[PK] BE KIND TO OTHERS, HADRIAN

[Werew0lf 24179]

 

Heavy topics such as suicide and self-harm mentioned. Please read at your own risk. 

 

 

 

✦ • ───────── • ✠ •  ─────────• ✦ . . . “ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, ᴍʏ ꜱᴏɴ. ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ?”   “No, mama. What does it mean?   “ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ, ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ. ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ?”   “Yes… I wi-” . . . ✦ • ───────── • ✠ •  ─────────• ✦

 

 

✠— "ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ"  —✠

ɪɴ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴜᴘᴏʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴊᴏʟᴛᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ, ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴍɪʀᴄʜᴇᴅ ɪɴ ɢʀᴀꜱꜱ, each corner of his cheek painted by a thin coat of dirt. A twinge of pain festered across his left elbow, protruding out into the earth with a groaned twitch. Hadrian pressed his small hands against the earth, pulling himself up. “That was unfair, sister! I tripped!” He complained, the youth dusting away his clothes.   “Oh, and how is that my fault?”  The princess, his sister, chortled with a hand pressing firm against her lips. Joan approached her older brother, and extended a hand outwards.    There was a giddy, artistic charm behind her small, innocent face. Hadrian could not find it in himself to be angered. Each corner of his lips grew into a beaming smile; a blameless child, all wonders of the world charmed his young beauty. The prince accepted the hand, but instead of pulling himself off the ground, he yanked his sister’s arm, dragging her into the cut grass alongside him. “Pfft,” a small cackle escaped his throat.   “Woah!” Joan’s dress curled beneath her dainty shoes, and soon enough, she fell directly next to her brother – a face full of grass, akin to a cow grazing its pound. The princess snorted, and the two laughed away.   . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

Once again, the young prince found himself planted head-first into the gravel. A violent yelp exasperated his lips, and the wooden training-sword relinquished itself with a toddly clatter. Hadrian’s fist pressed against the dirt, and his teeth clenched in a youthful fit of ire – it was much akin to a tattling toddler. “I lost again!”   Sir Honeywine lowered the wooden blade, pressing its pointed tip against the earth. The dragon knight’s lips shone brightly with an overjoyed smile, and soon, it was followed by hearty laughter. “Your Royal Highness, your blade is growing sharper! Come on… - will you give up this easily?”   With the words of the k***ht, the unimpeachable prince scrambled up onto his feet, using his creased left-palm to wipe away all dirt and dust that lathered his boots and tunic. Hadrian swept the training sword up, both hands clasping against the sword's hilt.   “I won't give up! Let’s go again!”   The dragon knight smirked, and soon enough, the blade was hefted. Sir Honeywine’s body clearly exuded a heinous taunt, he was mocking the young prince. With one step forward, the spar had continued. Both rattled with fits of splendour in their fight, but it was quite evident that the knight was not putting much emphasis on the spar.   . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

“Come on, Johan, we are nearly there!” Hadrian’s toothy smile shone through the sockets of darkened wreaths through the cavern's stretch. The prince clambered up small crevices blubbering with rain-water, the canopy of the rear yard palace grounds seemed little dangerous with wild-life. “We’re nearly at the spot!”    “Brother, will we not get in trouble?”  Johannes trekked slowly behind his older brother, sporting a small wooden-stick picked up prior to setting off on their journey. The prince stared wearily around the woodlands, “What if father hears of this?”    The adventurous prince continued to skip through the rocks, eventually finding the lit archway leading into the woodlands. Hadrian’s left-foot stomped down against the log, and he pointed out towards the horizon. “We will be fine, Johan! Now, let us continue!”    “... Alright,” Johannes clasped both hands together, rubbing them together. With a thicket of shrubbery, and vacant sunlight from the vast, leaf-besmirched canopies, the woodlands were cold. It caused the prince’s body to frizzle in the jet of night; although, it was still daytime.   Hadrian turned to face his brother, approaching him slowly. The prince took off his cloak, furred – a gift from the Prince of Blackvale. Slowly, he wrapped his brother, Johannes, around with the fur-cloak, ensuring he was warm. An arm outstretched across his body, ensuring both stayed warm under its soft touch. “Look, now we can both be warm!” His white canines radiated with excitement, and the two brothers laughed away through their journey.   . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

“Son, what do you see?” Tiberias coddled his son, carrying him up against his shoulders. The King of Burgundy stood upon the balcony of the palace; it stared out towards the city of Grense, though, at its time, still under construction; the newly formed bridge that connected itself to the Duchy of Alba flourished with thousands of citizens and tourists.    “Our kingdom, father!” Hadrian’s feet dangled from either shoulder of his father, and his chin rested upon the top of the king’s scalp. Wide, beady eyes stared out towards the view with an exasperation beheld only to a child–it was a large canvas, a kingdom budding into the growth of an Empire. “Oh, look, I can see Sir Sirius!” The prince jutted an index-finger down towards the courtyard, where a lone dragon-knight inspected a small retinue of squires.   “Ohoh, you have sharp eyes!”  Tiberias smiled fondly, he seemed little worried of anything – life had just started in earnest, conflict no longer inspired gruesome death, and humanity began its process of imperialism. “Do you see all those seeds?” A hand waved out across the whole area, but there was no seed in sight.   “Seeds, papa? I don’t see any…”  Hadrian’s mouth pursed, and his eyes squinted – both of his hands shifted over each brow, attempting to scan the area for any seeds.   “These seeds have yet to grow, my son. Yet I have planted them for you; they will grow into large trees, their roots will go uphill across the continent.”  The king explained, and in a playful shrug, jolted his son up into the air, before Hadrian promptly landed back against his father’s shoulder. A burst of laughter escaped both king and prince. “This is all for you, my son. All of it is for you.” Tiberias smiled at the sun’s smile.    . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

