 

Eventually, the shadows would loom over Norland. Taking part in the defenses of the northern front of Vjardengrad, aiding in the operation of a cannon, the Mountain’s forces began to assault the city relentlessly. The toppling of one of its skyships tore open a door in the waters below the city, and from within, an avatar of the daemonic entity arose. A towering behemoth of stone and chains, ripping the walls apart with its furious blows.

 

Kazimir’s niece, Maya, stood at the rear of a brilliantly shining cannon, apparated from the air itself. This was the northern front’s shining symbol of hope as the battle grew more and more daunting, and his comrade and friend, Asmund, saw this hope. A fellow templar and a cunning warrior, he bestowed upon the cannon the essence of his soul and the strength he could muster. With his will and the gifts bestowed by the Aengul of Courage, this cannon turned the tide of the battle and shattered the chain that bound the avatar. Kazimir uttered under his breath in shock, though he knew this man’s character, and knew this was a death he would want to be made worthwhile, “Asmund…” In response, the dying Templar spoke, “There is a battle to fight… Pay no heed to I.”

 

It instilled courage in the many warriors who watched his heroic sacrifice, and with this rallying of mights, the northern front pushed back in force. A ringing of cannons, a brilliant haze of flame overhead, and the shouts of all resounded into the night until the avatar was slain. Norland was defended.

On his final day, Kazimir roamed the lands of Aevos with the goal of giving; to learn the knowledge that could bestow the Blessing he held on others of courageous and bold fortitude, to guide others into a future that held glory and great pride. In Numendil, he met with Templars and a relative, conversing with each and all with the cordiality and kindness his heart showed to many. It was all cut short as many individuals on the street fled further into the city for urgent business. He knew not what it was about, and after learning what he needed to learn at that time, he made way to the capital of Norland.

 

It was here that he witnessed the company of soldiers and warriors of the empire, all rallied at the gates of the city. Mixing in with the crowd, the Weiss curiously asked around, trying to figure out the cause for such a show of force. It was only at King Haakon’s throne that he fully learned what was occurring. A shield of demonic steel, confiscated during some duel he wasn’t witness to. He knew none of the details and was only afforded the knowledge that was shared in the tense exchange between the King of the North and a man Kazimir called brother, the Tar.

 

The tension in the air singed his emotions, and through all of the back and forth, peace was never the plan. Kazimir saw this, and combat ensued as Haakon stood his ground, holding fast. It is the way of life and principle that brought them to fight this large imperial and Numendain force. In the end, Haakon was forced to kneel before his throne, and Kazimir looked at the king with sorrow and admiration as he spoke his last words:

 

“I pray my wife and children live long, comfortable lives in my absence. If you’d honor my deeds in life and death - I will see that you ensure they knew who their progenitor was, and that they are all loved.”

 

Only a brief moment in time passed after Haakon had perished before the remainder of the captives were marched toward the flame-laced ash tree. Kazimir, among those captives, was escorted by an imperium’s pawns of conquest and this Norlandic genocide. The war he fought in, the war he escaped from with his people- was it truly over? He pondered.

 

Kazimir remained deathly silent all the while, and eventually his time did come to step before his judgment. A voice echoed from his side, bartering for his release. A familiar woman, a familiar voice, but beyond his view. The Tar was given a minute alone with Kazimir, to suggest complying, to suggest surviving. “My hands are tied,” echoed in Kazimir’s mind. He afforded this ruler a simple nod.

 

The gathering of Numendain departed, and a Canonist priest approached Kazimir. He did not hear his name, only that he was meant to listen to the priest’s blessing. Kazimir, himself faithful, saw a rite of death in these words meant as comfort, as resolution. Mere moments after the priest signed the Lorraine, the cold steel of a dagger plunged into the side of the man’s neck…

A figure appears…

 

A sharp pain shoots in the side of his neck, and a hand instinctively reaches up to clasp the area. Turning to look at the culprit only yielded his vision staring into a black void. All around, a dark, black void. A feeling of dread began to loom within his core, yet in his nature, it stirred something red and violent. His rage.

 

“What is this?!” The man shouted, spinning around and peering as far as he could. It is impossible to tell if the edge of this space is only a few feet away or millions of miles. Though as he continued looking, sticking out in this dark space, a small mote of white flame lingered in the air. He began to approach it.

