A Hounds Passing [PK]

[ninjaclimb1 432]

 

A Hounds Passing

The Death of Martius van Aert

(fat chud)

In the year 277 S.A., Empire of Man

 

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Before I was ever a prince, I was a knight. In truth, my life's purpose was to serve as a knight, I was never suited for politics, or the intricacies of ruling a vassal. My skill lay with my sword and axe. I had hoped to meet my end as a knight in the midst of this war. Ye -

 

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The half finished letter was pushed aside by Martius, who reclined back into his chair, letting out a hefty sigh. Even this short bit of writing had bored him half to death, he couldn’t stomach the thought of finishing it, his body ached for a final fight. Some chance to die as a knight, yet as his sole, verdant eye was cast down, he knew this last war had been his final chance. He grew closer to his father by the day, his hairs had greyed and it now took a herculean effort to force himself inside his armour. Disgusting, he had thought to himself.

 

For the first time in nearly three decades, Martius’ right arm extended across his body, tearing apart the straps that held that golden, useless arm in place, that arm then collapsing onto the floor with a great crash.  His pride had forbidden him from getting a true prosthetic, yet he had worn that decorative arm since the day it had been crafted as a reminder of his mistake. His stump of an arm hung uselessly then by his side, whilst his right raised to rid the golden half-mask from his face. For the first time in nearly as long, Martius caught his full reflection on an empty plate, that marred, disgusting flesh in full display.

 

The prince then rose to his feet, swiping his sole arm across the desk, emptied bottles crashing down across his office floor. Disgusting, he thought again. The two scabbards that lay atop his desk were fitted back to his belt, as Martius marched from his office. This moment of clarity, of self-loathing, had awoken some ancient purpose within Martius, some kind of drive. He first burst into the room of his eldest son, Willem, throwing the family artifact atop his bed - BURGVNDIE VIRTVS. His second destination was the room of his youngest, Erwin, whom he left a second weapon, that vile sword he had been bestowed by the first grand knight.

 

Then Martius descended Zwarsteen, intent on visiting the grave of his father. Grey hair matted to his head as he left the comfort of his halls, the rain falling heavy around him. Stepping onto the narrow gauntlet, he cast a gaze over toward the statues which lined the walls, those of ancestors or storied levymen. These statues had always been a source of pride, knowing that service was honoured in Zwarsteen. Yet as he cast his gaze toward those statues, his foot slid forward suddenly across the wet bridge, his great mass pulled downward at a frightening speed. Off the bridge, he fell, tumbling down into the pit. Instead of the crunch he had expected, there was a piercing pain, and as his eye drew downward toward his own chest, he was greeted with a protruding spike, blood welling around the wound immediately.

 

He almost laughed, his own frankly ingenious trap had at long last claimed its first victim - him. Yet as he lay there, it dawned on him, the finality of this. No one could hear his cry for help, for the castle was empty. 

 

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His mind first went to his siblings - Valentin, Madelief and Diedrick. He was the second son, and had been the youngest for much of his childhood until Diedrick had come along. His relationship with Valentin had always been somewhat off, Martius was the second son, yet he had been named heir. As a child, he had never understood why, but this had always strained this relationship somewhat. Yet with Madelief, he had always been close, he had followed her around as a child, and he had helped to wage a war in defence of her honour, breaking an oath in defence of her. He had felled dozens of Druscans for one man's comment to her, and one man's threat to her son. Diedrick had always been a stout ally of Martius, he shared a comparable martial prowess, a love for warfare. The two had fought side by side on countless occasions, and fought against one another on just as many.

 

Since childhood, Martius had often felt he would be first to go. He was a soldier, he served as a knight, and placed himself in death's path far more frequently than any combined. Yet, in recent years, his sister had grown deathly ill and Valentin had disappeared. Perhaps nature had intended to play out as expected, the eldest first and Martius would be third  after Madelief. 

 

His mind then drifted, to his cousins. Carolus was nearly a decade his senior, he had taught Martius to fight as a boy and likely had been his closest ally through his entire life. The pair had charged behemoths together, they had fought innumerous foes, and prevailed on all occasions. Carolus, he had been certain would pass before him, yet life had a cruel way of playing out for some. He thought of Halrik for only a moment, another amongst his greatest of allies. Reuben was spared another quick thought, a distant cousin who had aided Martius in his youth, when he had felt without direction. Perhaps in another life, he would have taken Reuben's offer, lived a fuller, longer life.

