The Beauty of Tragedy [PK]

[Lortime 1153]

 

 

 

[!]

Ladies and Gentlemen, we present to you a Tragedy in three Acts. 

The Curtain always closes eventually.

 Some people take the bow when they should, the rest we have to drag off…

 

Prologue 

 

Oh! What a Fool he was. It was his Kindness in the end that did him in. But that was always what caused the worst moments of his life, wasn’t it? 

 

He suffered a wretched curse of undeath because

 He offered to confess to a stranger he met on the road. 

 

But kind men never learn, and his inability to learn from his idiotic kindness was what made him fail in his final hours. 

Canto I

 

Scene I 

 

“For now, anyway, they haven’t stripped me of my offices yet.” Alaric Laughed, still surprised the Pontificate had yet to remove him officially. 

 

“Where would it be best to go for a Confession?” the man asked in reply. 

 

“Would you care to see the Monastery? Few people have.”

 

“Would the Church in Alba or Lemon Hill work well?”

 

“I’d be happy to show you Lemon Hill. It’s a beautiful sight.”

 

They wandered for a few brief moments before arriving at the holy see. 

 

“Terrible Architecture. It was this path or wandering ALL the way through the palace.” He joked, always pleased to humour strangers.

 

“Here is the Temple. Beautiful, no?”

 

Moments later, as he turned around from the tabernacle, a group of Calvary stormed the temple and drew 

weapons, quickly charging the cardinal, as he feebly deflected the first below.

 

“Kill me? And do what, make a martyr? 

 

Those were Alaric’s last words as the thugs punctured, stabbed, thrust, mauled, and mutilated the fragile, weak old man who could barely lift the decorative weapon he carried with him for 60 years.

 

What a fitting place to die and bleed out. In his Red Cassock, on Red Carpet, in the Holy See.

 

Et Errorem suum didicit. 

 

Scene II

 

“Oh? My story?” The Young Acolyte inquired to his mentor, and proctor, Cardinal Vursur, as they sat in old Ravenmire. 

 

“Well, I come from a minor house in Haense. Well, a minor house in ruin, I should better say.” he frowned slightly. “Death is what brought me to seek the Cloth.”

 

“My mamej and papej have been dead for probably 10 years. It was the first one’s death that led me down this path. The only thing that brought me comfort after years of pilgrimage was the word of god.”

 

Alaric shrugged, his shoulders rolling beneath the first cassock he wore, a white one with a simple gold cross.

“It felt like a sin to not take up the calling of Godan,” he murmured to the elder. 

 

Fidem Didicit.

 

Canto II

 

Scene I

 

“I’m telling you THE LORD-SNEAK is a real position.” Alaric charismatically spoke, as he tried to hold back a giggle. 

 

“Wha-? Why have I never heard of him then..?”  Anton, his youngest sibling, inquired.

 

“Think about it. He’s soooo good at his job. No one even knows who he is.” Alaric snickered, though his logic almost sounded real.

 

“Oh!!! That makes sense.” Anton nodded, now convinced the Lord-Sneak was one of the Duma’s Officers. 

 

It was then that Alaric’s Mother stepped in and began speaking about what was for supper. Upon the realization that they were having rabbit stew, Alaric cried in fear of the poor bunnies that they must have killed to concoct such a feast.

 

Didicit Misericordia.

 

Scene II

 

Alaric had just been speaking to one of his acolytes when the Winged-Helm he knew very well came into his sight as his mentor and predecessor approached.

 

“Oh, Villorik- It is good to see you. I had hoped you would teach me more about the rite..” he inquired, with a soft smile.

 

“Hrm. Perhaps. This all soon may be yours, you know.” The Old Patriarch hinted, the creak of armour sounding through the great hall 

 

"Alaric, your brothers will scheme, bicker, and politic. But you must raise yourself above them." He spoke, placing a gauntleted grip on Alaric's Shoulder.

 

Alaric turned to his elder brother, looking him directly in the eyes through the Visor of his helm, with a nod of wordless recognition and affirmation.

 

"I shall."

 

They never spoke again.

