The Old Lion's Passing

[SmartScout 392]

 

The Old Lion’s Passing

The Last Will and Testament of Sir Robert ‘Robyn’ Joseph de Lyons,

Viscount Emeritus of Enderoca, Magister Emeritus of Balian

 

1900-2030 I.T. | 33-163 B.A.

 

 

Sir Robyn de Lyons would go into a fit of coughs as he’d sit on the cart, as he’d ride once more into exile in the desert. Once more, as he remembered days past, when Archduke Constanz of Petra, before that Constantine of Balian, was deposed, and he had fled before to Balian. A refugee, a Commoner, son of a Knight and a Lady, a common family on the rise in Petra, until their lives were torn asunder in a fortnight. He started to doze, though he did not realize it, and fell into a dream he had many times. He aided his mamej, Juliana Vernhart, with some papers and ink, occasionally flipping through a children’s book as he heard the door open below, as he rushed down to greet his père, Sir Arthur de Lyons. His mother followed eventually, and Elaine, as the four shared a meal, laughing and talking, though the voices and faces seemed distant. Could he remember his mother’s voice, his father’s face besides its likeness in painting or stone? But, happiness covered, thought, a knock came at the door, and the Archduchess came in, and a dread built in his mind. He wanted to warn his father, to call out of the coming betrayal, but could do naught, and the dream shifted, the demons of war coming in their monstrous forms as his father pressed a warhammer into his hands and went to hold for court, but then malflame leapt out from the wooden roofs and the windows, setting the castle in stark relief, and the demons of grief and war numbed his mother’s tongue so it did not work again, though there was no harm to it. And as he ran from the terrors he awoke from the dream, muttering to himself, and wondering...would his mother would speak or be silent in the skies beyond? And would his father be proud of what he became? He was quite warm on the cart as it’d roll through the dunes. The desert was warm and dry - perhaps too much so, for one of his age. He’d cough again, some phlegm and blood. Perhaps it was not just the desert.

 

The desert had been warm when he had come to Balian as well, a boy shy of ten, and not just in climate. Truly it was the kindness of distant relatives he had never met who took him, his siblings, and his mother in regardless, and taught him all they could, and those far above his station who became friends to him and those who came with him. The names and recollections were fresh on his mind as if they were yesterday, even as time made the faces and details fuzzy - his sister Elaine, his friends, Casamir, August, Albert, Elowyn, Eloise - who came with him from Petra to Corbenic or Balian. His mentors - Ledicort Vuiller, Johanne Vuiller, Gaius var Ruthern, and King Alexander. And his new friends - his cousin Helane, Prince Hadrian, Princess Lydia, and Princess Elena, who became his wife. He remembered balls and hunts, descending into dark caves, back to back with Elena, aiding the druids in saving a bokolo from the Mori’quessir, before any knew that it would be them that would drive us from Almaris. He remembered lessons on politics from Ledicort and Johanne, leading his first trial with King Alexander as judge, remembered hours sitting writing the laws of Balian and assuring they were kept. He remembered growing orchards and vineyards and helping keep forests, helping build houses and surveying their new home as they commissioned plans for their castle. He remembered nights talking with Elena, sitting in the preserve behind the city on the slopes of Monterosa, the wind rippling across the water and through the leaves. He remembered the eve in the cherry grove north of the city when he gave his sash, and their wedding by the Grotto on Ledicort’s Rest, and later that night when he was made a Baron. 

 

He remembered the Kingdom rising around him, bustling and spreading across the mainland and the islands, and the next generation with it - Tristan, Percival, and Caelia, his children; Demetrius and Charlotte - his wards, and the former later his friend. Of Queen Sybille as she grew, and her descendants King Alexander and King John - all of whom he served, and watched live and die, as he grew bent with age. He watched a nation grow and change around him, and now it has fallen - the place that once felt so secure, fallen back to refugees. Though most he known had died or disappeared long before that, and yet he lived. Sometimes he wondered which was the greater pain - to die young as his father had, and only be able to watch your legacy from the skies, or to keep living for over a century, to grow tired, and see your friends, your wife, and even some of your children die before you. He coughed again, more phlegm, more blood, as he dozed back into feverish sleep, though a part of him knew he would never again fully wake. 

