Honor [PK]

[Seuss 1056]

Music

 

 

The bells echoed out across the small town of Grense and bustling city of Elizabeth as the sun rose high overhead. Citizens, travellers, and all walks of life, save the cursed, made their way up the winding path to reach Lemon Hill. A small, yet brave son of Carr made the trek with his younger brother and newest friend to where the bells chimed. He found himself squeezing between the legs of adult strangers left and right of him. Careful not to lose anyone, he held the hand of his new friend tight as she was pulled along; the two of them only just became acquainted when he took a trip up north to Karoslund. The small girl with auburn ginger hair stood outside of a longhouse with the name Ruthern etched into the wood. In hopes of avoiding trouble, they pretended to be cousins to avoid Imperial suspicion.

 

The trio hugged the walls where they could breathe the easiest before the eldest climbed up a jutted section of wall and pulled the pair with. Now with a view and some space, they could see the entire proceedings before them in the Holy See. High white walls with bright windows circled around the dias where figures of almighty importance stood beside one another. The young boy recognized the three immediately: High Priest Harrentzedek, Tar-Anorhil Carandir, and the soon to be strongest man in the realm - Tiberias van Aert. 

 

What started as a spectacle for the young Scyfling soon became one of his most harrowing memories. A cheering crowd deformed in his mind to an uprising mob of kinslayers and savages. The boy laid witness to the three men, investing power only within themselves, to raise their statuses unquestionably. Harrentzedek, under the claim of GOD, rose to the seat of Supreme Pontiff of the new faith.

Carandir, under the Supreme Pontiff’s decree, rose to the seat of High Priest, equivalent to the Pontiff’s former role.

Tiberias, now renamed as the head of House Horen, by the power of his peers beside him, rose to the seat of High Imperator, leader of the united front of Man.

 

Power traded, handed off, and secured between three men who destroyed his home. The roars of victorious men who saw to the death of his people and to ruins of a once precious city. But the boy was young; he still had his own home, and his family still lived on under the Apostolic King, but his mind was blinded with rage. A burning desire to bring down those three men just as the torches were brought down upon the throne of Daniel - one of, if not the greatest physical representation of Canonism - erupting it in flames and denouncing the once-Exalted.

 

His jaw clenched tight and his fists balled. A foolish boy who thought he could take on the entire world right then and there. He was too bothered to not notice the small hand grasping his sleeve.

“Severin…” A familiar voice came, but he did not hear it the first time.

“Severin…” His name repeated once more as his sleeve was tugged. The desperate call of a young girl by his side.

“Severin!”

 

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The knight’s eyes shot back to the present with a blink. The flames of that burning throne no longer occupied his mind. The grand white walls and windows shrunk around him to a much more humble abode within Rittersberg’s upper district. Drapes of imperial purple and portraits of Colborn and Ruthern alike line the walls beside the grand piano. The bench, occupied by one individual, was a beautiful, auburn ginger-haired individual just having completed a run-through of the keys. Devana vas Ruthern, his wife of two decades was calling out to him by name, and the worried expression she held relayed to the man that he zoned out again; a habit of his since the ending wars against the Mountain.

 

“Are you okay? You had that look in your eyes again.” Came the concerned tone of his beloved. She was always able to read him well and knew when pain ached at his heart.

 

“Just reminiscing. That’s all.” Severin replied. He often stood beside his wife when she practiced at the piano. A regal upbringing shaped the stoic knight to enjoy all mannerisms of music, art, and pleasantries.   “Severin.” Her voice drew out that name. A knowing brow raised as she tapped the bench beside her for her husband to join her. “If I had farthing for every time I saw that expression and there was a problem behind it, I would be richer than Hadrian himself.”   A light laugh befell the Imperial knight as he took that offer to sit down. “I was recalling when we first met. We attended the coronation of Tiberias, as well as the Pontiff and Tar.” A nod came from his wife as he continued. “I had so much hatred back then, as you know. I strived through trial and error to secure myself as a squire on the path of knighthood to complete that forbidden goal.”

 

“I do recall. We both had our issues with the trio of them one upping each other before the throne of Daniel.” She laughed politely while tracing her fingers along the keys. “But those thoughts have long passed, da? You have gone as far to say you would die for Tiberias and his family.” 