Tiberias frowned heavily, his index-finger pointing down towards the physician with cruel scrutiny. “What do you mean? My son is sick?” The king snared, his singular eye remaining fixated upon the man. A fist was curled up.   Hadrian lay flat against the soft cushions of the bed, coughing into the air. His chest tightened, his face drooled with sweat, and his body felt weak – perhaps, he had caught the cold. “Am I going to be okay?”   The King of Burgundy shoved the physician to the side, and knelt directly near the bedside of his young son. A hand clasped the prince’s left-wrist, holding it firmly. “You will be fine, my son. Our blood hails from Dragons; you just have the cold. Rest up.”   The prince’s lips turned into a meek smile, and soon, his eyes closed. Everything felt fuzzy, he could not taste the bread at his bedside, nor the soup in his bowl. He could not see colour, it felt dark and gray. Soon enough, Hadrian could hear two pairs of steps; his father, and the physician departing from the room. In the next few seconds, the king’s rageful voice ushered outside of the door – he could not make it out, falling into the depths of a vacant abyss.   Croak, the hinges of the door shuddered, and soon enough, it opened. Overlooking his brother, a young Johannes, and his sister, Joan, clambered up onto the bed. Hadrian was too weak to move, but they slept to either side.    . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

The world quaked with mixed emotions – hatred, spite, but some with joy and excitement. As the coronation concluded, the banners of the Empire hurled up the pillars of the imperial crownlands, vassal lords flocked from their fortresses, cities, villages and towns, marching towards the heartland in order to commemorate their new Emperor.    In the midst of the imperial palace, Hadrian hid underneath one of the tables in his room. The prince did not wish to leave; despite his youth, his features seemed more gaunt than before. It was a weakness. Both hands clasped either side of his face, and his knees hurled against his chest, rolled into a ball.    The door crept open – THUD, THUD, THUD, a heavy figure trod into the room, his boots croaking the floorboard. Swoosh, the sound of the figure’s cloak billowed in the room’s open window, a small breeze ushering through. The figure knelt before the table where the prince hid beneath.    “My prince, why do you hide on such a fortunate day?” Sir Honeywine questioned, his voice gruff, but this was the usual for the dragon-knight. The knight’s face bore a deep frown; it was a pity.   “I don’t want to ruin it for my father,” The imperial prince’s eyes steered up towards the face of his kindly knight–Hadrian coughed into an open-palm. “He will be disappointed to see me in this state, Sir…”   A cold touch grasped at Hadrian’s shoulder; the metallic gauntlet sprung around his collar-bone, yanking the prince out from under the table. “Your Imperial Highness, you must think little of your father’s feelings, hm? This Empire has started with your father, and he expects for you to carry it on after this.” The dragon knight lifted up the prince, hoisting him up into an armed-carry.   Teardrops pit-pattered from the underside of his eyes, and Hadrian’s arm coiled around the neck of his knight. “I’m scared. I don’t want to do it anymore,” The prince cried, his lips choking with a fit of grizzly coughs.   Sir Honeywine’s frown only grew deeper, and his gauntleted-hand soothed against the prince’s back. “GOD has ordained it so, my kind prince. We all have faith in you.”   “... faith in me?” Hadrian’s head tilted backwards, wet streaks of tears ran down across each side of his cheek. It was a bitter feeling.   The knight’s thumb pressed against the tear-drops, wiping them away. Soon, he started to walk out of the room, wandering past the murals of the palace hallway. “One day, I shall serve you. Show them the same kindness you show those around you.” . . .

 

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[DIARY]    Hadrian slouched upon his desk, his quill dabbling against a pot of ink. The Crown Prince started to write down on a parchment, addressed to his mother who had ventured to the dwarven kingdom in hopes of securing unity. So it read:   Without a signature, his closest knight – Sir Zubayr – is sent off to the kingdom of Urguan, delivering the letter swiftly. Hadrian coughed violently, blood dripped out from his lips and coaxed the table. His eyes flickered asleep, and with a

ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ,   ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴀɢᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ; ʟᴇᴅɪᴄᴏʀᴛ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴇʀɪᴀʟ ᴘʀɪᴠʏ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛɪᴄɪᴀʀ – ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴀꜱᴋ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ʀᴏʟᴇ.   ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ; ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ, ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʙᴇ ᴏʀᴅᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙɪʀᴛʜʀɪɢʜᴛ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴍᴀɴ ᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ᴛᴏ ᴇɴꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴀʟᴏɴɢꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴀʟꜱᴏ.   ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ.   Please come home soon.

 

. . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

Argelion pressed the bald-cap on top of Hadrian’s head, and then beamed with a joyous smile. “You need to wear this, Hadrian. People in Numendil are prone to baldness,” a hoarse snicker escaped the Crown Prince, having lost his own hair due to penance.   Perhaps the Crown Prince, and some-day, Emperor-to-be was gullible, but Hadrian cusped each corner of the bald-cap and held it firmly against his head. A fear crept into his heart; he did not wish to lose his own hair.    As the young imperial turned to depart, and traversed the roads down Numendil, he came across somebody; it was an elf by the name of Aelwen.    Adorned in plates of steel, with the crest of a tree painting his chest-plate, the elf offered Hadrian all matters of respect – at this pivotal stage in time, the prince had yet to form any underlying opinion on the non-humans. “Sire,” the elf greeted.   “Oh, hello,” Hadrian greeted in return – soon enough, this conversation went from a short courtesy to a long speech, and the prince affirmed a good opinion for the elf, and possibly, for all elves.   For now.   . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