 

He dreamt of good times, of happy, but always the same demons would chase him - war, injustice, death. He could try to fight them, but whatever he did, he could not see them slain. Adria warred them, then Veletz, then the Church. He ran trials, he wrote laws, he took wards, provided advice. He retired so new blood could take over, and he became involved again when they disappeared. And yet it took all - his wife, his son, his friends, his mentors, and those he was a mentor for. His mind wandered to an argument with Elena which he thought routine, and then finding her corpse a few days later before they had reconciled. He remembered speaking to Percival when he was young about honor, and how those who broke their oaths and forfeited honor made themselves like beasts, and he remembered hearing of his son’s death and bearing his pall. He remembered Tristan’s exit, with all its tension after all his success, him going to sail to seas to not be seen again. He remembered seeing his mother Juliana on her deathbed in Enderoca, signing to her, but still not speaking, even as she gave him her old ribbon and passed on. He remembered Hadrian and Andromeda and Elena and him hearing of Johanna’s death, and mourning his niece. Time and space jumbled, as he remembered the good times and the loss. 

 

And yet another appeared in the chase - Time. Time which rotted nations. Men, and trees alike, and took the old with whom he was friends, until he was all that was left. And now it stooped over him, as he looked on it at first with terror. But, as his thoughts calmed, and his resolve settled, his expression shifted from one of pain to a slight smile, and the shape shifted, to that of his father, his mother, his wife, his friends, and angel. And as he’d look above, he’d think he’d see them, in the open clouds that formed the firmament, and hear faint calling and voices, as his smile would grow and he’d let out a sigh, remarking, voice weak, and labored between coughs “Mon heure est venue, j'ai achevé mon combat. Père, Mère, Mon amour, je rentre enfin à la maison...”

To my Heir, Theodore de Lyons, and his children:
 

Spoiler

I leave all I still have - my warhammer which I’ve carried since the Petra, my notes on translating old Bathlianite, and all I have already left - to you now. You shall bear our legacy forward. Forget not from where we came. We came as refugees from the Petra to Balian, as commoners with good reputation, and from that, we grew to what we were. Do not forget the strength of effort, loyalty, and good faith. Keep our honor, even if it is all we have. We were made beggars once, by time or corruption. I wish not to see it again, but remember that honor and family come before all, even in the darkest hours, or when it seems maintaining them would be the hardest course. Good things come to those who work for them, and who keep their word. I love you and trust you. Times may be hard now, but they shall get better, and they are what you make of them.

 

To Future Magisters and Leaders of the Balianese People:

 

Spoiler

I leave you what I have left this Kingdom - my life’s work, aside from my family. Remember, the corpus of law, while strong, must be interpreted to the situations you find, and may always be improved, for the situations we are in and those to come. Justice is a fight that must always be fought, for the rot of corruption and injustice spring as soon as unwatched, and even the just and their instruments may be warped to be their instruments. Fight for justice, but remember who you are fighting for - your nation, your people, and their betterment. Godspeed.

 

 

((OOC Notes))
 

Spoiler

Apologies for the backdated post. I had spent some time off the server due to IRL and stress, and knew this is something I needed to get around to, but never got to it until now.

 

Robyn was an absolute joy to play, probably amongst the best characters and stories I've been able to portray and experience on this server, and there are so many people to thank for everything he did and all the great experiences he had, and I'm sure I'll forget many.

 

First, thank you to @MapleSunflowerand @Andustarfor choosing me to play your heir. I know it was rocky at times, but I hope things ended up for the best.

 

Thank you to @Madyfor being an amazing consort and doing so much for Balian and de Lyons. Apologies for disappearing at times, but was amazing to build it all up with you.

 

Thank you to @LazyBacon220for playing my heir and being a good friend to Robyn on Casamir. You did a great job, and led to a lot of good RP.

 

Thank you to @Shmeepicusfor giving me a chance in government and playing my other son. Was always a pleasure!

 

Thank you to @HIGH_FIRE , @Wavey, and @ErikAzogfor helping me out in entering the Duana and discovering legal RP, and letting me serve under them. Thanks for taking the chance and helping me out, was a great time!

Don't have all the pings, but thanks to Saint, Aehmi, Anna, Blah, Pyro, Cassie, Harald, Sapphire, and everyone else who made Robyn a joy to play in the time I had him!

 

Sad to sign off on him, but I hope to see great things to come! All the best!

 

- Scout

 

Edited November 13, 2025 by SmartScout