 

Animos Didicit. 

 

Canto III

 

Alaric walked in a very uneven line through a beautiful meadow filled with roses. Some white, some impossibly beautiful, coloured gold. Almost as if a personal Gardener had planted this field, carefully, delicately, and deliberately awaiting its specific recipient. 

 

He looked at his torso. A red rose stuck out from it. A flower given to him by a child only an hour or so before he was assassinated by a gang of brigands. 

 

“Oh, little one. I never would have accepted this kind gift if I knew I was going to an absolutely gorgeous meadow soon after. If he allots me a miracle, I will send it back, perhaps.” He laughed as he walked around, careless, thoughtless, except for the pleasant scent of the great, wide field. 

 

He meandered for some time, admiring the beauty of the sky he resided in, filled with excitement to reconvene, especially with his fallen kin and clerical brethren.

 

He realized he would have to meet Caius I. He snickered at the short-lived namesake he had chosen for himself. Perhaps he’d win some sort of award for shortest ‘Pontificate’. 

 

He was thrilled to see his Grandmother, Mother, Father, Sisters and Brothers again. He was always saddened that he, the oldest child, outlived all his siblings. He could now complain about them dying on him, sarcastically.

 

But, most of all, he looked forward to the respite. The fighting was over, it was done. Indeed, he had lost a theological struggle, but he won Elysium. Who could deem such a loss?

 

Past, far across the horizon, laughter, singing, and revelry sounded. Alaric was always drawn to Joy, and thusly he went. His kin, his brothers, his friends, and perhaps some foes awaited him. 

 

Godan had judged him fairly, as he always knew he would. The Verdict of Paradise was one he would certainly not contend. 

 

N I H I L  D I D I C I T

 

 

---

 

..Oh! What a Lovely story, with a picture-esque ending. If only it were true. 

 

 

THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF 

ALARIC WALTER VALKONEN

 

Penned and Affirmed, A.D 240, the Night before the Council of Lemons.

Affirmation

I, Alaric Walter Valkonen, being of sound body and mind, do hereby enact this final will as my last act in this mortal realm. 

 

Preamble 

This is a dangerous time, and I suppose it warrants an assurance of my intentions should one of my enemies foolishly commit the deed. I hope it’s worth a veneration, whatever does me in at the end, at least. I’d be surprised if I survive this coming Ecumenical Council, but we’ll see what happens. I’ll write a better one if I survive the week. 

 

On Matters of Inheritance 

 