 

His nieces and nephews were next to mind. Romhilda, Matthijs, Circe, Marwin, Calias and a handful of others whose names escaped him. He had figured himself to be a good uncle, he had cared for them and fought for them on occasion. Few could knock him for that, he reasoned.

 

At long last, his children came to mind. Emmelina had not been seen in nearly two decades, he doubted she would hear of his passing, yet it pained him to recall how absent he had been for her. Willem and Gaspard, he had done well by, Willem stood in good stead, and would likely be better than him as prince. Erwin had spent much of his life away, yet the reports he had heard filled him with pride, he looked to be shaping into a fine warrior, and would surely one day serve as the next knight of van Aert.

 

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Martius slipped further down the spike, blood spluttering from his mouth.

 

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He then thought of his duty as a knight. He cared little for his tenure as prince, he took no pride in that. His service as a knight, the company he had kept as a knight, that he took pride in. At least, for the first half of it.

He recalled the fights against the mountain and its force; he had served excellently in those battles, up until the last. That final fight in the New Valdev palace, where he had lost his arm, and perhaps in some ways, Martius van Aert had died that day. He had lost most of his prowess, he had grown jaded and unhappy in his service. Lazy, even, and this was where his gluttony had reared it’s head. An innocent man had been murdered in that room by Martius, cut down easier than butter. He scarcely recalled their name or face by this stage, yet that room had left him scarred. 

 

Even lacking an arm, he had served well in both the Druscan and later the dwarven war, no dwarf or druscan capable of granting Martius the death he had dreamed of - a knight's death. 

 

The latter half of his knighthood he took no joy in, since that god forsaken merge with the army. He should have killed whoever thought of that, rather than sitting and brewing on his displeasure, allowing himself to grow as jaded as he had become.

 

Faces flashed back to him, of those he knighted, Zubayr and Carl. Both of whom had grown into great knights, and great sources of pride for the old knight. Then the faces of those he had served alongside in his earliest years: of Gedeon, of Vanya, of Severin, of Redgar, of Esther, of Heinrik, of Ghetsis, of Sirius, of Abraham, of Lothar, of Hughes.

 

Yet here, his duty comes to an end.

 

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Again, Martius slipped further down the spike, a second spluttering of blood flying from his mouth. 

 

It was here that his vision grew blurred, his sole arm felt to weigh a ton by his side, no longer able to reach upward, to grasp at the sky above. Here, Martius van Aert would meet his end. Alone, undignified, but at peace with himself. A wasted life, perhaps to some, but a life that Martius had lived.

 

 His service to the Empire was finished.

 

Spoiler

Martius was good fun, first proper character I've played in years most likely. I think I should of pk'd him in that event in Haense to be honest, was a good conclusion to his story imo, but I kept him around for some reason. Anyhow, was fun to play.

 

[Shadowy 104]

Halrik kneels in the mud, wrapping his thick arms under Martius to lift the dead prince of Blackvale from the dirt. The man's blood immediately soaks into Halrik's padding and streaks thick across the bright steel of his breastplate. He heaves the body over the back of his horse with an aching grunt. "It is time to return home, old dog." he mutters simply, pulling himself up into the saddle.

Edited March 23 by Shadowy

[confusedjester 812]

Grief was an unwelcomed stranger in the life of Romhilda. She had been blessed with an existence free from sorrow and misery, though one can only avoid the inevitable for so long...

 

It had been many weeks since she had last regarded her uncle. Once, a man she trailed nigh everyday of her youth. Young Romhilda would chatter endlessly in his ear, and he would listen along intently, sparing her those precious moments of incessant, one-sided blabbing that meant the world to her.

 

As she grew taller, that generation of Hounds grew even older. When Romhilda received that waxed-sealed note, she assumed the worst- yet the name had not been her father, but the prince-uncle of hers. The wash of relief was drowned by her quick remorse. Fear, for the next letter Romhilda surely knew who it would be for.

 

Grief, then belatedly, entered Romhilda's heart.

[annanicole__ 2802]

“God save his soul,” Lorelei said as she lit a candle in memory of the prince.
 

 

 

[Vermy 1484]

Corn wept aggressively even though he probably didn't fully grasp the concept of death.

[Seuss 1056]

Sir Severin, once a squire under the first order of Knights consisting of Martius, Carolus, Sirius, and the like, had grown up and found his honor well served before passing. He went before his senior did, but that did not stop the scarless bastard from greeting Martius upon his arrival to the Seven Skies. 

