Dear Brother, | PK

[truelarper 593]

 

 

Within the square of Petra, Alexandre Ashford de Savoie stood as one long acquainted with patience. A bird took to the air before him, a letter tied to its claw– its wings unsure, yet resolute. He found himself smiling as the sun laid claim to shadow, as if it reminded him that even time must bow to light.

 

He lowered his gaze, and there she was.

 

A face he had not spoken to in years, yet one he recognised at once. She greeted him with a smile– not the careless kind of youth, but the earned smile a mother bestowed upon one who has endured and understood. And so they then sat. . .

 

 

---

 

 

To my dear brother, Constantin,

 

I have never understood why you departed– wether in pursuit of a woman, in hunger for glory, or in chase of coin. I doubt I ever shall. Yet even now, though I am surrounded by those who claim my hours and my affection, I feel hollow where you remain. You are half of me, and that half is now lost. I walk upright in what truth I have left, though I am lesser now than I once was; and in fleeting moments, I glimpse the man I was, and pray he is not the man I am becoming. 

 

As the years stretch away, I feel Vursilas loosen his hold on me, as Father once did. His face fades– so much so that I can no longer recall whether his eyes were of pine-needles or of a raging storm. I find myself unmoored, caught in the quiet cruelty of living without cause, save to preserve our House. And still, I sense there is something more demanded of me, though I cannot yet name it. It irritates me, like a lone stone stuck between a boot.

 

I intend to marry Alma, if you recall her. All that remains is to reclaim Father’s rings from our stepmother. My patience – vast as it always has been – thins by the day. I believe I will propose soon. Yet politics insist I be the better man, and await– until the moment serves both her future and my own. 

 

The Imperator has granted me leave to serve– willingly, and by my own hand. No longer must I tread the treacherous paths of the Imperium and its allies, bearing the weight of a Druscan or Idunic blade. I shall be safe, I think. As safe as men as we are ever allowed to be. 

 

Wherever you are, know this; I carry you still. Not as memory alone, but as absence– and absence has weight. Remember that. Happy Birthday. 

 

Your better half,

– Alexandre.

 

 

---

 

. . . Alexandre beheld the Prince of Idunia, and in that gaze each wound he bore found voice– silent screams, inward cries that no tongue could carry. Death beckoned him sweetly, yet he would not answer. Too much yet lay unfinished; too many vows still warm upon his breath. If the end came now, what worth had the beginning? 

 

His strength waned. Blood marked his failing hour. She, the patriot, came upon him softly, as one might approach a sleeping King. Steel rested in his hand – his brother’s – cold as judgement. She leaned close, her head turned away to look upon her Lord.

 

And with the final command, fate was sealed.

 

Thus fell Alexandre; not unbrave, nor unwilling, but burdened by a world that asked more than one life could give.
 

Spoiler

It was fun playing a de Savoie again, even funnier to die the same way as the last did. Thank you everyone who has RP'd and interacted with Alexandre :)
(he lasted longer than the last de Savoie)

 

 

Edited December 24, 2025 by truelarper

[Ben40K 62]

LIGHT

---

The mighty oak stood tall, casting shadow over the twins. A ray shot into Constantin’s eye, his head tilting leftwards. . Only to meet his brother's gaze.

Constantin’s palm brushed across his eye, as if blinded. “Gah! It is too bright out, Why have you brought me here anyway?”

Alexandre stood, boots sinking into the shallow grass, “Take a look for yourself frèire.” He put bluntly, hand coming up and outwards, a single porcelain finger pointing towards the Petran expanse, livestock running amok. “Do you see now?”

Constantin’s eye narrowed, turning to the field, dull it was without flora or an amass of tree. “I see an empty field, with a cow waiting to be slaughtered.” he remarked with a scoff.


Alexandre turned, looking upon the one who bore his feature. “You’ve changed. .” A hand reached out to Constantin’s shoulder, but its mark was not met.

Constantin turned from Alexandre. “I’ve grown up, As I must with father gone.. No more time to play in fields” With that, Constantin walked away-

 

 

---

                                                 ROAR
The crash of the raging tide was all Constantin heard– He stood from his seat, exiting his messy study.

“SQUAAAWK-SQUAWWKKK.” Alex, the tropically colored parrot flew down, landing upon Constantin's wrist. Within his ashen beak laid a near pristine letter. “Hrm..?” he hummed. He snagged the letter from the bird’s maw, flipping to its back, a wax emblem sealed it shut, The Ashford Sun.