1. To my beloved, dearest family; to my Daughter Acelia, Her Beloved Wife, Varrik and Severin, my adored Grandchildren, I leave to you the small fortune of minae I accrued in my life as a petty nobleman, and clutched my hands greedily too before I met my inevitable demise. You are all my pride and joy, and I could not ask for a better kindred. Please, carry on and do good in the world that I am unable to now. That is my greatest hope I leave to you. 
   1. To Acelia specifically, I wish I had a better gift to leave you, but take my Jar of Beautiful Coloured Sands. It is as beautiful as you, and as beautiful as the Stars you ever so adore.
   2. To Ser Severin, I leave my holy mace if the guards don’t loot it from my corpse first. Be strong, my boy, and find the forgiveness I know you are seeking. 
   3. To Varrik, I leave my Diamond Ring, crafted by Amaya of Venzia herself. Perhaps give it to Dietrich, but never forget our history and our people. 
2. To my beloved Valkonen family, I leave the other half of my fortune. I wish I had more memorable possessions to bequeath, but I was never much of a collector.
   1. To Evelina, my darling niece, know I am so very proud of your work toward restoring our house. Carry on our name! Use me as an illustration of the deeds of our house. I leave to you the great legacy of our name; invoke me and my spirit, for I shall watch over our house. 
   2. TO Viktor, I leave my Holy Texts. Sorry, I never got to teach you more. The books will do a mediocre job. 
3. To BASIM ARDOV, I instruct the Curia to appoint you as the new Patriarch of Jorenus, so that my people, whom I promised many great services to, will receive their holy services. You’re one of the few competent priests I trust to keep the rite alive, best you can. Take my crozier, for it was meant to succeed my successor in office. I also leave to you, the Broken Chains of Jorenus.
4. To Malna Loa’chil, my oldest and dearest friend, I leave the gift you have given me oh so many times; Cookies!!!  But, I am a poor baker, so I leave you a HOLY MUFFIN that was baked after a miracle happened in Hyspia. Enjoy its pious taste. I’ll probably come and haunt you. 
5. To Xavier Adiler, I leave my Dagger. You were one of the Loyalest men I knew in my long life, and one of the few warriors I trust with it. I should have learned Animi sooner; it would’ve saved me in the end. I suppose I was too trusting of the world that they would leave me to live a life. 
6. To the Holy Mother Church of the True Canon, whom I sadly do not recognize anymore, I leave to you the thing left to me by Fatha Brae: my trusty steed, John Horse. May you ride swiftly to your meetings where you complain about Sigismund! Much love to you all, even if we bitterly fought and argued often. Do well by the faithful, do not ostracize the flock or the clergy; may my death be a catalyst for REFORMATION and a new age of the Church. It is your duty above all, especially since I can no longer help shoulder the burden of our great Temple, to CONTINUE Forth.
7. TO THE FAITHFUL, I leave a collection of Aurum Lorraine Necklaces, crafted by my departed sister; please, spread them out amongst yourselves.
8. TO MY LIKELY ENEMIES, I suspect one of you killed me. I never fight darkspawn, and I rarely even leave the plaza. If I am wrong, please ignore my complaint about you, and forgive me! Take this for the ramblings of paranoia. Yet, I suspect one of these people will be the end of me. 

 

TO CALLAHAN;

Were our disagreements so strong that I needed to be murdered? I did not hate you in the end, and I hope you did not cause my death. It would be a stupid play, but I can see the need to silence your biggest detractor. We never finished talking about Aengulic verification. When you finally croak, we can chat about it. I pray I am wrong.

TO DRUSCO;

I remember our conversation in the halls of your family castle, and how you were quite adamant about me not running for the High Office. I agreed not to interfere with your candidacy, and you agreed not to interfere with mine. I hope you were honest and didn’t. Still, I expected you to murder me in those halls, frankly- but maybe you did remain honest. I pray I am wrong.

TO TIBERIAS;

Perhaps it was the Empire who did me in, in the end. I would’ve cooperated with you, you know. We could have sorted this mess out, but violence took me down. It makes sense. Appoint me to be a Missionary, give plausible deniability that you couldn’t possibly kill me. Point to my death, end the schism with a decisive strike. I pray I'm wrong.

 

If it was none of you who culled the blow, then may we meet again in the skies and share a delightful conversation once more. I trust the three of you will solve the schism first, yes?

 

TO WHOMEVER ACTUALLY KILLED ME,

I leave you nothing but an empty spot for you in the void. Enjoy the eternal festering and rotting. Though I may be an adherent of Carrion, your corpse will be nothing but. Crows feast on the fetid flesh of malcontents like you, and I eagerly await the spectacle. Godani Jest Wielki. 

 

9. TOO my loyal Guardsmen, Arthur, Aviel, Holy Ser Barend, and the whole of the Exalted Army;

Thank you for your many services over the years. I would have died a lot sooner without your stalwart defence. TO you, I leave the Valkonen armoury. Some of my Kin were swordsmiths! Use these weapons in my name, kill some bandits, darkspawn, and make good use of them!

10. TO VINCENZO DE CAPUA, I leave you stacks and stacks of letters. May the burden of unending paperwork annoy you in my death as much as you annoyed me in life. 
11. To those I have perhaps forgotten, I am sorry. I write this document in haste. I name my Grandson Varrik Colborn as EXECUTOR of my estate. All remaining possessions are to be doled out by him to those who wish to claim some keepsake or memento from my stores. 
12. To everyone else, I love you all. God Bless! Every soul who has touched my life. The countless merchants, guards, nobles, clerics, and especially my Haeseni Brethren. I’ll see you all again one day. You can yell at me for forgetting you then. 