 

The flame slowly came closer as he walked forward, and soon enough, it was hovering in the air before his face. The only illumination in the darkness, a beacon for his soul to find. It was calming.

 

The man spoke toward the flame, “... I think I am dying.” His voice echoed near and far, into the darkness. “I think this is my end,” he stared into the fire, and with his words, it began to grow. Slowly, but it was now larger than the speck it had been. In tandem, his emotions swelled, growing in their potency as the flame began to enlarge. His calmness, his rage, his sorrow, everything he felt in this moment.

 

“If I do nothing, I will die. If I do something, I will die…” He looked at this white flame as it continued to grow. Perhaps the man was hoping it would speak, offering divine guidance, a path away and beyond this fate he was careening toward. “It is unfair. It's tragic, even…”

 

The white ball of flame began to pulse rapidly. The man took a moment to feel his surroundings, to reach into his essence and emotions. This pulsing flame was a part of him. He knew this as soon as the thrumming of the heart in his chest was realized to be beating in the same rhythm.

 

His hand began to raise, a finger outstretched toward the edge of the flame. The hand paused, seizing into a balled fist as the warmth began to spread and tingle in his finger. This wasn’t just a brilliant white flame, but a burning and omnipotent gift, an augmentation that would bind his essence to the Blessing tethered to his soul. A sacrificial manifestation of strength and courage.

 

The man did not retract his hand completely, letting it remain in the singing air around the fire. He began to recall wisdom shared with him in his life, advice given by mentors, words offered by his parents…

 

Sentenced to die by this mandate, most evil, cast by a man. It held no mercy. This festered in the man’s mind, and the fire continued to grow. He stared at the pallid flame before him, and shedding his sorrow and grief, he extended his hand. “Malchediael… Aengul of Courage,” he invoked under his breath.

 

The brilliant flame continued to spread once more, like fire catching and spreading across a fragile line of cloth, his body erupted and was immolated as it waned into unrecognition. It consumed him entirely, and the man he once was became a blaze of blinding flame, still retaining its humanoid shape.

 

The binding of his soul and self to the Blessing beared, the man bestowed upon himself a second chance in his dire last moments. A chance to die well.

 

Spoiler

I can't thank everyone enough for allowing me to share and shape this character's story. I always have to extend a special thanks to one of my greatest friends @SethWolf for inviting me to LotC in the first place. I wouldn't have been able to experience such interactive and amazing stories with my friends and mere strangers if I wasn't here. I've been allowed to meet many great people and talented roleplayers, and I couldn't be more grateful for all of these opportunities.

 

Kazimir's story has been exciting, epic, and emotional, and has been one of the greatest characters I've played on this server. To everyone who has been a part of my experience, I owe you many thanks. I love you all c:

 

[Bethinwonderland 2213]

Spoiler

Rip Kazimir

 

[__Stal27 2126]

From the skies where MIKJALL waged his eternal battle. . . a fellow Besirkir stood awaiting with a blade in hand, offering such to Kazimir.

 

"Welcome, Broedir."

[ChainedDragons 1374]

Nickolai held many regrets. One was not getting to know Kasimir sooner.. to know him longer. Being afraid to get close for fear of rejection or stumbling out of line. 

And yet... in the end, the young man blamed a part of himself for what befell his cousin even if it was not his blade that fell upon the elder Weiss.

He laid awake at night, pondering what he could have done that day. Instead leaving as soon as the fighting was done.. maybe he could have tried to speak sense into those around him, to let his cousin live.

"He's a good man!"
Is what he would have told them. He would have offered up his horns, his claws, tail - whatever it took to keep this small light that entered in his life around just a bit longer. But.. alas. 

Devils words were but oil in water, only viewed from the surface and nothing more. 

Nickolai, now Bron, rocked himself quietly in the shadows of his room softened sobs wracking his body. "Eam sorry cousin.. ea should have done something..."

Kasimir would never get to see how Bron's fighting skills have grown. He would now just live in his memory - joining a rare collection of the good ones. 

[Herrudivah 85]

Head hung low, the best friend in mention unclips the Oni mask she adorned, setting it down on the wooden counter of her home - somberly. The news of Kazimir's parting struck hard like a blade through her heart.

-
"You truly were the best hound.." - "But who will hunt the fox now..?"