 

Severin’s fingers laid across the piano similarly. Not a man of skill himself with the instrument, but he always admired it. “Stopped those thoughts a long, long time ago. Who knew living in the Empire all my life would cause that?” He joked. His attention turning towards the fireplace nearby, a faint reflection of those dancing flames appearing across his visage. “I have many people to thank for that. Honeywine, Carolus, Martius, Sirius.” He listed off former mentors of the order he was sworn to. “Gideon, Esther and Vanya.” A trio of names long forgotten to most. “And especially Marcella. You’d think the name Horen meant savage until you met her. Or if you did not know Hadrian when he was young.”

 

Devana’s hand came up to his shoulder to console him. She has met many of those names in the past, and a number of them belong to those that can never be met again.

 

“Strange as it is, many of them were like family to me. Especially the later four. The stress on my neck whenever the princess wanted to leave the city and we had to follow. Honeywine would have had our necks if they knew half the trouble she got herself into.” Another laugh escaped the reminiscing knight. His hands came off the keys and rested on the bench to either side of him. “I miss what it used to be. Before we came here. Before our Emperor needed to change himself.”

 

His wife merely listened for now. She was always one to lend an ear when needed most, and although this moment may not be as crucial as times before, it was a time shared between them that mattered most. “He did not change completely though, right? You told me about when you went to request retirement. That went well.”

 

He nodded in response “When the war is finished, and we have united the realm in its entirety, we can go back home and live out the rest of our lives without a worry in the world. Varrik even agreed to let us stay in Kazan with the family. The  Autumn Isle is quite the scenic view.”

 

“Do you think Honeywine will be upset that you are leaving?”

 

Severin smirked and glanced over. “I am expecting a punch or two. Even though it was a difficult ride under him as head of the Order, I am sure he will understand in the end.”

 

The duo found bliss in their chat, as they have done over and over again. The bands on their fingers are one of many symbols of their devotion to one another. With her knight’s attention back on the show, Devana carried out one last recital for Severin.

 

“Make sure to come back in one piece from your patrol later today. That face needs to remain spotless.”

 

“Like I have told you every time before then, my love - I will return.”

 

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The harsh winter winds whip across the northern isle as trees threaten to snap under the weight of neverending snowfall. Numerous rowboats left behind on the cold stone shores where broken ice bunches up like shelves with the slow ins and out of the tide. The blanket of white sat peacefully across the landscape, softening every contour and muting the natural colors of the lonesome world. Situated among the rivaling mountains that stretch for the stars sits the island's only abomination. A towering castle of midnight stone and horrendous depictions graced unelegantly by the large formation of a human skull situated over the front gates. A lair of wickedness has taken this island as home, and the inhabitants have been known for some time.

 

The long burgundy cape flew perpendicular to its wearer as the winds fashioned a flag out of the cloth. The Imperial Cross - once a sign of hope, now a sign of what is to come. To the ill-taught, this symbol attached to raven-black armor before such a lair would assume similarity and coexistence; however, the man before the castle stood against the spawns of evil in their entirety.

 

He watched as the walls remained void of activity. The shuffling of boots in the snow and hollering of orders ushered about around him. The knight’s attention was halfway elsewhere for the time being. “Sir Severin!” Came the call of an Imperial soldier. “The tunnels have been altered, but despite the excessive noise we stirred up, there are no signs of them anywhere.”

 

Severin replied only with a nod and a brief gesture of his hand. “Rally the troops back to me.” He ushered out the simple order and the man was off again. His mind wandered once more with the spare time he had left before the expedition team reunited. Decades had gone by since the knight last tested his mettle against the enemies of the Imperium. Beasts of untamed capability - whether of Ibleesian nature or other. For too long now he has been kept within the walls of Rittersberg tending to the Imperial Family. It was a job he did not regret, but the rare moments he ventured outside the walls were times he felt most alive again.

 

What was once one pair of footprints became many. A small march of soldiers, all varying in rank, formatted themselves in order before the Dragon Knight. A uniformed salute before Severin returned the favor. Despite their helms voiding any expression, the knight knew the demeanor of the men around him. They were tired. Patrols and expeditions day in and day out, and with little downtime. The newer generations were being trained on hunting Dwarves and Orcs - the likes of darkspawn hunting were unknown to the majority. Severin often did his work alone except for a few occasions; this outing being one of a handful. 