 

Signed,  Reverend Fr. Alaric Valkonen

Son of Rosalind

The Erstwhile Patriarch

                                

 

Spoiler

Please DM me if I left you something to come collect :) I'll make sure you get it. Love yall <3

 

 

---

You can never bleed a Crow Cloaked in Red. 

Alaric Walter Valkonen

514-595 E.S 

Requiescat in Pace

 

[ChainedDragons 1374]

"Vy were one of the holy ones ea trusted cousin... with vy gone... whom of the clothe do ea trust now?"
Bron asked quietly, remaining in his room as he set the missive aside. A 5th loss since the mountain came...

[LordofCabbage 559]

"Rest in peace, brother. You shall be in my prayers. Your death shall not go unavenged." bid a certain priest of the True Faith, even if Alaric was within the 'enemy' camp.

[Bird5k 1083]

Xavier stood on top of a hill at the edge of some distant place on this crumbling continent, the letter he had received earlier about the tragic news still clutched in his hand, not even the lovely scenery could ease this despair. 

"The Hound", he was called, a joke made by Alaric to poke at how faithful he was at following him everywhere. And how true that was, he would have followed Alaric anywhere, no matter how dangerous or crazy. "If only I could follow you into the same afterlife, my friend..."  And so "The Hound" made his final bow to "The Crow In Red"

[Fleeperpriest 1484]

"I always needed a horse..." spoke one of the three accused, and the new priestly caretaker of John Horse, the Horse of Fatha Ted, bequeathed unto him as HIGH PRIEST of a TEMPLE of the TRUE FAITH that poor Alaric no longer recognized. He was mourning. He caught himself repeatedly and with great conviction declaring such things as "The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church!", even knowing the dangerous spiritual affliction that addled the poor man, his Cardinal, a gentleman, a co-worker of many years. He could not bring himself to hold against the man his Carrionism, fore he were not really a Crow; he was of the tribe of Saint Rhosyn, and for that, for whatever reason, the Vander felt, knew not what what he was doing. He remembered still despite this the many Bligh-esque tirades and accusatory outbursts he would unleash upon the man for his heresy, but even then, he recalled, equally in the matter of Bligh, still thereafter shower him with praise and brotherly affection, as one could never hold much against Alaric for very long. 

 

Mourning was no impediment to the Priest's impeccable aptitude for cognitive dissonance, as the ridiculous suggestion that there would ever again even be a Patriarch of Jorenus were filtered through his mind on reading them, as though they never were. Some days, he wasn't sure if there was such a thing as Joren at all. Some days, he wondered if the Raevir had not made it up, to better pretend they were Vanders themselves, or Teutons, God forbid. Today he thought nothing, fore he had seen nothing.

 

"Interfere with the candidacy of Father Drusco . .?" he had noticed very plainly. "Yet, Father Drusco has no candidacy. He is not an Elector, nor a Cardinal, nor even a priest of much note, certainly not one so outstanding as to be up for consideration for Pontifical succession despite lacking any qualifications. Alaric on the other hand, was all of these things..."

"A kinslaying."

[sam33497 7356]

Maximilian Caius Horen heeded the passing of the Cardinal with vexation, his words offered unto an image of him upon notification of his passing. "You were a true symbol of Empire, despite your beliefs - a symbol of the unity of MAN underneath one banner, a voice of a fallen kingdom, a vestige of your constituents, who had surely placed their trust upon you. This was never our desire, and it is a wrong which will be woefully punished."

 

His thoughts fled from that of justice and revenge, a final prayer merely offered for Alaric.

 

"Though your beliefs differed from ours, you shall surely enjoy the wealth of the Seven Skies, for you have devoted your entire life fighting for the faith and righteousness that encompassed your gaze."

[spaazmatism 1017]

Spoiler

*falls to knees crying....* no.... no....... this cant be,,,,

 

[Piov 2643]

Father Basim read the late Patriarch Alaric’s last testament with great solemnity. 