-

Gazing upon the round table of her shop, Oborozuki's brows furrow - remembering their games, the fun they had. A soft, light smile appearing as she reminisced in silence.

[critter 2812]

An old woman's worst fear found her.

 

When he was a child, a babe-in-arms, his mother had taken an oath to protect at all costs his happiness - to ensure his safety, his wellbeing, his freedom. His joy. His gentle heart, that placid child with a warrior's spirit and a brilliant mind.

 

He had been a good man. A courageous man. He had been their pride, their Kazimir, and though he died well - still, it was all too soon.

[psychra_notte 618]

Spoiler

this is such a good PK post man why am I tearing up this is fucked

 

[Frawlic 1602]

When they were younger, Dima did not know Kazimir well. She knew him, but not well. Perhaps she would always regret that, as in her later times of need, he was a strangely loyal acquaintance and a well-rounded individual overall. He told her secrets, and he hid the right truths from her. Had she been Knight Paramount within her time in Haense, rather than her first husband, she would have pleaded for him to try and become a Ser himself.

But these weren’t those times. This was after war, massacre, and more. His death did not reach her until after she had begun her recovery. She did not know, as there was no corpse to display on a table or burn at a pyre, and that made her feel worse. There would be no proper goodbye for his wife, children, and many more. It was not better for anyone, body or not. He was dead, and it was their fault. For Dima, it became awfully difficult to forgive, and more so to forget, not that she would ever want to. And nor would she let them.

[Terry 2680]

Sigmar's two year absence navigating the Mountain alone was a brutal one. Constant whipping winds, sheer chill and the snow were enough to kill any man who made the climb, and almost did to him, were it not for his abilities as a Palmreader to shield him ever-so-slightly. Even so, that expedition paled in brutality compared to the news he received upon his eventual return. 

 

The siege of Norland, the Empire's betrayal, the deaths tallied that night... Asmund, Haakon, Kazimir. To say the news broke the grizzled old veteran would be an understatement, to hear of the death of a man so younger than he, whom once warded beneath him as Lord Speaker, who stood beside him in countless battles, as a man he placed his total trust into, a rare thing for the man to give in present times. A man he had hoped to succeed him once as Lord Speaker, then as Hezyrans, second to the Karoslund people. Their people.

 

Later on that night, did Sigmar awaken in a cold sweat. An often occurring theme as of late, though the reason for this one far different. It was here where Sigmar would take in the full breadth of what had occurred, remembering all the loss, all the pain. By the day, those younger than he continued to perish, those he knew deserved a long life such as his, who deserved it far more than he did. 

 

Now, awake physically, and battered emotionally, did the graying man don his armor once more, to set out on yet another day. A day stolen from those such as Kazimir. As much as he wish he could cherish them, the thought of that family of his only brought his mood down further, and so he continued on.

 

Full of nothing but survivor's guilt, for that is all that remained, these days.

[ReverseNebula 373]

 

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Raginolf had never truly gotten to know Kazimir, for their words were few and far between, usually frigid and to the point of any interaction. Yet even then, upon the news that befell himself upon his own return to Vjardengrad, Raginolf could do naught more than bow his own head for the fellow Templar that opted to fight until the breath of his lungs ran dry.

There was something amicable in that, but even then, it was what their calling had settled unto them - it was the price they would pay, and Kazimir's debt had been collected.

 

How many more would pay theirs in the time to come?
How many more would die, for the injustices of that day?

Why?

Yet query after query, was staunched into nothingness, as he could nothing more but continue on for those that still lingered, and for those that eyed at him in the emptiness that Kazimir left in his wake.

 

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[Security_ 2287]

The priest Casimir did not know the stories nor souls of who was deigned to die that day. For his blessings and ash left upon the brow of that man was all but burned in holy fire. Kazimir, a name not unlike his own, sat heavy in his mind.

[prophetisms 982]

GOD, GRANT ME THE SERENITY TO ACCEPT THE THINGS I CANNOT CHANGE, THE COURAGE TO CHANGE THE THINGS I CAN, AND THE WISDOM TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

 

The words jumped out at Jorena, upon the aurum dagger made just for her. It was a gift from her uncle, Kazimir. She loved it, but as a girl with little sense of wielding weapons, the best way to show her gratitude was a hug. She was quick to scamper off afterward, on some adventure with her friends. The years, in a blur, were similar. Jorena exchanged small chats, waves, and smiles as she grew. She couldn’t remember the last conversation they had, before she left for two years.