 

“They have likely scattered and hid themselves throughout the realm. All of you are to return to the city post-haste. I thank you for joining me on this expedition.” The dismissal of the expedition party officer. The men saluted without a word and broke formation to make way back to the shoreline. One individual stayed behind - a squire of the order.

“Will you be coming, Sir?” Came the inquiry from the man wielding the red dragon on his tabard. 

 

“I have some other matters to attend to before I must return. Make sure everyone gets back in one piece.” A dismissing tone befitting the knight titled The Daring. Hardly were his achievements the effort of a group, and rarely were his companions as steadfast to the mission as he was to go months until it was completed.

 

In time the island became desolate once more. One visitor still stood tall as the snow piled around him. He spared a glance to the lair one more time before he too departed for his lone rowboat by the icy shores.

 

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He should have returned home. The Daring was a moniker befitting his courageous soul, but also his horrid tendency to go where the battle is. The lone Dragon Knight stood before a grand entrance way. By the size alone, one could argue it was meant for the coming and going of Olog’s and frost giants. The heat built the closer one stood to this castle behemoth, and the thundering crash of debris overhead as it met the earth below sounded off like nature’s cruelest melody.

 

“Hail! I have come to seek a duel of honor from Azdromoth’s chosen!” Came the brave call of the Emperor’s knight to the hall of faux dragons. His voice echoing through the otherwise empty halls. No response came his way as Severin called out once more - the lack of response disheartening. As his body turned and his cape flew about his person to depart, there came an affirmation to his plea. 

 

A moment prior no one stood before the knight, and now there came the words of a being cloaked in orange and red; grey skin and three eyes befitting familiarity. Severin recognized him almost immediately - The An-Gho.

 

“You seek to challenge one of us, O warrior?” The apostle-like nephilim called out through the layer of steel that separated faux from faux.

 

“Sir Severin Black, of His Imperial Majesty's Dragon Order.” He introduced himself before the growing crowd of Azdrazi who motioned about from deep within the castle interior. “I have come seeking an honored duel.”

 

The An-Gho seemed unconvinced, or the tiniest bit curious as to why one of the Empire’s finest had come willingly before their abode. “Do you seek to prove yourself?” He inquired.

 

“In all the foes I have faced in my service as a knight, I have fought alongside your kin-” he gestured his gauntlet across the opposing gallery.  “And you yourself on a number of occasions. Whether by orders or happenstance. I have fought paleknights, lords, lich’s and the like, and I do not compare them to you, your kin are one being I have never fought against.”

 

The hushed, grumbled callings of a serpentine tongue rang between those individuals inside. Characters of a language unknown to the knight, but when they all returned to silence did he understand the following: “Come in, knight Severin. Tor'Urldar welcomes you.” The dust below him shifted violently as the base of the gate broke free from the floor. Slowly did the chains overhead free the path for him to enter, where across the bridge stood his opponent. A once Kha, now Azdrazi, whom the knight has fought alongside with on multiple occasions against the Mountain - Ar’Kaan.

 

With his hand raised to the handle of his weapon, Severin spoke out the proceedings: “As the challenged, you’ve the precedent for this duel’s mannerism.” His opposing hand opened up the short conversation to be held.

 

“To the death.” Came that growl of a response.

 

“Weapons of choice?”

 

“Anything.”

 

The need for further clarification was unwelcomed. The two knew only one shall come out of this duel, a victor who claims to see the next day. A large great-axe frees itself from where the knight holstered it, grasped in both hands as his opponent readied quite the arsenal - a small, sharp end shield of carbarum make, and a Dracanium arming sword with a flared end. The weapons were set, the armor adorned, and not a sound between them until the An-Gho raised a brief hand.

 

“May thy Asioths make one, unto the end.” 

 

Unlike the boastful speeds of two horses and riders within the confines of a joust, these warriors began circling one another. Eyes fixated on any opening should it present itself. Severin slowly made his way in, keeping himself just out of distance of his opponent's weapon.

 

Ar’Kaan allowed a chuff to escape him as the tattoos, covered across his body save his forehead, began to pulse with light. As he sought distance, the traces of smoke escaped his unhelmed jaw. “I am sorry, Sir Severin.” Came the initial pity of a nephilim thought untouchable.

 

Gravel crunched underneath the weight of imperial steps as Severin closed the distance further “I certainly hope you do not aim to end this quickly with your breath, Ar’Kaan. My intentions were to see your fullest form eventually.”

