In Your Dreams [PK]

[Dinochad 524]

A man working a forge stopped a moment as he received a bird. He carefully peeled the paper apart, and upon reading the news that same paper gently floated to the ground. Suddenly everything felt dark and despite the beauty of the town he resided in, Aydin felt disgusted by everything. He looked around, spinning in circles in disbelief before uttering.

"Where was I? Where was I when my family needed me? I'm a damn coward. Damn it.. Borsa.. why?!"

[The Vulgate Cycle 577]

Arthur, despite the rest of his fellow Numenedain leaving, had remained. And he bore witness to events of Kazimir's death. And what a terrible, violent thing to behold it was. He had remained, because he could not bear to be so cowardly as to turn his face away from such violence, even as he saw the Templar call upon his Second Chance. His hazel eyes did not for a second close, nor turn away. How could he? Was he not a part of the reason Kazimir and so many others around him were dying? No, he stayed and he watched as Kazimir Weiss was brought to a swift and brutal end. Though he deserved it not. 

And once all told, once all was done, he had secured what remains of the man, his armor. So that later, when the Tar spoke of the price that was paid for the avenging of a Holmgang dishonored, he could lay the armor of the fallen Templar at his feet and remind him what that price was.

As the night dragged on, Arthur could not sleep. Grief had consumed him, and so he left his wife in their bed and went up to the music room of the Tower of Angrenost to think. Where in his mind, a song played by his nephew in celebration of his Imperial Knighthood. It played over and over and over again and Arthur could not remember why for a long time, until he read the words of the song, the ones omitted from his nephews version in Kazan.

As the words played across his mind, as set instruments down all about him and called forth his magic and allowed that graceful song, to play in the open air to its completion. So that he could hear the words and remind himself that this song was not a celebration of knighthood but a plea for Humanity, the sons of Horen and Harren to choose always a gentler path, one of PEACE and GRACE.

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/s7w-IeNR9ko?si=ZAP8BSciIZw51wrF

 

Edited August 11, 2025 by The Vulgate Cycle

[sarahbarah 7105]

Spoiler

 

 

Nadya had been away for many years, bound by oath and destiny to walk the Templar’s path. Yet, when word of Kazimir’s death reached her, she mourned deeply. The grief had cast a heavy weight upon her lungs, so suffocating that she feared she might never taste the biting breath of the Northern winds again.

 

The loss of her kingdom was a gaping wound that festered with each passing day, but the death of her eldest brother cut deeper than any blade. That ruin of reddened stone paled in comparison to the absence Kazimir left in his wake.

 

He had believed in her when few did, following her into the Norlandic wastes when their fellow Haeseni had sought the Empire’s warmth, trading loyalty for comfort and the glitter of imperial jewels. Together, the Weiss had carved a home from frost and hardship. And now, he had fallen, slain while defending that home they had built side by side.

 

The exiled Queen, Nadya of Novkursain, was not one to forgive. Nor was she one to forget. She did not know the name of the one who had taken her brother from this life so prematurely, but the debt was written in blood, and it would be paid. 

 

It had to be.

[Seva 624]

The Priestess Seojin of Ahn, settled quietly at the meditation pool in the quiet village of Angrenost. She ran her fingers through the water, touching the flame of Courage within her chest. She settled on the feeling, reversing it slowly and thumbing through the cinders until she came across what she sought. Enlightenment. She tilted her head upwards as she gazed deep into her own mind, thoughts cast to the Skies.

"May wanton cruelty scatter, like blossoms in the wind. . ."

Beside her, a petal fell from the Iron Sakura into the pool. A Blessed had returned to his Home.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

Reinhard clasped the letter betwixt his fingers harshly. It was taunting him. What was stolen he simply could not forgive, not in the moment. And, as ever, the news of death was broken quickly and without softness: death was never gentle. As was typical, the devil hissed in some anger, biting back against himsefl until it simmered low. What was left was gathered, and was he sought was taken. 

Living was a grim thing for the devil. Good news was rare, happiness rarer. Every step forward was a battle so far inclined up-hill that he thought the next step would be the last, but it never quite was. Stubbornness and Ambition drove him on, as it did any Weiss worth their salt. Schwartz was merely a falsehood of a name, covering the failure of the sactuary he required.

It was not the first time Reinhard marched for his kith and kin. He returned of his own self-exile for Nadya, despite the threat he was under. Presently, then, it was solely for Kazimir, the Weiss that dared to remember who he was, that he marched himself into the jaws he feared with a pride unbecoming of the scorned. It was for Kazimir that he settled himself into the palm of danger once more. And it was for Kazimir, not that Tyrant, that he stepped out bearing a vision of himself most unsuited; out he stepped as a Weiss.

It was not misery that he revelled in for Kazimir, though his heart grieved as it always did - soft within its walled core. Revel he did, instead, in pride of who he was - for it was Kazimir that returned it. It was Kazimir that brewed meaning into his blood. And, once entombed in the depths of his home, isolated from distant blood and close alike, the gleaming blade sat centered amid his shelves and him knelt before it, the devil scattered ash over it and chanted lowly unto himself:

"Va ve Maan, Coz."