Constantin knew who it was from, immediately he shuffled back to his study. From his desk he procured a small steak knife, cutting the seal loose, taking out the letter.
…
Silence befell Constantin, Perhaps it was true what his brother claimed, that his other half was missing, that no matter how many-a beast he felled, he would always long for his other half. He sprinted out the door, flailing hands & all. “Set sail for Azuras!” he commanded once.
 

---

                                                                     
                                        WEEP.

---

Constantin had returned home, to the bustling capital of the ever-growing empire of man, He noticed banners raised in the name of Hadrian I, giving them a smile.

Wandering around, he found Alexandre’s home, giving it a light knock– Only for the door to swing wide, what laid inside was equal to none, candles burnt down to their end, spiders taking refuge within it’s darkness.. The place was a mess. “Alexandre lives here..?” His thoughts were brought to an abrupt end by ?????, pressing a dagger against his throat.


??????: “Who are you. . .”

Constantin: “Constantin de Savoie..” he answered with the grit of his teeth, eyes traveling around the room once more.

??????: “Ah..” The blade was swiftly removed, what followed was seen to no other.

“Killed?” The lengthy conversation ended there, Constantin rose walking to his brother's study.. Writing a letter to Alexandre, a single tear running down his cheek in the making.

“Brother..” he sealed the letter, placing it between his plate. “I shall avenge you. . .”

He took way to the square, leaving his brother's humble home behind, befitting for him indeed.. Pinning the letter to the board with his dagger.
 

 

---

To Alexandre Léon Ashford de Savoie, The Black Sun

It is with a weary soul and mind I return your letter.. I have learned of your demise. The ink splattered across the header–

But fret not, As you rest below the sun, may its warmth bask you, as it does our father. Accept the final embrace it heralds, As I vow to join you soon.
Love, The one you could never best–

Constantin.

---

                                            WAR.

---

The writing continued.

“Dear, Adunian filth

I have learned your sin, Now I come fourth with this.”

“I, Constantin Henrí Ashford de Savoie,

Will not falter to your challenge of my birthright, Nor

Will I stand idly by as you slaughter my kin for thy own amusement.”

“I instead, Herald this,

Death too the long pampered royal house Arthalion,

Death to every dirty elf-bred mutt living within thy confines.”

“The head of each conspirator, laid in front of me.”

“May your blood finally free this dynasty of your uninformed hatred– Blood for Ashford.”

“I state this with arrogance, as you may kill me the moment you meet my gaze with a rally of twenty men. But my hatred shall burn nevertheless.”

Until my death,

Constantin Henrí Ashford de Savoie.

 

---

                                          PEACE

Constantin looked to his twin, an amused smirk disguising his fear.
 

“Sure that’s the right move?” –
 

Alexandre’s fingers pinched the spiked head of his queen, without hesitation, moving it forward.

“Checkmate, frèire.”




 

Spoiler

 

 

[ProcaPro 557]

The Wedding Dress by Frederick William Elwell, 1911

 

"Alexandre was murdered ... a sword stuck through his back, a dagger slicing his neck."

 

A letter had flown across a continent and back for that statement, the final verdict from the leg of a bird. For days Alma had wondered if their disagreement had made him disappear, if he'd chosen to leave before Tuvmas even came. The tavernkeeper told her of an abduction, but surely the captors knew by now the reason was a misunderstanding when even she knew of his pardon.

 

All it came to was a sentence, in the end. Rage met Alma before grief, tearing through her like a fire and hollowing out her insides to nothing. The letter was torn, venom spat, curses upon houses and killers wished to the air with no care of who heard. What did it matter who did, now? There'd be no first painting on their walls, no hunts, no cottage perfectly centered in the patch of azalea wilderness. Every promise was dead with Alexandre, leaving Alma to mourn it alone.

[Nen 347]

Bartholomew Diddicus sat before his hearth and beside a great mount of puff pastries filled with all manner of cremes and custards. Within his pudgy clutches was a letter that detailed the passing of his dear friend Alexandre. As the fire crackled beyond, streams of tears began to pour down the lordling's rotund face alike the spring meltwater descending from a gently sloping hillside.

 

"Oh mon dieu!" The fat boy cried out, raising a hefty fist to the sky, "Mon ami. . .

I shall avenge you. . ." 

[xo31 3979]

"Wasted potential," An Archmage lamented, wings flapping behind him high above Azuras. He stared over city after city, "Should've taken the offer."

 

"I suppose the next step is cleaning up his woeful allies."

[_xMika 284]

There stood a young savoyard barely old enough to understand most things, though he now felt something he was familiar with the only emotion he fully understood. His father,  and now even his brother had fallen due to the gripes of others, their lives taken prematurely. 