 

“Our Church mourns the loss of a great minister and servant. Our faithful are left orphaned without a great spiritual father in whom many found in the late Patriarch Alaric. We entrust our prayers for the repose of his soul and compel our confidence that God has granted him entrance into the emanations of glory. May the soul of Alaric be numbered among the great servants of the Church of the Ages. No man could ever fill the shoes of someone who walked righteously the path of Horenic virtue. In life, and surely now in memory, the late Patriarch will endure as an example of someone who was steadfast in conviction and abundant in mercy.

 

Patriarch Alaric was always forward-looking and someone who was conscious about the future. As he saw himself, we are wracked today by a faith broken by sectarianism, distrust, and confusion. In death, the Patriarch’s work continues onward with those whom he had ordained and mentored. We must be living embodiments of the tradition that has stayed the course. It is what Alaric has done as a prelate and it is what we must do together. I pledge to uphold his will and continue to celebrate the sacraments for the faithful who have for so long looked upon him with affection and reverence.”

 

[KaiserJacobII 1456]

"... HE who makes peace in HIS Seven Skies, may HE make peace for us and for all Humanity. Amen," Lothaire of Lemonhill chants, finishing a prayer of mourning. He rises then from his knees, tears in his eyes, to greet those dark skies gathering beyond his window. 

[HIGH_FIRE 5490]

1 hour ago, Lortime said:

To my beloved, dearest family; to my Daughter Acelia, Her Beloved Wife, Varrik and Severin, my adored Grandchildren, I leave to you the small fortune of minae I accrued in my life as a petty nobleman, and clutched my hands greedily too before I met my inevitable demise. You are all my pride and joy, and I could not ask for a better kindred. Please, carry on and do good in the world that I am unable to now. That is my greatest hope I leave to you. 

 

Caliope didn't know Alaric anywhere near as well as her wife, Varrik nor Severin, however she knew how important he had been to all three and how important he had been in her life. He was the first to know that she was courting Acelia and the first Acelia had introduced to her. He was the one to officiate their wedding and the one who renewed their vows as a surprise from Acelia. Without Alaric's existence her life would be far from what it was, where else would they have found a priest willing to marry two women?

 

With a hefty breath the Balianese woman stood up, took herself to her sons to speak with them about what had happened and comfort them for as long as they would need. Once that was done she would cook some of her wife's famous hot cocoa and look for the tallest roof in the keep, grabbing some plushies and heading for it. There she would find her wife, giving her the plushies and Hot Cocoa, silently comforting her until she wanted to speak, alas today was not the day she would be able to grieve the great impact her Morfadir in law had on her life.

[Seuss 1056]

The Golden Knight could only mourn for so long. He wished to fall to his knees in the Holy See, and scream before the burning pyre. But there he was, deep in the confines of the Empire interrogating darkspawn that had boldly entered the city. Sir Severin Black found no moment of peace with all of the recent events. But he was at least told of his grandfather's will by a servant. He promised himself to set out and retrieve what his blood has given to him. As soon as this darkspawn is dealt with.

[MRCHENN 4741]

 

That evening, the Savoyard reverend returned to his sanctuary within Waldemer’s ancient walls, his weathered boots carrying the dust of a pilgrimage that had stretched across countless months. Sacred relics and worn scriptures weighed heavy in his traveling satchel: treasures gathered from distant shrines and forgotten monasteries.

 

“There is a message for you, Father. From Alaric.” His young acolyte and personal secretary, Sanctimonious Derfey, appeared at his side like a shadow.

 

“Ah, it must be his proposals for what the future of our Canondom will be.” He mentioned to Derfey, following him through the corridors after his long absence.

 

The Father, bone-weary and hollowed by the endless roads he had traveled, broke the wax seal of Alaric’s letter with trembling fingers. His eyes, once bright with the fervor of faith, now widened in dawning horror as they consumed each word.

 

The parchment slipped from his grasp as he sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands while the silence of his chamber pressed around him.

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

The Crow of the Karoslund could only stare blankly at that now-emptied cottage she had settled the elderly Patriarch Alaric within, promising that taking up her people's shepherding once more would bring him some peace of mind amidst all the religious strife that was brewing in the south. It was not a great grief, for he had been a man she had only seen briefly throughout her childhood days. But he had been of Jorenus, which held a great meaning to a young woman clinging so tightly to her faith within the lands of a religion foreign to her.