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

Maya had not had the same time to mourn as others had, especially when it came to her uncle Kazimir. His death, his murder, had been the last of those killings to reach her ear. But most of all, it had stirred a fire within her - it had steeled her very soul. She had been grateful for Princess Valyris, who had been at her side and tempered that fury within the young Crow of the Karoslund. But still, her mind had grown stormy in those hours that followed, picturing both her uncle's demise and how her wrath might manifest against those who had so wantonly claimed his life. In truth, some part of her would always hope that fate might bring them before her.

 

But the better part of her, the part her late-uncle had nurtured from an early age, knew that revenge was not the way. Time, and life, was but a circle - where all deeds would come back upon those who enacted them. The memory of Kazimir Weiss carried with it the warmth of a man who had taught her to hunt, who had crafted an aurum dagger in the likeness of a crow to serve as her protection, the man who had taught her to braid her hair in the way of her mother's house of Weiss. That warmth deserved to be used to better her people, and ensure that brighter future that he had always believed she would someday usher in.

 

Kazimir Weiss was dead, but his memory would live on. The legacy of the Haeseni people and the future of the Karoslund would pay homage to a man worthy of nothing but praise. A man who lived and died with a righteous fire that burned within - never to be truly extinguished.

[ElvenHuntress 292]

Azja Weiss had long left the land of the Karoslund, clawing at memories of the lands she once loved, her home in Hanseti-Ruska. She had been tending to the seat of House Weiss in the cold, white walls of Novkursain, now dulling from age, to ensure it did not fall to ruin.

 

Somewhere in these lands did the youngest sister of Kazimir hear of his passing. Azja was not one to weep, nor show any real emotion of any kind, but this news cracked that cold heart of hers. She had abandoned her people, her family, chasing the shadow of a life that could never be given light once more, and in doing so she could not prevent the death of her eldest brother. This was unforgivable.

 

The solitary lioness of House Weiss trudged back into the hall of their ancestral home, approaching the seat bestowed to the head of their family. No warmth filled this keep any longer, though, one could perhaps hear the echoes of memories, long lost, hiding in the shadows. The voice of Kazimir and Karl giving lessons to the younger members of the House, the laughs of children chiding one another, a mother’s quiet embrace, lovers’ soft murmurings.

 

Azja stood in the silence of the hall, the statues of her ancestors watching her from the darkness, their faces only illuminated by the golden prayer candle she held in her hands. She carefully set it upon the seat once destined for the Head of House Weiss, then knelt down and uttered a quiet prayer for those the good people of Haense had lost, and for those that continue to fight against adversity.

 

The candle was then left to burn in those cold walls, the light dwindling until it was no more. The ancestors would smile when Kazimir joined them, this Azja knew, the same could certainly not be said for those who took Kazimir from this world so early.

Edited August 11, 2025 by ElvenHuntress

[SethWolf 2340]

A dark creature stalked the lands. A looming, towering figure that held dominion anywhere the sun did not grace.

It had felt the might of Kazimir's soul, its majesty piercing a hole in the aether as it passed onto the other side.

 

In some ways, grief did manage to find that aging Tyrant, for it lamented that it could not turn such a wild soul to its own means. Souls like Kazimir's were a rare breed, ones that were formed only a handful of times each century. Lost to an aengudaemon, another trinket on a long keychain of great souls, put on display and relegated to uselessness till time immemorial. The very thought of it caused the saurian to be physically ill.

 

Then that stomach-churning thought then turn to rage. How closely, the Tyrant thought, did Kazimir's story mirror the creature's own? 

 

Kazimir could have been truly great.

He could have lived forever.

 

Then, the creature found itself thrown into a violent trance. It whipped about to clock a leaning tree with a mighty punch, sending splinters and bark sailing through the air.

 

Another. Another. Another.

 

Its bones cracked, scales ripped from its hands, but the assault kept coming. Each strike rung against the tree like a hollow bell. Amidst its wild rage, it then reached up to pull its arms around the trunk of the tree and rip it down, slinging it into the ground with a chorus of snapping splinters and sinew.

 

The creature's head tore to the sky, and released a rage-stricken roar, sending forth a plume of that sickly acidic blue malflame into the sky. A great soul robbed from him, forever lost.

 

This insanity had to stop.

 

Spoiler

I am so happy to see how far Kazimir as a character and you as a player have come Mr. Pip. Here's to your next character, of which I'm sure will be another banger. :) Va ve Maan.

 

[Frisket 4538]

As Eli’s was told  of the massacare she chuckled for a moment. A Morbid reaction to another Templars death. Only to say something so cruel…

 

”should of been on the right side….”

 

On the other hand

 

 

Vivien looked upon her hands. She stood in the middle of the street, citizens passing by. All of them living peacefully, guards smiled and seemingly lived blissful of what happens to others outside. Vivien asked herself how could she blame them. After all she only saw the trvth. The reality. There is no clarity on right or wrong. The right are the ones who are strong, and evil.