"MERDE" 

That vile tongue of his snapped a tear rolling down his face one that he swiftly wiped away with the fake plate adorning his trembling hands, a sad imitation of what he wishes to become. There was a rage in him, one that no child should feel but nonetheless it was felt. He understood this feeling, for he was familiar with it by now. HATE was what overwhelmed him beyond anything. Beyond sorrow, beyond grief, beyond any other emotion. It resonated deep within his core, leaving place for nothing else. 

"J'vais avoir tous vos tête sur des piques!!" 

He cried out in that auvergnian tone of his, a fist coming to brutally slam against the nearest wall he could find

"Je le jure!"
 

Despite his youth the savoyard knew already who his enemy was, his path had been set, a destiny, that he  will now attempt to carve through with the blood of others, even the innocent.  Perhaps the death of his brother, was a wicked blessing of sorts. Something, that brought him the purpose one usually searches for throughout their entire life span. 





 

[confusedjester 811]

Spoiler

me when jihnyny dies again

[MonteGiant 891]

 

Rodrigo would sit idly by the hearth of his home, his sons bearing their eyes upon him as he sharpens his ancestral blades in sorrow, “The Prince of Idunia, killed one I named brother in cold blood… He bore no armor or sword, and yet they dragged him to his keep and killed him for naught. He was slain because he held the crime of being born. So much for the honor of Idunia, so much for the storied legacy of knights. Prince Vârdamir ‘The Craven’…” Simple words exiting his mouth and yet, the Tawantinsuyin bear no lies, they do not dance in the web of plots as others might, His words are True.

────────────────────────────────────

Pepe would feel the winds sap upon his flesh, his ears would twitch in the cold air, and he would know… Another ally he called his own has fallen. Just like Louis, his greatest of friends in his youth, Alexandre would know nothing but darkness…

 

[Lasombruh 612]

A spiteful creature smirked Savoyardly when it heard the news of the Alexandre's demise. 

[Frawlic 1602]

A young Nord caught wind of the news, surely enough. Her mirror lay shattered, its frame still hanging from the wall as her broken reflection stared back at her from the carpet-covered floor. The rest of her room was torn asunder, and she stood there panting in her frayed state. Pika would regret her last letter, and there would be no undoing of its words, no forgiveness to beg for, nor attempting once again. There was one path now that she thought herself fit to take, and perhaps the weapon best suited for it would be a mace.

[kuerbis 3802]

"He was a man of the Imperial Courts!" the Lady Chamberlain bellowed, her voice breaking beneath the weight of her fury and despair. In a violent wseep of her hand, she sent a stack of papers tumbling from her writing desk. They scattered across the office, fluttering through the air like autumn leaves torn by the winds from a dying tree. Tears clung stubbornly to her lashes as she paced the room, her heart heavy with grief.
With a sharp motion, she tore the headpiece from her scalp and flung it aside. Her bejeweled ringers ran through her hair, pulling loose a few curls as grief gave way to desperation. He had been a man of continuously proven honor and loyalty, one who worked tirelessly to prove that he was nothing but loyal. Someone who stood steadfast in service to the crown and to the courts. And yet, in the cruel absence of truth, he had been condemned to an unrightful death.
A long sigh escaped her as she collapsed into her heavy armchair. There, all pretense fell away, and she started weeping openly. Overcome by her feeling of guilt, she felt powerless in knowing that she had failed to protect one who had been promised a chance to prove his merit.

Worse yet, she had failed a friend.

[Turnipian 203]

“ I am certain that, had you gotten your way, you would be remembered as nothing more than another kin slaying Ashford. A mere blemish upon the White Sun, and most assuredly a disappointment to our father” Vursilas mused while he sat alone beneath a great oak tree, his gaze following the Dwedmar as they rushed to & fro the fortress they had called Kal’Onion. No bottles were uncorked, no tears were shed, and not even a trace of sorrow stirred in his pine-green eyes. He stayed there, back pressed to that mighty of all trees, quietly drafting a letter he would soon send to a distant relation.

:^J

 

[Luto 439]

In the corner of an Empire was a squire who wept out her weaknesses 'neath a burgundy cloak from the world's eyes, struck by great fear it'd get ideas for additional woes had it seen. It'd be fine if GOD did, for all nite she pleaded and bargained to bring a comrade back she regret mocking carelessly.

Eyes bloodshot by inconsolable anger peek out. On evil she'll march, and him, an unforgettable chip 'pon the shoulder she'll hope to witness the rest.

[Navigator 4260]

There was certain pride, in the way that Savoyard excommunicant of decades past gazed at his arriving grandson into the Skies.

"You are of my line, child, but you had my brother's bravery. Welcome... Let me show you to your father."