 

“I do not hunt rabbits with a canon.” He replied as a dim glow emanated from his throat. 

 

“A shame, truly.” The knight rushed forward now, bringing the head of the great-axe to his left side. As distance closed shorter than the arming sword’s reach, Severin pushed to his left and bound for his opponent’s right. The head of the axe swung in a horizontal arc - aimed for his foe’s cuirass.

 

Shield avoided, the attentive arming sword deployed against the haft of the axe, twisting up to bind under the head and ripping the incoming strike upwards. Ar’Kaan’s jaw widened as that glow peaked with a cough. A fire projectile departed on its path to the knight’s helm, aiming to kill him instantly. The seasoned knight, in territorial grounds and against an opponent such as an Azdrazi, needed to keep his focus on more than just present weapons. The fire from his enemy’s maw was expected, and subsequently dodged with Severin’s level change in height.With the great-axe occupied, he dashed downward towards Ar’Kaan’s exposed right side where a heavy palm struck the nephilim’s rear knee.

 

Ar’Kaan stumbled forward with a grunt, having to readjust after the surprise strike. His first attack unsuccessful, he opted to retreat into a defensive stance once more, allowing his blade to linger behind him in hopes of a wide swing. The tattoos from his forehead began to dim as the energy he built up sunk away.

 

The knight kept his chase as his foe stumbled off. His axe of choice rebounded from the right side, lowered and thus swung upwards across his body for Ar’kaan’s sword-hand. An attack easily countered by the presence of an unbreakable shield. The axe bounced off that reflective surface and returned to the wielder. Severin had  the intention to swing again before misfortune befell the arena. The realm trembled with hate and malice; the ground sought to split away from itself as the unaccustomed knight was sent teetering away from his opponent. The overall structure wobbled and warped, but it did not collapse.

 

A native to the land was less affected and well accustomed to positioning himself properly to avoid opening himself up. Ar’Kaan prepared himself for an assault as his shield arm joined his sword. An odd handling of weaponry as the shield was rotated upwards, and the sword stuck out horizontally and aimed for Severin’s left. The knight, now recovered from the first quake, found himself baffled once more by his opponent's display. He paced himself as stepped forward, keeping his weapon at the ready and his feet positioned for quick retreat. Once more did the experienced knight focus his attention on any movements of weapon, shoulder, boot, or eyesight.

 

With haste did Ar’Kaan circle his weapons rapidly before parting them. The shield lowered out of the way as the Dracanium swung in a haymade horizontal arc for the knight’s visor. Severin’s eyes widened as that weapon whipped about for his head, and he bent his knees once again to abuse the height difference and sudden level changes between the pair of them. The distance between them now miniscule as he hoped to press off his heels and send the topside of his steel helm against his opponent’s unguarded chin; however, the realm had other plans. The ground quaked underneath the pair, throwing the knight off his footing once more and preventing that strike from reaching flesh but instead the sturdy cuirass.

 

Once more did that splitting of earth and shifting of structure throw the duelists off guard. They pushed off one another and returned to their earlier distance. “Do you deal with this everyday?” Severin questioned the castle inhabitant.

 

“Some of our chairs are. . .” Growled Ar’Kaan as he closed the distance quickly. “Bolted down!” The flared end arming sword swung across his body, catching and biting into the knight’s cuirass as he desperately aimed to step out of range. The odd tip split a line across the metal, exposing the chain underneath. This biting motion tore Severin in one direction, and as his weight shifted to one side, he reimbursed the faux-dragon with an attack of his own. The axe swung upwards from below, aimed to strike that sword-wielding wrist and wretch the weapon free of its user.

 

Metal swung and struck at each other in matters of seconds. The briefest bouts of energy spent enormously as Ar’Kaan retrieved his sword behind him and threw his shield towards the incoming axe, striking the haft and sending the weapon back down. Severin utilized the momentum change as his weapon came back down. With a turn of his footwork, his body shifted and his back pressed against Ar’Kaan’s shield. The axe whipped around his body as his left shoulder turned inward and the heavy blade struck hard against Ar’Kaan’s pauldron. Metal crushed first before splitting under the force of the axe, exposing the chain underneath that the nephilim prepared.