Aelwen’s dagger swiftly drew outwards, and slammed down, impaling the prince in his hand. “Apologies, sire, but it must be done,” the elf bore a humorous smirk across his face, blood lacing the edge of his blade.   With tears streaming down his eyes, Hadrian yelped in pain as the blade struck true through his hand – his voice gagged, the very sight of his own blood seemed to disturb him heavily, and with choking, anguished words, he spat. “W… why? I trusted you as one of my own,” the Crown Prince groaned.   Swiftly recoiling the blade out from the injury, more blood supped out from his palm. The elf spun the blade between his palm, and then uttered. “Your family will stain this world,” Aelwen answered simply. Be it an elf’s versatility or speed, the blade lunged forth, attempting to impale Hadrian directly in his throat.   Instinctively, Hadrian raised both of his forearms in defence – a great holler escaped his lips as the blade impaled through his right-arm, but saved his life nonetheless. Snot dripped from his nose, tears streamed from his eyes, and blood ached from his injuries. His eyes remain fixated on the elf, but Hadrian was no combatant and knew little on what he should do.   The elf pressed a palm firmly against the pommel of the dagger, pushing it further. “Surrender to your fate,” Aelwen called, teeth grinding at the force being used.   Before Hadrian could respond, the swinging arc of a carbarum blade hurled out, decapitating the elf swiftly. The head of Aelwen rolled forth, landing on the Crown Prince’s lap. The familiar dragon knight stared down through his visor, kicking the corpse away. A fountain of blood spewed out from where the nape rose, burbling into the face of Hadrian. “Your Imperial Highness, are you alright?”    Covered in his own mucus, and the blood of the felled elf, Hadrian sat listlessly on the ground. He was young – but seventeen at this point, and his eyes remained wide. The prince was in shock; he had never felt betrayed.    It started to spin violently in his head. Everything around him went deaf, the air grew still, and soon, his eyes shrivelled into a most hideous squint – so vile was his scorn that it even made the dragon-knight hesitate.    Hadrian’s very core belief and principles started to shatter right before his eyes.     After a few moments of silence, something was uttered. “I hate elves.”   . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

Knights are renowned for their honours; death is seen often by soldiers in times of war. Yet what of Hadrian? He was neither a knight, nor a soldier – but he recalled his first death. It was a death caused by his own hand, but this could not be considered just a kill, but cruel murder.    As the elf thrashed around in the cells, Hadrian – at the time as lord justiciar – kept his legs pressed on either side of the elf’s waist. The blade continuously pierced the elf through his body, and those around him, a retinue of dragon-knights, could only watch in shock. As the blade furiously pierced the gullet of the elf, and blood sprayed out across the wall in veiny patterns, a long cough, and a gravelly sigh escaped his lips.   Tiberias swung the door of the cells open, and stared through the empty bars. It was a grotesque sight, and for the Emperor, it was unnatural – he did not know his son to be cruel, far from it. “My son, what is this?”   Hadrian’s blade fell with a metallic clutter, and the Lord Justiciar craned his neck rightwards, staring at his father in defeat. Using his sleeve to wipe away the blood, albeit, there was too much on him to be removed, the prince spoke. “I have executed the criminal, father. The elf was caught stealing.”   The Emperor stared, but he did not know what else to say – in truth, it was the role of the Lord Justiciar to enact punishment. Something didn’t sit right with him, it wasn’t the very nature of the murder, just by the odd perhapsness of who committed it, for he knew not his son to be a murderer. “... Very well, good job,” Tiberias turned.   As his father turned to depart, the prince’s arms fell to his side. Deep down, Hadrian wanted to be rebuked, told that his actions were wrong, and for the correction of his father.    Yet he did not reserve this right. In the years to follow, this contention grew worse.   . . .

 

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[DIARY] 

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴜꜱᴄᴏ ɪꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.   Roger is no more. I felt perturbed; he was considered my friend, but in his death, there was a last act of defiance. His eyes were filled with no regret, and he vowed no loyalty to my father. I felt myself losing hope – truly, were we in the right? How could a man forgo their masters? Or are we all stricken to the Lord GOD?   When I lifted the blade and pierced through his throat, I thought I would feel something. When I clambered his walls alongside our soldiers, I thought I would feel something. I am unsure now if he was truly a friend, or another pawn that was stricken from the records. In truth, when Roger died, and his wife bawled in tears, I felt nothing.    Little dragon, they once called me. I have succumbed to this new illness, not one of the body, but of the mind: empathy no longer exists within me.

 

. . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

The years wore horribly across his face; whereas his brothers and sisters aged like fine wine, Hadrian’s sickness only grew worse, and his features were gaunt, and his eyes sapped of joy, albeit, the hints of this kindness briefly lay trodden beneath his vacant stare.    Hadrian took a hold of the lady’s hand, and pressed his lips against the palm. Most knew her to be Elizabeth of Balamena, considered a great beauty across the lands of the Empire, of a good noble stock, born of a dragonsblooded house, and the perfect and ideal fit for a future Empress.    Whereas his mother protested that Hadrian should have the right to marry who he chooses, for love, as was the marriage of his parents, somewhere in the deeper labyrinths of the Imperium, the Emperor Tiberias understood that his son would be held to the burdens of a loveless marriage.    “I hope to meet you soon, Elizabeth,” Hadrian commented, and his father stood looming in the background.   Elizabeth offered a graceful smile, a kind courtesy, and then departed soon with the Archduke.    “I have no choice, father, do I?” The Crown Prince questioned, hand clasping to his front. It was not unusual for political marriages, but deep down, he resented this.   “... you do not,” The Emperor answered plainly, turning to leave. It is unsure if his departure was due to guilt, or simply because of his busy schedule.   Hadrian stood in the vacant throne-room, clutching a circlet that he earned prior to all of this. The Crown Prince clutched the circlet from his head, and threw it out against the wall bearing a mural of the Battle of Westmark.   . . .