[Otakuu 128]

Spoiler

 

Help, my brain hurts from all the pk's-

 

 

 

 

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She did not expect this to happen. She thought everything would have been solved diplomatically, civilly. Yet the slaughter ensued despite the desperation of trying to keep things civil.

 

She remembered it all with terrifyingly fine detail. The way that the men of the Empire and the men of Numendil surrounded them like an overly large pack of wolves. She remembered as two individuals in particular surrounded her form with their hands on the hilts of their swords and their gazes beneath their helms staring at her menacingly.

 

She did not expect all of these men to act so aggressive, yet they did.

 

. . . . . .

 

She was not there, however, when the lives of many were taken.

 

Fey Hrungnirsdottir was struck and pushed off the high walls of Vjardengrad when the battle first commenced. The waters below had welcomed her within its freezing embrace. She could only imagine what was happening above her, the loud sounds of battle and screams were muffled and almost unheard.

 

Perhaps she preferred it this way, to die like this, for her body to be lost in the freezing current. But whoever watched over her, had other plans for her.

 

She was stolen out of the waters by an unfamiliar figure. They were tall, fully covered in armor. How one could swim dressed like that was beyond her. Another joined him then, and then another. The woman was surrounded by the bloodthirsty lords and knights as her consciousness had slipped away to the cold.

 

 

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Exhausted and starving, Fey stood before the blooming table of the deceased. Her weapon rested within her hand, ready for anyone who would dare attack.

 

It was deathly quiet, everyone whom remained from the slaughter having gone to sleep.

 

It was the quiet moments which she hated the most, where nothing else could distract her mind from the responsibility of guarding the deceased bodies. In these silent moments, she always took the chance to speak with them, whether their souls could hear her words or not.

 

That night, she spoke to Kazimir.

 

"How could I have missed your presence there? Why did you have to die?"

 

The woman was filled with many questions, each and every one weighing heavily upon her chest.

 

"Why could you not have lived like I had?"

 

At this point, she had turned around, staring at one form underneath the sheet in particular, Kazimir's.

 

"You have a family, you have friends, comrades all around you. You were to be my brother once upon a time. And yet, I still considered you such after what happened."

 

"The wound in my heart is greater than any pain I've had to endure. I wish you would wake up but I know you cannot. That in itself is a pain that refreshes itself daily."

 

The grieving woman then took a moment, a long moment, to pull herself together before she broke down fully in front of the table. It was silent for that moment, giving her a moment to think properly and tighten the seams of her guilt, her grief.

 

"I will carry this immeasurable guilt for as long as I draw breath and I promise vengeance when it is due."

 

"You have my word, brother. This will not be the last of it. I only hope you watch upon me and guide me with your strength..."

 

 

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[Divinational 118]

“Can you see me?” The boy noticed her squint, slowly approaching. Coming merely inches away from her face, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

“. . .Not really.” She would reply.

-

“It’s wonderful. . . but. . .” Kazimir pointed to the broach, “Ea think it’s broken right here.” Unbeknownst to Moryana, a smirk begins to crawl onto his lips, waiting for her reaction.

“Where?!” She screams. One of her first gifts, her first testament of a silver smith, to her first friend. If she didn’t make it perfect for him, she would do it over and over again until it was.

“Eam pulling your leg.” The Weiss reassured. A light chuckle emitted from him, before facing his palm to the near-sighted girl.

Embarrassed, Moryana flushes. Her cheeks fill with air as the young girl pouts, giving the Lion a once-over just in case. “Do you like it? Is it good enough for you?”

“Is it good enough me? This is more than ea could have ever expected.”

-

Years went on, and the Amador girl grew tired and pessimistic. She had seen her fair share of death, but grief was something new entirely. Moryana can’t remember the last time she cried; she didn’t allow herself to. But in this moment, Moryana finds herself staring into the hearth of her home. Like a puppet on strings, her heart begins to tug, and dance to a melancholic hymn. She had lost control, the puppeteer no longer the faux apathy she wore on display. A singular tear runs down her playing cheeks and gaunt features. Emotions that had been thrown in a bottle out to sea creep back into her shores. She’s too scared to open it. Too scared to see what her grief will spiral into, what she would spiral into. But the urge to unplug the cork was too great. It was overwhelming, slowly seeping out from the bottle’s seams and cracks. And so for a husband, a father, a warrior, and her friend. She allows the lightest bit of pressure release. Pop. And the one tear became many. Her hands reach an emerald sphere, clasped around her neck is a silver chain, as she stifles a cry that will forever sit in her throat.

 

 

 

On the other side of Aevos, a group of Norns and Karoslunders alike face the blazing fires and scattered debris. Before they enter the palace ruins, before facing eventual doom, cheers of IRON FROM ICE, cry out as a final song. “FOR ASMUD.” They shout. “FOR HAAKON.” A deafening scream. The Van Leuven, along with the rest of her kin, continue their cry for glory. “FOR KAZIMIR.”

Spoiler

another hit of a pip character pk post 😭  this post punched me in the gut with sadness and told me to deal with it. loved you kazimir, thank you for haunting the narrative <3

 

Edited August 13, 2025 by Divinational
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