 

The two split apart from one another once more. Pain surged through their bodies, but only one of them began laboring in breath. Sir Severin, in all his capabilities, was incapable of avoiding the result of expending energy. Meanwhile, his opponent of unlimited effort began glowing about his tattoos once more, preparing a second of his abilities in the brief spark of time. Severin pressed on with the axe in tow, slamming it against the shield in hopes that if another projectile was forming, he could utilize the shield as well. Ar’Kaan met that force and kept the knight at bay while the ability charged.

 

A grunt escaped the knight’s helm as he pressed into the shield with greater force. He took note of the glow increasing in luminosity from behind the shield and within the break of the pauldron. Their eyes met, and in the miniscule time he could manage, Severin shot a hand over the shield and pressed his fingers to Ar’Kaan’s eye. A cornea comparable to metal met the incoming gauntlet. The candle-like flame behind that material briefly extinguished as he roared; “ARGH! GET OFF!” Ar’Kaan bellowed out in pain. Despite the notable strike, it did little to stop the spell. As that light thrummed from arm to shield, it sent the force of an Olog’s swing into the axe Severin propped himself up against. The knight flew meters away and crashed into the disheveled gravel as his blind enemy rubbed at his eyes.

 

Sir Severin struggled up to his feet, recovering his breath with the distance and time allotted. “Sorry, Ar’Kaan. It only felt fair after you tried to set me on fire.” Came the knight’s excuse for a joke. He took up his axe by the lower haft once more, letting the head rest on the ground while he stood upright.

 

Ar’Kaan paused in his actions, staring at the opposing knight. Tears of flames leaked from his eye and stained the fur about his face. “We are not friends, Severin.” His sword rose up once more. “Save your quips for your friends.”

 

Severin stared out as well, utilizing the time accordingly. His feet began ushering him forward, but another bout of quakes brought him left and right as he adjusted his footwork. “Apologies. An old habit of mine.” The axe soon raised to be grasped in both hands once again.

 

Ar’Kaan raised his sword overhead and hugged his shield to his cuirass as Severin approached. The distance between them shrank until the knight dashed away from the sword’s assumed trajectory and aimed to clip the once-Kha’s ankle and rip it from the ground. That leg dropped back to avoid capture, and the arming sword crashed down from above towards the lowered helm. Severin pulled back in time to avoid a strike to the head, instead receiving another drag and tear of blade against chestplate, opening another line that exposed the chainmail underneath. The knight pushed off the ground once more, throwing his body upward and aiming his helm for Ar’Kaan’s chin once more. A sudden rip of the shield across the Azdrazi’s body slammed into Severin’s shoulder, sending a great force that cracked various bones and launched the dragon knight across the room.

 

The knight crashed into the gravel where seven of Azdromoths’ chosen stood alongside the An-Gho, watching the proceedings of the duel with great interest. Ar’Kaan dropped his sword to the floor where it whispered strange tunes and manifested to ash. His attention fell on the knight who was managing himself back up to his feet. “You remind me of Vanya.”

 

Pain streaked across his upper arm and across his clavicle as Severin pushed off one hand and knee. He stood upright before titans  surrounding him. Though he knew he could move his arm, it would be illogical to attempt and wield the axe for the remainder of the fight. He turned about towards his opponent as his left hand drew a long, elegant rapier from its sheath. “You knew Vanya?”

 

“His Emperor sent him to die too.” Stated Ar’Kaan as the runes about his figure dimmed in light. His footsteps took him forward as he sized up the change in weaponry; a frown in response to such.

 

Though stumbling quite a bit from the most recent strike, the knight took on the stance of a formidable fencer. His left leg held the lead while his right foot dropped back. His body turned and the tip of the rapier was pointed in front of him. “No. No man sent me here but myself. But it is good to know Vanya is where he belongs now.” With that said, the knight lowered the weapon down briefly to its sheath. The base of the blade rested against an affixed piece of flint. As the weapon was dragged across his waist, the flint met boomsteel and ignited in a glorious flame. Emberlace now drawn by its wielder. “Let us proceed.”

 

Like clockwork, without another need to speak, Ar’Kaan began his slow stalk. His shield arm held high and his once sword-wielding arm now bare. The dragon knight adjusted his form from one necessary to wielding a powerful great-axe to a much more flourishing balance. He motioned off to his right, keeping necessary distance between himself and his opponent with the blade’s length being their divider. The flames were not his hopes of besting a faux-dragon, but the rapier itself held the crucial victory. Ar’Kaan came to a halt, but Severin continued his circling without breaking free of that space he gave himself. His right hand managed to make it behind his back, grasping perhaps to keep ahold of something so the pain can be ignored.