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

How far does it drop?   A noose strung around Hadrian’s throat, and the stool lay before the window. The Crown Prince was meticulous, and often showed this same practice in his own work. It was tight enough around his throat to ensure it would constrict immediately, and that any forceful descent would cause his throat to snap without measure.    Hadrian continued to level the dues of this death; most would consider this a depressing matter, but as it is often spoken, the mind of the imperial prince did not work the same as most men. His death would grant his brother’s ascension as the Emperor, who was – unlike Hadrian – a strong martial leader and held strategic tact. In comparison, the Crown Prince was studious and administrative, barring the traits of a moral-gaining warlord.    With his mind made up, Hadrian’s feet hovered at the edge of the window. Once upon a time, Hadrian asked his mentor and faithful instructor, Anorhil, if one’s desire to die was a sin. He stated that it was not, but the act itself was sinful. So, the prince offered his prayer. “Lord GOD, King of Flames, I beseech your forgiveness.”   The door swung open, and Maximilian – his brother – carried a blade to his waist. Within his other hand, he bore a gift to celebrate Hadrian’s first-born child, and his face turned with a jovial smile. “Brother, I have a gift for you!” He declared joyously, but the sight immediately sapped any grace out of the occasion.    Lunging forth, the blade was promptly withdrawn, and it cut upright into the small hatch of the roped noose, before a gauntleted-hand moved to yank Hadrian by the spine, pulling away the prince from the window. “BROTHER? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”   A failure. How unfortunate. These were the four words that ran through Hadrian’s mind. His eyes seemed entirely drained of hope, and they turned to face Maximilian. No words were offered, it was just a simple, vacant stare, accompanied by an odd, fake smile.   Maximilian understood this expression well, and his arms curled around his lithe-framed brother, keeping him held hostage. In a room of silence, it was quite loud – the struggles of Hadrian.   . . .

 

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[DIARY] 

 

ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ.   Maximilian found me.   An unfortunate failure – perhaps, somewhere in my heart, I did not want to commit to the act. I have children now, but even through their joy, I find myself lost in this sorrow. My heart is clenched, something claws at every vascular and each vein that sprawls; my blood is a labyrinth of hopelessness, and I have delved further into the sickness that drives me insane.   Their ghosts haunt me; those who I have killed, all for the sake of the Imperium. If death had claimed me, would my brother, Max, have to suffer this fate? Or would it have been my son, Marcus, who would be forced to take reign so early on in his youth? I feel ashamed at this attempt, but I cannot bear it anymore.   I am not one to self-loathe. However, I must justify the means – will my death bring an advantage, or should I account for something else? Only time will tell.

. . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

 

If Hadrian hated his family, it was not known – though, this was entirely incorrect. Amongst all his children, having fathered five, the Crown Prince was known for keeping only two close, that of Titus, and of Livia.    Walking through the palace, Titus sat upon his shoulders, his legs sprawled on either end. The stub of his chin settled on top of Hadrian’s head. “My son, what do you want to be when you grow up?”   Titus raised his fist into the air, “A knight, lord father!” The young prince swayed back and forth, staring at the imperial guardsmen training in the courtyard.    “A knight?” Hadrian’s lips briefly twisted into a frown, but nevertheless, the Crown Prince traversed onwards through the palace. “Ever consider a role in the privy?” He inquired, attempting to peak his son’s interest in administration.   “No! That sounds boring!” Titus declared, “I want to swing my sword and save people! Swoosh!” The young prince started to swing his hand around.    A defeated sigh parted the lips of the Crown Prince.    . . .

 

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

“Our father has abdicated,” Maximilian stared down at the parchment, before staring towards his brother. There was a brief frown that plastered the prince’s face.   “... I see” Hadrian’s expression grew dour, and his left-hand curled out towards his face; the prince knew this already, and the initiation rite that he would – eventually — pass onto his son plastered itself evidently; his middle finger was gone.    The militant prince stepped forth, and in hopes of cheering up his brother, smiled radiantly. “Aha! Well, should we celebrate? Would you like some wine?” Maximilian snorted, jutting an index-finger towards the tea-cup. “No, no, sorry, you only drink tea, don’t you? Well, truth be told, I never understood the conc…”   A false smile painted the crown prince’s lithe, fatigued face; the words of his brother went through one ear and out the other. Hadrian’s gut started to churn, and beneath the table, his nails raked through the wood.    . . .

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

“This stays between us, yes?” Johannes questioned, the horse galloping forth towards the small make-shift house within the central island of Kalldur, sitting offshore the long bridge leading towards the high-elves.    “What happens in Kalldur, stays in Kalldur,” Hadrian drawled, rushing past his brother. The prince leapt off the horse, and with a caving breath, ran towards the hut. He swung the doors open, and pressed his fingers around the lever; a trap set up earlier.   Johannes charged into the hut, and behind him, a retinue of Salvians and Druscans pursued, or whatever other brigands had left to transpire within. As they made their way into the small encampment, the prince screamed. “Pull it!”   “Pulling!” Blood splattered out from the crown prince’s mouth, and the lever was tugged. Drafts of sand poured with water, causing the ground beneath to collapse into numerous spikes concave around bubbling magma.    Johannes pulled his longsword out, and thrust it forth towards the first enemy's throat; gargling on his own blood, the rest trembled beneath the dirt, and soon enough, found themselves falling into the pit. With a hoarse blare, the men fell to their death.    “. . .” The prince turned to face his brother, sweat drooling across his face.    “... – HAHA!” Hadrian burst out into laughter; it was genuine, not seen in the past few years, and it caused his body to croak viciously. A hand fell upon his brother’s shoulder, but amidst his fit of laughter, he started to cough and choke on his own saliva.   . . .