 

Now, she had come to regret having ever told him that naive lie - that their people would ever know peace whilst those efforts to see them erased continued. For until then, even after losing everything else...they were still the enemy.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

 

 

The devil, not quite small yet not quite old, a teenager by any stretch, sat at the outer tavern tables. One might think Reinhard to bask in the sun of the day which beamed on the square of New Valdev, yet the drink in the bottom of his glass reeked of spirits. It was a thing often unnoticed by all  but his closest, who knew to what extent his drinking consumed him. For what was a Haeseni, if not one who drank? Even if that one did not like Carrion as their so-called kin might. Each dirty look, each damnation of his health, each call of demon was a drop more in the glass.

When Alaric sat, the devil's hands moved below to bring cuffs down and stifle sight to the black-stained nature of his gloves. Not ink of course: blood. He thought little of it now, for it was second nature to hide it. It was second nature to secrecy of his affairs, while supporting others. He had a wariness of those of the cloth - it was blades they came with usually. But this one, he learned, was related. A distant cousin. Alaric supported him. He came to the only clergy Reinhard saw value in.

---

When he was older, but not so much wiser, Reinhard had led himself into some difficult territory. Secrecy remained, as did his desire to aid others. It weighed him greatly, trapped him in a manner he could not quite forsee. When he heard of the transformation Alaric had suffered, it was his first instinct to lend his support - and so he did. Not him alone, of course, there were two who so suffered and he reached to both he could. He would have leapt the world to aid him - anyone, really. And he did, each time. Alaric saw that he was cured, and once the devil knew the man was well he was glad. Reinhard spoke no word of it to anyone.

---

It was some years between their sightings of one another. Things were surely spread of heard during that time. Eventually, they had been apart for quite a while. Distrust had leaked into the devil through no fault of Alaric himself. Reinhard was with a child, a cursed child, as he, frankly, often was. He murmured who the man was, and that child was oh-so-eager to meet Alaric. With a pensive breath, the devil made his was over. He seated, to talk. Enough trust remained that it was this man he allowed the boy to meet. 

All came to a frozen, abrupt halt at the mention of warlockism. In a tavern, in the midst of Petra. The devil's gaze scoured the surroundings, evidentally having been quite lucky at their lack eavesdroppers. Denial, simply, met to accusation. He was never checked, of course - not once. He was running. However, Alaric could not help him. Nor, either, did he seem to care to try with an utterance so brazenly dangerous. This only continued, with the devil coming to suspect a certain cardinal of attempting to take the boy - to pull him from parents that loved him dearly. 

What little remnant of trust remained was shattered, for decades. And for such an act that Alaric perhaps thought little of, the devil seethed. Such a small slight could easily have cost his life. Perhaps, he considered many-a time, that was the intent. He came to believe that in full, eventually.

---

Reinhard languished on the death he so heard of. It was something which in his initial moments brought him satisfaction, which dribbled into frustration. He never would see closure. He never would know why when the tables had turned, Alaric could not stay true. He was only left with questions, and the affimation that all clergy were not to trusted.

[drtrollado 267]

The young acolyte brought a hand to his temple as he gazed at the finished thesis on his table. It had taken so much of his time and so much preparation that he should not feel anything but happiness, and yet... Yet he could not bring himself to smile. His eyes then moved to his bag as he quickly retrieved the letter his tutor had sent him, it was old, but he had only just gotten it. The teen took a deep breath as he then opened it to give it a read, his eyes welling up as he did so.

"When would you like to meet to discuss your thesis?"

Vladvar shook his head, maybe if he had responded Alaric would not have been killed, maybe he would be there to help the Cardinal... But he didn't, and now his dear teacher would never be able to read any of his works. The teen then promised himself that he'd carry out Alaric's legacy of a theology of Love, not hatred, and that he'd live out his life as well as his tutor did, so that one day they'd meet again in the afterlife.