 

Ar’Kaan made the first move of this returned bout. His shield swung across his body to bat away the rapier as he strode forward. His free arm kept tucked close to his body in hopes that a counterattack would easily be dissuaded. Severin was lighter on his feet now with the loss of the axe and change in posture. As Ar’Kaan stepped, the knight lunged back and out of the way.

 

“You won’t tire me out.” Ar’Kaan warned the knight.

“I’ve no plans to, Ar’Kaan. Though the great-axe is a weapon mightier than most, I shan’t wield this delicate weapon of mine in the same fashion.” The pair shared brief words as that circular stalking of the knight onto the once-Kha continued. “I trust this duel was as entertaining for you as it was for me.”   As Ar’Kaan began his pursuit once more, the words of the An-Gho rumbled in the halls. “Fate and Conviction… Ruin and Order… Melded into one great madness…” “One great fire…” “This is why, O warrior-knight…” “That truth-” “TRUTH BURNS!” The walls shuddered under the force of such a declaration, and in tandem did Ar’Kaan ready himself to lunge once more. Smoke snuck from his maw as the glow about his body repeated once again.

“I might as well lay down and die, Ar’Kaan.” Another daring jest thrown from the knight as his opponent evidently readied another ability of his. Severin drew in closer as a short burst from the knight localized around strikes followed by disengagement. A hit to his enemy’s hand, then avoiding the counter swing. Another attack by the torso to lure him in while the swinging carbarum shield was ducked under. All the while, the tattoos illuminated to their brightest, and Severin, perhaps drawn in by the knowing limit to his stamina, made his crucial mistake. A step taken too close, an arm lunged too far, and Ar’Kaan moved in successfully. The lights on his body faded - a bait and switch as that shield shot forward for the knight’s helm.

 

The final bout - the coup de grâce of this honor duel - ended in seconds, but felt like precious hours. Severin abandoned his forward left leg, swinging it back and just managing out of the way of the shield. The reflection of his helm cast across the blue metal. Ar’Kaan brought the shield to his chest and slammed his body into Severin’s, aiming to utilize his full height, weight, and strength to knock away Severin without the use of his emboldened abilities. The distance between them is next to nothing. Severin’s left hand releases from the rapier to grab ahold of that bashing shield. His chestplate took the brunt of the force, but he held on as best he could. A gamble was made when he played with the notion that his right arm was not functioning. His dagger, Barmhärtighet, drew with haste and lunged over the shield, aiming for his opponent’s throat.

 

“You-” The faux-dragon was caught off guard as the dagger was sprung. Pure instinct became of the two creatures sworn to their respective Gods. Ar’Kaan withdrew his shield and brought his free hand up, just barely catching the dagger-wrist and halting the strike. A battle of wit and strength became of the two. Ar’Kaan was close enough now to see the red of the knight’s eyes. A yell escaped that man as his free hand soared for the larger fighter’s throat, hoping to tear it apart. With inhuman grip, Ar’Kaan ripped that hand he held down and brought his shield across his body, batting away Severin’s free hand. In kind, Severin dropped said arm to collect the dagger from the other. A second attempt to stab away at his opponent’s face and end the duel. The blade met its target and slashed across the Azdrazi’s face, leading to a roar of pain filling the antechamber. With the knight’s right arm still grasped at the wrist, he utilized his strength to raise that arm up high. The blue forerim of Ar’Kaan’s shield, emboldened by power surging through the blue metal, was sent across once more on the path intersecting that raised arm.

 

Another bout of olog strength erupted between the two as Severin’s body was sent off a third time. His body slammed against the ground, leaving him to stare up at the architecture overhead. Silence befell the room as Ar’Kaan raised his right arm, still holding from elbow to wrist the arm of Sir Severin. The knight laid on the ground as his breath hastened and his body began numbing. Blood pooled from his lost limb at his side.

 

Ar’Kaan lowered that arm and tossed it aside. His body leaned forward as he roared an inhuman Draconic word, perhaps one signalling this duel’s end as the walls shook from the great bellow. Flames spat from the Ishirem’s mouth as he cried into the air.

