Rest of Rusted Iron [PK]

[Jensen02 337]

 

Rest of rusted iron

 

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In the quiet hours before dawn, as the bells of Reinmar lay silent,  Sir Stanton rested in the hearth of his manor.  His hands, once steady enough to guide a lance, now rested on the coat of his beloved mastiff.

“Once more…”

Shakily, a hand rose the ivory flames of Malchadiel flowing from his palm towards the hearth-fire. The fire burnt white forming images, memories of his younger self.  Battles both won and lost, moments of camaraderie and betrayal, none of it stirred regret.

 

“I stood when I was needed,”  he told himself.  “I did not flee when the road grew hard. If that is all a knight of Tylos  may ask of himself, then I am content.”

 

Faces passed through the white flames, Comrades long fallen, Chieftains served faithfully, kin raised beneath Reinmar’s walls. He thought of the land itself, the Runestones, the cold mornings, the banners snapping above the city. 

 

“Reinmar will endure,  with or without me.  As she always has.”

 

A faint smile touched his lips.

 

“Let the young bear the sword now. Let them make their own mistakes, their own victories. I Pray….”

Stanton's head dipped low, his hand falling from the coat of his mastiff

“I pray I've left behind enough for them..”

As the last of his strength ebbed, his heart calmed. No battlefield would claim him, no dramatic last stand mark his end, no heroic blaze of glory as his father and uncles had perished in. Sir Stanton Stroheim, the  “Iron Stag” released his final breath, his life ended not in valor or fury, but in quiet honor.

 

Sir Stanton Stroheim, The Iron Stag

‘Old Sir Stanton’ 

Born in 1919 in Neu Brandthoff, Almaris. Died in 2071 in Leonstadt, Azuras

“Ūre wrāþu bærneþ”

Templar Trophy Count: 3

 

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Final Will

For my last rites: Keeping with the tradition of my tribe, I request I be burned along with my most cherished items, most important of all those given to me by my wife, Chi Kagura
 

To Hans Stroheim: I entrust you with the guardianship of the “Helm of the Mad” within the Stroheim reliquary, along with the other cursed objects

To Annaliese Stroheim: I bequeath my recipe for narcotic brownies and the Azhl dart “Death's Dance” to you. Once belonging to Lady Viktoria Ivanocich, it is fitting it be left with a lady of our tribe.

To Gottbrand Stroheim: I gift you the daemonsteel sword Finisterklinge along with the sheath of flame, along with my first weapon, the Daemonsteel Chain-flail

To Dettlaff Stroheim: I entrust you with the general custodianship of our tribe's relics, along with the schematics for Blæcestān.

To my fellow Reinmaren:  Any and all items not burned with me or bequeath to my kin are to be given to tribesmen of Reinmar to be used as they see fit.

[Sarven 2619]

Theodemar signed the lorraine and spoke a prayer for his mentor, teacher and a good friend.

"Rest easy Sir Stanton, the oldest of us, unlacking in wisdom, strength of will, and zeal..."

[Mayios 542]

Annaliese sat at the bar counter, glancing down with a heavy heart. She kept re-reading her part of the will, a small weak smile tugging at her lips. It was amusing the brownie recipe, and the dart was something she didn't expect. Her mind went over again and again of her earlier years, after her kids were born and her husband passed.. how Stanton was the one who kept her steadied, taught her about their tribe and what it meant to be a Stroheim. She was honoured and beyond grateful for his influence on preparing her sons for the future that laid ahead when she wasn't able too, and she was even more in debt to him for all he did for Hans especially. Her silent grieving and cherished memories were halted as others walked into her tavern, in which she picked up her copy of the will to store away - and greeted those ahead of her with a smile. 

[violet3vergarden 63]

RESERVED .. WRITING THIS SOON ..

[sapphic_spidy 1089]

Stanton was always someone who was always there. Even if Castien knew nothing about him, even if they were far from close. A comforting presence, proof that he could have time with the humans he cared for- time. Something so important, yet something he could never quite grasp.

 

He let himself ignore changes in appearance, purposefully didn't let himself see the people around him change or grow old.

 

But time is cruel. 

No one is immortal.

Not even a comforting presence, one who was always there.

[HugoAntero 1962]

Peter Stroheim, the long passed uncle of Stanton Stroheim, sought to offer him a pint of GROG within the belly of Malchediael, "what took you so long, you Caelian dog?"

[Aftrballini 450]

   An aged and outcast Reinmaren woman received a letter of an old friend's passing in her hovel of a home buried in the forests of yore. No tears would be shed. He would not care for them. For the final bastion of protection did fall from grace and go then to his final resting. Such an honorable knight.

 

 Aloisa Barclay remarked from her hiding. To an empty and decrepit room. Old cobwebs would begin to be removed. Plans forged in the dim flame of candlelight. The time had come.

 

"So it may begin... Flame guide.. Stanton. Iron Stag.. A fitting end."