 

"Welcome home, Sir."

[Shadowy 104]

Spoiler

oopsy

 

Edited March 23 by Shadowy

[Sir_omni 151]

R

[kuerbis 3802]

Word of her brother's passing reaches Myrine not even a day later. Madelief, being on the death bed herself as she has been for years now, found a deep frown on her sunken features. A thin, heatless hand reached for a miniature she'd placed on her bedside. It was a painting of Valentin, Martinus, herself and Diederik in younger days. A fond smile crossed her features as she recalled the day the painting was made; oh how all of them had complained about having to get dressed up, but their mother insisted. Now; decades later, the sickly van Aert had something to hold onto as she died. 
A thin finger moved to the side of her brother's painted head; at the time, still unmarred by the terrible disfigurement he had been dealt a mere year later. "I'll see you soon, on the other side. Rest easy now, brother." With those simple words spoken, the burgundine felt the exhaustion of her illness settle in once more. She fell into a deep sleep; this time, a fond dream of better days. 

[pkdon 1977]

An aging, weary knight settled himself in the halls of Zwarsteen, uncorking a fresh bottle of the famed Lodenland drink. Two empty glasses were set out, one in front of him, the other at the opposite end of the table. The drink was poured in both, a hefty sum as was practice between the two scions of  Blackvale.  Sir Carolus raised his glass high and tapped it to the side of his head, downing it whole. His eyes, sapped of their youth, looked out despondently to the still full glass afar.

"The fat bastard left without me." 

[KBR 2046]

Sir Lothar d'Amaury sank into his chair. The war was done, his armor hung up as peace had come at last - a peace that Martius had not lived to enjoy. The Emperor had spoken to him of new worlds and softer men. Martius might have laughed at that. 

From a bookshelf he drew an old journal with a cover worn soft, the binding cracked at the spine. When he turned the pages, a rare and quiet thing crossed his face, a smile - not the wry, calculating one that his men had grown accustomed to, but the kind that belong to a younger man. A squire. Martius had been many things across the years, advisor, brother, friend. A man who had no obligation to extend his hand, yet did so regardless.

Lothar closed the journal. He rose and made his way through the Krak's stone corridor to the Chappele des Roses Jumeaux. The candles within burned low. He knelt simply as a man, head bowed before the altar. He said little, unlike his brother Hughes he had never been one for long prayers. Only that he hoped the words would find their way to Martius on his journey to the skies. 

[The Tough Guy 4319]

"Among the best of us."

The Whitefish commented.

[sarahbarah 7105]

20 minutes ago, kuerbis said:

Word of her brother's passing reaches Myrine not even a day later. Madelief, being on the death bed herself as she has been for years now, found a deep frown on her sunken features. A thin, heatless hand reached for a miniature she'd placed on her bedside. It was a painting of Valentin, Martinus, herself and Diederik in younger days. A fond smile crossed her features as she recalled the day the painting was made; oh how all of them had complained about having to get dressed up, but their mother insisted. Now; decades later, the sickly van Aert had something to hold onto as she died. 
A thin finger moved to the side of her brother's painted head; at the time, still unmarred by the terrible disfigurement he had been dealt a mere year later. "I'll see you soon, on the other side. Rest easy now, brother." With those simple words spoken, the burgundine felt the exhaustion of her illness settle in once more. She fell into a deep sleep; this time, a fond dream of better days. 

 

Eirene, alongside her mother Circe, had dutifully tended to the ailing Princess of Myrine over the last several days. Briefly, she spied that painting that sat so delicately perched upon her grandmother's nightstand and pondered. Though she never knew Martius well, she did know his likeness brought her grandmother comfort in her final months of life.

 

For that, she was grateful. 

[zuziee 4004]

Circe spared rare tears at the tragic news of her uncle. All she had now were the memories, which she would cling to until her knuckles went white. 

 

Spoiler

BROOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT :*

back when we were young ♫...

 

[sam33497 7356]

Despite sharing misgivings about how they had lived their lives, still it became true that Sir Sirius Mareno reached the Seven Skies, and now welcomed his old comrade.

 

"We are the few of this era with the privilege of living and dying by this highest knightly honor. For Empire we gave our bodies and then our lives - now our descendants will dutifully sketch our names. Despite all else, this is what we have left behind. Let us now rest."