 

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The halls of the Dragon Order were always dim of light. As close to pitch darkness as the armor could be. The only saving grace was the large hearth in the main hall where light cast across every seat and up to the dias. Severin sat amongst friends of his while sipping down bitter wine after a disgusting show of Imperial force.

 

“I no longer feel that I am doing what I set out to do. I recognized it slowly while we were still sworn by the golden dragon… But now with the switch of armor and Hadrian’s rise?” He left the statement up in the air while Sir Redgar sat across from him and Sir Khaleed at his left.

 

“Me mind is made up.” Spoke the knight as he left his wine untouched. “I shall leave our order soon.”

 

Severin stared down at his wine, allowing silence to linger a moment longer. “I began expecting such not long ago. And it has weighed on my mind for a while.” The fire danced across his face, illuminating that forever unscarred skin he was proud of.

 

“What will ye do, Severin?” The faltering knight simply inquired.

 

He glanced up from his mug, meeting the helmed knight opposite of him. “Talk to my family first. I am sure they’ll have much to say about it. Then talk with Devana. Should I retire, I do not see myself dropping it all. I still will follow my dream - just under a different roof.”

 

The three knights spoke for hours that night. Redgar and Severin regaling Khaleed with tales of the past when they both wore the armor of the golden chapter. It was a night where they questioned themselves; a night when they questioned the emperor and if they truly were the same as when they were first sworn. The conversation remained in that hall, and it never did leave. 

 

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“I think retirement would be a good idea. Leave with honor before duty gets you killed and your head placed on a pike over some minor misfortune.” Came the soft, albeit stern words of his younger brother, Varrik. Caspian stood close by near the fireplace. “I don’t believe I need to say such but you and your family are always welcome back here. It would be nice to see you, Devana, and my niece and nephew running about.”

 

“Honor.” He repeated before downing the remainder of his wine. He exhaled afterwards and rolled the glass stem between his fingers. “What do you see when my face is covered, brother? When I enter these halls in ebony and burgundy colors, with no smile to be seen, or grand greeting to be had?”

 

“Do you wish for me to be honest or would you rather I lie?”

 

“I’ve only ever treasured that honesty you’ve kept our whole lives.”

 

Silence lingered between them. Though the room was filled with only the three of them, and no one else to hear in, it still felt just as uneasy to say it as it was to hear it.

 

“I see death.”

 

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Sir Severin brought his hands up by his mouth, folding his fingers together and resting on his chin as he went silent for a brief moment. “We marched into Caurost by Honeywine’s order, where we almost took Galahad - their ******* prince, back here to be killed. Had three Dwarves not tried to interrupt, Honeywine may have never killed them and calmed down enough to let the elves go.” His hands motioned up to his forehead as his voice strained. The demeanor of a man meant to be the symbol people look up to now faltering. “Everything is wrong. This is not how it used to be. This is not who I am.”

 

Devana’s features twisted from grimace to looks of shock and dismay - the retelling of her husband’s accounts that day garnered severe reaction from the Raevir woman. Devana chose to take pause as the story came to an end before speaking out. “Severin…” A soft utterance given as she reached out to grasp the knight’s hand in her own. “I am so sorry… Are you alright?”

 

He remained motionless, though as his hand was grasped, he allowed himself to be pulled towards her. “They fear me now. The people I swore to protect. The hero I made myself to be so no one would go a night without rest. I swore to stave off Darkspawn - our true enemies… now I am used to slaughter anyone.”

 

“You are still that hero, Severin.” She stated firmly, bringing her beloved into an embrace 

 

He recounted his conversation with his family back home, relaying his intentions after retirement and hoping she would not be discouraged or uprooted.

 

“Severin… what you want, I want.” She stated firmly. “I just want you to be happy and safe - above all else. If you wish to retire, then I will find further happiness with you being home more often,”

 

In times of turmoil, when the knight found himself unable to justify the world around him and find joy in his existence, it was the girl with Auburn ginger hair he first met in the cold north of Karoslund who turned it all around. Decades later, wedded for two, she still stood by his side and illuminated a path thought forgotten. “What is another grand move, right? We’ve done it twice before.”

