THE EIGHTEEN

[MRCHENN 4741]

Jon Ashford de Lewes, celebrated commander of the Heartlander Strife, confronted in his final years the very powers his victories had made possible. His campaign with Prince Adrian Temesch for the liberation of Petra and the dissolution of the Heartland Confederation had cleared the path for the eventual ascendancy of the Pontifical States. For a lifetime he had carried a single dream: to see his kin reunited under the banner of the descendants of Savoy. The retinue outnumbered and his death imminent, Jon of Virdain was born and would perish as an Ashford should: with honor.

 

Whether in life or in death, his kin would at last be reunited.

 

Spoiler

 

[Kardika 1057]

John Oren watched the fortress burn from a distant hilltop. He and a small contingent of Salvian engineers and rangers had shown for the last defense of Drusco, yet escaping through a secret backway. "The defenses did hold" he said to his scribe before an aide pulled an arrow from his shoulder, "till they did not... we will work upon the designs of yesterday's fortress to build the citadels of tomorrow..." he spoke, before twirling his hand to signal the scribe to cease her scribbling.
"Now! let us make away, back home... to put an end to our own war..."

[nunlover 579]

Lucien scoffed at the door perms. "This was all the Imperium had. . ? Good luck, in future wars." He'd smirk, preparing to fight once again in the future.

Edited September 8, 2025 by finessed

[brujera 1152]

From the ocean beyond Aevos, a merchant vessel set for Aeldin made through a torrential storm. The small cabin groaned and creaked with every heave of the ship, its tar-covered timbers soaked in briny saltwater and shadowed by a dim lantern that swung like a pendulum above Jacquetta's head. Clad in a veil of deep ebony, she lay prostrate upon a narrow cot, her hands raw from clutching the coarse metalwork of her prayer beads as sobs of anguish wracked her thin frame. Outside, the sea raged against the hull, waves striking like siege engines upon castle walls. It was as if the ocean itself sought to drag Jacquetta down into its depths to join her son in death. Though she had taken another name to conceal the shame of treachery, no disguise could shield her from the relentless grief that gnawed at her soul.

 

“Would that God in His mercy take this wretch, as He hath taken my child.”

[iSmooch 124]

The fires of Drusco's keep were tall and the stories of their defense, even taller. Darren watched the siege from a safe distance after being told this last battle was not his to have.

 

Darren fondly recalls the nights of anxiously waiting inside the keep with many of whom are now to rest, as the cold words of enemies of the keep were pelted over the walls. Darren remembers those by his side as they charged into battle, their swords raised, their horses racing, and how many of those would now be laid for that final rest, for the cause they so strongly believed.

 

Darren had found a calling and meaning to his purpose in those times, a bond with those that he had fought along side. The bond may be broken with the death of those he knew, but his purpose, kept strong in his clinched fist, brighter than ever, as he witnessed the head of Roger roll across the palace floor.