 

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[DIARY] 

 

ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʀᴏɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.   I have lived my life chasing the dreams of others; in another life, I would have become something else. Yet today, I must stand knowing that I shall inherit the burdens of my father.   Brother, I am not looking forward to it. I could only hope that Max was the one to take on the title, the image, and the glory; I am a frail man, too sickly–the people will not see me as their Emperor.    I am growing colder by the day. My skin is pale, my eyes are gaunt, and my body is in pain. I can feel myself losing hope. Everyday, the torment doesn’t stop. Soon enough, my brother, I shall be another pawn.    Father told me that I had to give a little part of myself to become the Emperor, and so I cut my finger off. This was my initiation ritual – how barbaric, is it not?    My children hate me, my family stares at me with contempt, my knights will question my sanity. Brother, know this. If your blade shan’t pierce through my gullet by the end of the night, know that you have lost your brother. I have become another deconstructed figure in the greatest echelons of history; a mindless servant to our vast swathes of land, a human with no cause but to charge against those who fight against us. It is unfortunate, brother, that you shall not see the entry to this diary.    I will no longer be myself.

 

 

 . .

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"ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ" 

“You … – I do not want to see your face here again,” The Emperor, Hadrian, spat out blood towards the pillars within the throne-room; knights rushed to keep him upright, and his singular eye was vacant, dripping from the recent pool of ichor.     “... you are becoming just like me. I hate the way your face looks,”  Hadrian choked violently, jutting his index finger down towards his daughter, Livia. The rage in his voice trembled through the throne-room; many watched in pure horror, whilst others lamented the fate of the poor girl. For the Emperor, it was filled only with confusion – it was his daughter, and arguably, his most favoured child out of all of them.    Livia mirrored him perfectly; she was a womanly reflection filled with brilliance, wisdom, and grace. To Hadrian, she was a stark reminder of his illness. As his daughter stood trembling within the throne-room, the Imperator slammed his fist against the pillar, controlled only by the hands of his leal dragon-knights.     “Get out, you no longer bear my blood or my titles,”  Hadrian’s voice seethed, and the rage within his heart could not be quelled – yet unfortunately, the rage which he had reserved for his would-be assassin seemed to be toppled onto his daughter.    The Emperor’s mind was a complex mixmash, segregated into logic, reason, and emotion – his emotions worked on his logic, and his reason was simple: if his daughter did not live so close to him, perhaps, she would become better?   . . .

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[DIARY] 

 

ᴀɴ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ.   It was one of those mages; they should have been killed from the start. Fortunately, I will begin to purge them one by one. Yet this entry is not written due to the matter of my would-be-death, but on my daughter.   I was so filled with rage and hatred – at first, I had convinced myself that it was my daughter, Livia, who had spared the assassin the opportunity to kill me. Truthfully, I would have longed for a painful death. It would release me from this suffering. I would finally be free, set out from the expectations of men.   I did not want to scorn my daughter, but in recent times, she has grown too cruel. She has started to mirror me, and I hate it. I love my children, they are the only things I cherish beyond my brothers and sister. And my mother. I sent her away; the further from me the better. She will grow up to be a saint, no longer stricken by the politics, no longer emboweled by my expectations. I do not want her to grow up to become another empty husk, a hollow creature that craves power and spreads dread.    ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴇᴍᴘᴛʏ ʜᴜꜱᴋ, ᴀ ʜᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅꜱ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴅ.

 

. . .

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THUD – the banners of Urguan fell from their battlements. The city of Kal’Baraz had been occupied, and all other lands surrounding the dwarven kingdom had either been claimed by imperial forces, or collapsed. Droves of corpses littered out from the throne-room, scattering all the way through to the city outer-gates. Orcish tusks were collected by those who sought trophies, and beards were cut from the unfortunate dwarven corpses who could not be given burial. As the small dwarven forces fled from all directions, it was finally over.    Imperial banners were sprung across the capital city of Urguan; they had fallen. In the coming days, news would arrive of the Horde’s dissolution. With this, Azuras had been conquered.   The Emperor seated himself upon the obsidian throne, his voice raggedy. Suppling on a flask that granted eternal life, water sloshed from beneath his chin and drooled onto the floor with a pit-patter. “Argelion – it is done.”   Argelion stared down towards the throne-room, where the innumerable forces of the Empire celebrated together, drinking and feasting on everything. “Yes; however, you do not seem too overjoyed?”   Hadrian’s throat snarled; splatch, bloody mucus hurled out onto the stone nearby. “... – I have lost all joy in life, my friend.” The Emperor curled his gauntlet, it barely twitched; he lacked strength.  “The thrill of war brought me only worry. My children risked their lives and nearly died in my war. And in the end, when we have won, I sit here dissatisfied. Am I greedy?”    “... – greed is reserved for dwarves,” The High King of Idunia approached the Imperator, and opted to lean back against the nearby wall next to the obsidian throne. “However, dragons are also known for their greed. They hoard everything they can, and sit on top of it.”   The Emperor coughed, it caused his chest to buckle. Once again, he pulled out the flask, and drank upon the odd contents within. “The world is conquered. It is time for my son to inherit this throne… – what should I say to him?”    “. . .” Argelion briefly turned his head towards the massive crowd that celebrated, their faces burning with radiance and joy. The High King started to walk away from the Imperator, and spoke only these final words.  “Figure it out yourself. You overthink too much.”   . . .

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[DIARY] 

 