 

For two years, she roamed, and came home. And from warmer lands, Jorena heard of how the blood spilled through Vjardengrad’s streets. She could not bring herself to go back yet. She was afraid of what she would see. 

 

“Haakon, Ægir, Kazimir, Sissel, the High Keeper…” She did not see them, but heard only of their names, their demise. Jorena asked Raginolf if he was certain, and he was. Kazimir Weiss, “Gone in a blaze of light.”

 

It made her stomach twist to know. Jorena’s own blood spilled, the flesh of her family singed into insignificance, and she was none the wiser. There was no chance to save him, nor say goodbye. So from the halls of blacked stone, in earnest, Jorena prayed. 

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” And, “Grant those I love the serenity of this life, or of the next one.”

[Seuss 1056]

The Golden Knight spent many days after the Norlandic raid questioning his actions. He took hours of Alaric's time weighing the morality of his actions. He delved into the Scrolls of Virtue for clarity, but found none.

 

Sir Severin Black, a once Haeseni born now Imperial Knight, was the sole reason Kazimir died that day. Had he looked the other way, Kazimir would have been left alone. Had he not presented Kazimir to the emperor on grounds of seeking his forgiveness, Kazimir would have gone home. And when the emperor sentenced the fellow Haeseni to die, he motioned the man towards the hanging tree. 

 

The unceremonious stabbing to the throat by the Knight Com.ander stole Severin's attention, and he found no reasoning as to why it happened this way. That golden Knight, a symbol of heroism who fought alongside the Norlandic people, now became the instrument to his family's ancient ally. 

 

The Weiss turned over himself to his Aengul, and was engulfed in white flames. Severin, as lost as he was, had to act or his liege would be hurt. A dagger swung forward and buried in Kazimir's eye. A burning rapier stabbed through his shoulder blade and left to burn forever. He acted to stop the man no matter what. But even with the Weiss now residing with his Templaric kin, the actions that day still haunt the Bastard of Colborn. He truly did not feel like a hero in that moment. And he did not need anyone to tell him otherwise, for he was the first to know.

[scarahpot 385]

"Through the seasons, our love has grown, From tender shoots to roots deeply sown. In spring, we began, in summer we soared, Autumn brought wisdom, and winter, the reward. And as long as time spins its endless dance, I’ll love you, through every season, every chance." Olga whispered to herself as uncontrollable tears pooled into her palms. She held two poems books tight in her grasp and close to her chest hoping to feel the love that had left her. For hours she stayed in the same position, cries echoing through the house. After the darkness encapsulated the sky Olga lofted herself from the wooden floor and rummaged through her wares. She found the Edelweiss belt she was gifted on her wedding, from Kazimir, and tightly tied it around her waist. She glimpsed at herself in the mirror, a faint smile formed on her puffy visage. "Our love will never fade, my Owl."

 

[RingAroundRosey 498]

Haunting the lands of the North, does a young man continue his search. He had searched everywhere, he was starting to lose hope. He didn't want to come to the terms of a truth. A truth he did not yet fully know - a letter he didn't wish to write. What would he do, if he were to learn the truth of his father? The once boy, now man, who was a mirror. Blessed with the hues of his mother and the face of his father. It was always a pride point. But now he couldn't stand to look at himself.

 

"Oh mighty GODAN, please - aid my soul. Give me strength. Help me find what I am searching so desperately for." He'd plead.

 

Eventually he would come to rest. Knelt at a church with a simple prayer.

 

Damned to be a wayward son.

 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🕯⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

 

A faux angel wades through fields of lilac. She doesn't recall why she was there, why the place was important. Why she had eventually wandered up the mountain, to pick at the Edelweiss. Where she had once bore witness to the funeral of a father figure. A memory floats along the wind...

 

The lady Weiss had watched her nephew with pride. Saw how he grew in all ways. She told him of an old saying, as they sat near the burning funeral pyre. 

 

"Seven crows is a good omen. Did you know I saw them on the day of your birth. You, dear, will be something great."

 

Her mind now gone, but the love she had never faded. Tears drip down her face.

 

She does not remember why they don't cease.

But that feeling will continue on, forever.

 

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🕯⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

 

Somewhere, an aging bard pours one out for her favorite cousin. She sings songs of warriors in his honor.