 

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Short, quick breaths were escaping the dragon knight as he stared through what little his visor offered. He clenched his right fist - only it was a ghost feeling. Nothing was there except the blood leaving his body. Even the inhumane scream from his opponent seemed to fall on deafening ears. Breathing heavily, teeth gritted, Ar’Kaan stomped towards the fallen knight and took a knee beside him. A claw of his tore away at the helmet covering the defeated’s face, revealing the knight he bested.

 

The helm was removed, and underneath laid Severin’s true visage. An aging one, but one marked with no scars. No injury ever touched his face, but the same could not be said across the rest of him. Perhaps the Empire’s finest when it came to appearance. But that mattered little in the moment. He was paling quickly. His chest rising and falling quickly. His grey eyes peered from the ceiling over to Ar’Kaan.

 

The Azdrazi leant down closer, and again bared his teeth in the man’s handsome face. Heavy, deep breaths of anger left him, as a burning spittle fell upon his cuirass from his hung lower lip. After a long time of this, after Ar’Kaan appeared to read the man for a moment, he slowly claimed down and leant away some. The antechamber was silent as his kin motioned forward towards the fallen knight.

 

Blood found itself around Ar’Kaan’s knee, moving along the cracks and splits of the gravel between the pair. His breath, though little, still strived to fill him with air. As their eyes met, Severin held an expression befitting the fear of not his opponent - but death. His breathing began slowing down, and his eyes started welling. But there was a brief moment - the shortest of moments - where that dragon knight smiled. His eyes remained on Ar’Kaan, but they could no longer see.

 

Sir Severin, Dragon Knight of His Imperial Majesty’s Order, passed away with a blissed expression, one with the physical sight of an enemy before him, but in his mind replaced by the girl with Auburn hair.

 

 

Spoiler

Enjoyed the character, thanks a bunch to everyone who RPed with me. Thanks @Madyfo formatting.

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Also Here's a bunch of art

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

[Cryptic 549]

A squire ran towards the gates as he heard one of the town criers speak of the Dragon Knight's name in such passing. Breathing heavily from his rush and commotion, Gundahar struggled to comprehend the Knight's death. In fact, he had just done a patrol with him searching for hellspawn and evildoers. It seemed the squire was too late. Such an idea, a frown was seen on his face, clearly disappointed in himself.

 

"He was the most handsome Dragon Knight I knew." The squire thought to himself, finally.

[truelarper 593]

Somewhere, Gedeon Bellegrave frowns.

[Terry 2680]

When news of Severin's death reached Sigmar's ears in that far north of what now remained of the Karoslund, would the man pause a moment. He'd glance out to the landscape that lay before his tower, in silence as the Marian's foggy breath illuminated under that bright moon.

 

"Despite our recent disdain for one another, Ea salute vy, Sir. Vy made Devana happy when nothing else could." He'd raise his glass in the air for only a couple moments, before moving back to his fireplace, to continue what remained of his retirement.

 

"Perhaps when we see one another again up there, we might truly see who might've won."

[HIGH_FIRE 5490]

One of the Knight’s mothers sat in the halls of Slesvik after hearing of the news. Caliope had been grieving for her own mother for far longer than was healthy for anyone. However now the great loss of her beloved was replaced with a new, different and horrifying grief. Her own son dead before she or her wife would pass.

 

Much like the boys siblings, he had been adopted from within the family by the then Margravines. Severin had been carefully looked after and loved by the two of them and adored as mothers do. 
 

Perhaps Caliope and Severin had fought at times, his killing of Weiss Lord and Caliope’s general disdain for some of his choices caused much strife. But that strife was never going to conquer the love the Mother held for her son.

 

Her son was dead and she was left with nothing but pain and regret. She wish she had seen him more, spent more time sharing hunts and duels.

 

The guilt of surviving burnt up the aging woman.

[PrinceTheDM 275]

The scholar was organizing his letters when a batch of documents spilled out onto his desk. Reports of some variety or other scattered about his desk. It was at that moment he remembered his neighbors from his time in the Empire.

 

One particularly friendly Neighbor who made him feel safer and at ease with all the work that had piled on his desk. For some reason, he suddenly felt nostalgic to those days. Not from the situations he found himself in, but the people who cared for him enough to help him through those situations.

Elijah collected the papers, and sighed deeply. It was unknown to him the fate of his Neighbor all Elijah knows is that his compassion will not be forgotten, for however long the scholar shall live. That chapter of his life shall be kept close to his heart.