ᴛᴏᴅᴀʏ ᴍᴀʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴqᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴅɪᴀʀʏ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ.   I shall lay waste my feelings without any fear. Soon enough, I shall be dead. I have thrown away the flask, and I shall head towards my own demise. I once feared death in my youth, and then I craved it – but still, I could never find the strength to end my own life. I worked on emotion, but now, I shall base this purely on flawless rationale.    With the world conquered, men and women have come to despise me. I have torn away their homes, I have locked away their people, and I have killed everyone who stepped in the path of our most righteous Empire. They will laud me as the Emperor of Azuras, but I do not want anything.    At the end of my death, my son shall inherit with praises – they will be overjoyed, for any Emperor that is not as cruel as me shall be seen as their saviour. A tyrant removed, and a less-so-violent tyrant put in place. Marcus is a strong man, so perhaps, he will do better than I ever could.    I have many regrets in life. I do not admit to them openly; the Emperor must be a prideful man, after all. I regret my sickness, but this was out of my control. I regret my position as the firstborn, so that I could have lived as I wanted without the expectations of the world holding me down. I regret my treatment of those around me, as I fear I have left them as scarred as me.   My biggest regret goes to my children. Titus should have become whatever he wanted to be, but still, I tried to push him towards a path he did not want. However, he grew up strong, and I am proud of him.   I regret my son’s ascent as Emperor in the future from my untimely death. Marcus does not deserve to suffer as I have; the role of the Imperator is a curse. It takes away from you the very essence of your personality; it carves away at your wants. You become a selfless and mindless thing.    I regret having let Martinus find herself washed away into the shores, to be raised by peasants, unaware of his lineage.   I regret having not provided Pontia with as much time and care as those around me, as her mother often cradled her with.   Yet my deepest regret is with Livia. I wanted her to be perfect, unlike and different from me. So I pushed her away – cast her aside, sent her to the deepest pits of torment. When she started to become me, I was fearful. As fear consumed me, I lashed out. My sweet daughter, I hope you do not celebrate my death for all the cruelty I have presented to you.   Through all this, I do not regret much else. I do not regret my murders. I do not regret this war. I do not regret my treatment of the inferior races; the elves, the orcs, and the dwarves. I do not regret killing the old, slow Pontiff who brought religious drought and tyranny to our lands. I do not regret being a tyrant myself.    I will find no relief in death, nor will the Seven Skies save me. The gates of our Lord’s kingdom have cast me out. My punishment shall be the void. Fortunately, Iblees shall never rule over me, for I have ruled over men beyond the disgust and guilt of every sin imaginable. Iblees cannot compare.    So in my final moments, I do not write ‘Ave Imperium’.  I write this sihmply: to anyone who ever discovers this.   ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ.

. . .

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. . .     A boat drifted off down the river, it passed the imperial city, made way through the straits of Myrine, and soon entered the vacant oceans surrounding Kurai-Kuni and Idunia.    Within, a man sat on his lonesome. As the small row-boat started to drift with the waves, the man – just a man – sat on the small plank, reading a small book. His eye, missing, his face, gaunt, and his frame, lithe. On top, he read a small book, and feasted on a sandwich. The fishing rod slumped at the corner of the row-boat.   “Mother,” The man’s hand guides the oil doused across the boat. “In another life, I shall become a poet.”   A spectre guides its hand over the man’s own. “A poet, my son?”   “A poet.”    “And what would you write about?”   “A poem about the girl I love.”   “That would be nice.”   …   “... will they forgive me?”   “... - no, my dear child, they will not. You knew this, didn’t you?”   “... yeah. Will you stay to watch?”   “... - yes, my sweet child.”   Flames burst across the boat in the midst of the ocean. It was a beacon, a fiery reminder to others.     ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ.

 

 

---

 

ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ

 

MY SISTER, Joan @trinn

 

Spoiler

Sister – this letter will come at the hour of my death, as my body washes back into the shore. You may not recognise it, but let me speak no further on it. 

 

Joan, recognise your own talents. You have an artistic touch to everything; preserve it, and be proud of it. Do not waste your talents on the ugly, but the beautiful, and draw out the things people cannot see in themselves. You will be, as you have always been, my dearest sister. Unfortunately, even until the end, I could not win the race against you.

 

I regret my time in this world. Please forgive me for leaving without warning. You were made to invoke joy in others. Continue to guide those, as you have guided me.

 

I leave you this lesson: have more confidence in yourself. 

 

MY BROTHER, Johannes @Halt

 

Spoiler

Johan, you are stupid. Admittedly, all of us know this. You have chased your emotions for so long, and it has led you to cause pain and suffering to yourself.

 

Though, I envy you for it. The pain tells us that we are alive. Whereas I chased what was best for all, you chased what was best for you and those you cared about. You raised my children as if they were your own. You fell in love with a girl. I was able to watch you grow up to become this wonderful man. I do not regret any second of it.

 

I will always blame you for one thing, brother: you did not slay me on the day of my coronation. It was something that I held in the back of my mind; why did you not do it? You could have freed me from this pain and suffering. Soon enough, I realised that I had been selfish. How could my brother have the courage to kill me? I was silly.

 

Forgive me, brother. I have left this world. You are no longer bound by the shackles of my expectations. Live long and hard. Live doing what you love.

 

I leave you this lesson: chase your dreams. 

 

MY SISTER, Marcella @Rainalyn

 

Spoiler

Marcella… – your brother has passed, and he has left you nothing. I am sorry, my dear sister. I scorned your husband, and rebuked your marriage, but now, you have wed, and you smile as brightly as in our youth. You have grown up to become a charmer, something that is crudely needed.

 

I leave you this lesson: follow your heart.

 

MY BROTHER, Maximilian @sam33497

 

Spoiler

You annoy me, brother. The way you speak, and the way you dress. Your role as a military commander has undertaken a heavy toll on you – I abhorred you for a few moments. You were lucky, born as the second son, unable to inherit the burdens of our father. I often fretted on whether or not you were a curse, and that your birth would mark the years of my suffering.

 

Soon enough, I realised that suffering is made manifest by the individual, and not by others. You served valiantly until the end, and to my brother - younger than me - I showed you no love or care, nor wisdom or guidance. I only led you down the path of bloodshed, as you killed my enemies. 

 

Forgive me, brother. You must strive to do more, beyond this Empire, not shackled by your duties. The military life has changed you, for the better, and for the worse. 

 

I leave you with this lesson: you are not a slave. 

 

MY FATHER, Tiberias @Tide1

 

Spoiler

Father, your son has died ahead of schedule. I must apologise, and hope you can forgive me for this. Beyond this, my fears of you have grown little now in death. I will speak to you plainly: I hated you.

 

You put me onto this pedestal, and I was forced to become an Emperor, to lead men to wars, to watch as they died in my name. I was forced to raise my own value, and the expectations of others buried me to my death. 

 

Why could you not have chosen Maximilian? You knew of my sickness. These questions often rattled me. 

 

Yet despite my hatred, I also cherish you the most. You taught me how to lead, to rule, and gave me sound and sagacious advice. I fell into a trap of my own making, and this was not your fault. Father, you were my greatest idol, and I have failed to mirror your mercy. You must have suffered as much as I have.

 

You created this vast Imperium, and I grew it vaster. Now, it is time for my son to take on this mantle.

 

I have no lessons to give you, father, for you were my tutor. I only hope that you can nurture Marcus before age claims you.

 

MY SON, Titus @SethWolf

 

Spoiler

You will always be my most favoured son, Titus.

 

During my marriage, I often spoke to my mother about wanting a son who would follow down the same path as me – a man of the crafts, into poetry, arts, and also, a great administrator. Whereas I knew Marcus would inherit both elements, I wanted a son who I could grow a personal connection with.

 

I tried to force you down a path you did not want. Constantly, I tried to push you away, but each time, you overcame the challenges. I sent you away to Reinmar, and you returned stronger. I sent you to war, and you came back alive prouder. Each moment of your life has been overcoming the challenges I have set out towards you.

 

I must be cruel, my son, but you have suffered long enough. When you became a knight, it was one of the proudest moments of my life – we could not speak properly in the end, but I want you to know that you were the only creation I beheld that I did not regret.

 

I leave you with this lesson: use your strengths to help others. 

 

MY SON, Martinus @helldiving

 

Spoiler

As my hand slipped out from the carriage, and I saw you claimed by the pools of water beneath the shattered wood of the bridge, I felt something in my heart. It was a tinge of pain.

 

And when I saw you again in your adult years, the hope that I had left briefly sparked life within me again. Unfortunately, this hope simmered with the duties and responsibilities I undertake. 

 

You will grow up strong and proudly in this family, my son. I have gone fishing, as we last spoke. Take care of your brothers and sisters. 

 

I leave you with this lesson: when you find yourself lost, take your time, be patient, you’ll find yourself eventually.

 

MY DAUGHTER, Pontia @ncarr

 

Spoiler

Your letters entertained me often, and hearing about your tales and adventures caused me great joy. Rarely did you ask me for anything, or call me for help. You were independent, something most of my other children should have taken towards. Continue to explore the world.

 

I leave you with this lesson: sometimes, asking for help is alright. Your independence is admirable, but make sure you do not lose your touch with family.

 

MY DAUGHTER, Livia @hopey

 

Spoiler

My most favoured child, but also, my biggest regret.

 

Sweet daughter, your father has failed you the most. I should have guided you towards the right path, but my mind justified the means to remove you from our family, only out of my love and desire to see you corrected. I wanted you to become kind, loved, but when your sickness came, I knew you may suffer the same as I did. Yet I did not come to realise that family matters the most, and pushing you away from your brothers and sisters would only lead to more suffering.

 

Your father does not admit to his mistakes – in life, as Emperor, I never spoke often about the ill-doings I committed. I have killed for simply wanting to kill, and I even came to enjoy murder. I do not know why, but my mind started to crumble. My daughter, I want you to stay alive, and stay sane. Your life has value. Find someone you love, and continue to hold it in. Whereas men and women fight on the battlefield, you and I – we must find in our mind.

 

I have lost my battle, dear daughter. The battle of my mind, it sunk me to my lowest point. You must win, and come out victorious, and live until you are old and happy. Do as much as you can. You bear the blood of the Dragon, who would deny you this right? Your father has conquered the world, but he is filled with little joy. I have conquered this world for you, my daughter.

 

I leave you with this lesson: do not try to impress others. I did not want you to live with any expectations, but you put them on yourself, and they became your shackles. If you fail, or if you win, you would have always been my pride; I would never feel ashamed of you.

 

Forgive me.

 

MY WIFE AND EMPRESS, Elizabeth @brujera

 

Spoiler

Beyond our consummation, I held little love for you in life. I tried my best; I thought the marriage would work, or the children, but nothing could spark that feeling into my heart. 

 

You are beautiful, and I was very fortunate to find a lady of great class and nobility. Despite our boorish marriage, you were a good wife, and a good Empress. Our children have grown up well, my dear.

 

They have become great. Our son shall become greater. 

 

Be there for him, as I shall not.

 

To my Empress, this world, it was also for you. 

 

TO THE FUTURE EMPRESS, Valentina @kuerbis

 

Spoiler

You will find your time as Empress to be much more eventful – Marcus seems to lean on you, so I hope you can guide him towards the right path.

 

You hated me; if you did not, then you were afraid – soon, that fear turned to disgust. I could tell from the way you would look at me. I did not care, though; no offence, dear Valentina, but you were amongst one of many who watched me with the same ire. How could a man be so cruel? Are men so barbaric as to kill without care? Yes, my dear, yes they are; you are about to inherit an Empire, and if you believe your path will not be stained by blood, then you are either gullible, or unfit. I would be surprised if you have not learned this answer already, or if you have yet to spill blood.

 

My son is stupid. No, all my sons are stupid. They are daft; my son has done something silly. Consummation outside of marriage; unfortunately, this is a vice of men, it is a lust, especially for those in power. I once held these same feelings for another, but I never found it in me to breach the trust my wife put in our marriage. 

 

I am not telling you to forgive him, nor am I telling you to forget.

 

I am asking you to put aside the feelings so that you can rule this Imperium to its utmost. You must do this; the lives of many await your touch. Trust yourself. Marcus has many flaws, and so do you. Fill each other's weaknesses with strength. 

 

There is one thing I regretted in my life: my wife. Elizabeth was a brilliant mind, and I did not use her to aid me in my efforts of running the Empire. I held her in cufflinks, and kept her at bay to the side. She could have been known for her wisdom, but I did not give her the platform to grow.

 

You can grow.

 

Ave Imperium.

 

TO THE FUTURE EMPEROR, Marcus I  @pkdon

 

Spoiler

To my son,

 

Unlike your brothers and sisters, I cannot coddle you with love or kindness.

 

You must take this seriously. The role of the Emperor is one that requires fine attention – you must ensure the privy is operational, the treasury is in order, the military is prepared, the crownlands is appraised, the city is suited, the vassals are in check, the provinces are in place, and the protectorates are in order. You will be required to answer long petitions, numerous letters, and be at the forefront of any bad or improper decision made by the Empire.

 

You have become the Empire. Each action you take will change things; it could cause catastrophic action, or bring blessings to all. With my conquest, you now stand as the next Emperor of Azuras, and so, this world, you must govern.

 

I cannot tell you how to lead this Empire, my son. I led this Empire through the grit of tyranny and dread. Should you choose to rule with kindness and mercy, make sure you calculate every decision. If you are too kind, people will walk over you. If you are too cruel, but not cruel enough, people will rebel. You must learn a fine balance. 

 

And through these numerous duties, you will become the Patriarch of our family, and must ensure that your sons and daughters are raised properly, and that your heir is sufficient and ready to undertake the mantle.

 

I will leave you with no lessons either, for if I had any to give, I would not have ended my life until you were. You are ready now.

 

You must continue to rule this Empire, or GOD shall return it down to the ground, and men shall find themselves splintered once again. Humanity scattered allows for those disgusting, vile, sub-human troglodytes to rise again. 

 

Ave Imperium, my son. 

 

Ave Marcus.

 

 

---

 

 

✠ — ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴀɴ ɪ — ✠

 

ᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴏʀ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴢᴜʀᴀꜱ

King of Burgundy

Sanctus Imperator Mundi

 

222 S.A - 278 S.A

 

 

 

---

 

OOC Message

 

Boom – we’re finished. 

 

I was writing this final bit of closure to my reign, and I think I rewrote it a couple dozens of times before finally settling on this one.

 

There’s a lot of people I want to give credit to for making my reign easy, but we will get to that. This was my first NL stint, barring the small and few scarce groups I ran previously; a hell of a project, in my opinion.

 

When I joined LoTC, I started off as a little halfling bandit with dreads, robbing people on the roads of Renatus. Throughout my time on LoTC, I would say that I have identified with the anti-imperial sentiment. I fought with various groups over the years: Reivers, Urguan, the Orcs, the Hangmen, the Ferrymen, and each time – it was probably against an Empire. For a brief moment, I also found joy in Haense alongside my good friend @SethWolf who invited me into the Weiss Family.

 

Beyond running events, I have never really been granted the opportunity to make a stand, or to try and do something as big as this. I’ve always loved human roleplay, but I was never able to get chosen for princes or lords, not even a noble beyond House Weiss. Did I feel insulted? Nah, not really–I probably wasn’t the ideal pick at the time, I do not think most people looked at me as the ‘NL’ or ‘Community Leader’ sort of vibe. I won’t lie, I’ve had quite the long, toxic rub-in with this server, but I found a bit of peace after making it well IRL. 

 

I want to thank @Tide1 for eventually selecting me as his heir. I’m unsure what compelled him to pick me of all people, because when I initially asked, it was just a quick little chat in VC whilst we were playing games. 

 

My reign was meant to be a short stint – when I started the character, Hadrian, I didn’t particularly want to have him be anything. All I knew was that I wanted to stay away from CRP, not be another martial character, maybe a bit of a nerd in roleplay. I didn’t start the character with any pre-conceived hatred towards anything. In my young years as the character, I was friends with elves, I had an orc body-guard, I even befriended a cursed child. Yet through my interactions, it eventually consolidated into Hadrian; most people see him as a villain.

 

Yes, he is a ‘bad guy’. A tragic character, but nonetheless a bad guy. As my character grew, my ‘handover’ reign sort of turned towards world conquest. I thought I would have PK’d by february, but the wars got delayed. 

 

Do I think my reign went super-duper epic? … nah. I’m sure a lot of players will look at my reign and go wow, we conquered the continent man! Yeah, sure. I was more concerned about the internals of the Empire, but was forced to focus on the externals. There’s a lot of things I would have liked to change, and a lot of promising players I would have loved to sponsor and raise further; I wanted players to be given the same opportunities I found myself deprived with in my early years on the server. I failed, unfortunately, but it is what it is.

 

Could I have continued on? Yes, but I do not have the time – I promised myself that if I reigned anything near April, something went wrong. I have a life, a job, and also, I’ve come to realise that a big project like the Empire wasn’t for me. It was a great experience, but nah. I would have enjoyed running a small kingdom, but a whole Empire, and it spanning the continent? Too much attention, it was starting to stress me out. I’m quite good at dealing with stressful situations, but I came to the realisation: why would I continue to do something that I’m not enjoying, especially online? -puffs cigar-

 

I found little joy in any of my achievements. Even when we secured our win against Urguan, the very next hour, I had to deal with more drama unrelated to the war itself. This was my constant life as Emperor, so I lament @pkdon's fate. I was waking up to an average of 40 to 60 DMs, and any free time I had to enjoy with friends was being drained. It was, eventually, just a chore. I couldn’t log on to do normal RP as I would be flooded with roleplay. I don’t think that’s an issue, really, because I signed up for that life. 

 

I’m sure people have come to dislike me for my reign. I don’t really care, though, because I didn’t join this server to please you. Shout out to the HAELUNOR DISCORD for keeping it entertaining. 

 

Everyone on this server is awesome, inside the Empire and outside. I think players can make it big or do something meaningful if they try – I’ll say this now, but look out for Kardika because he might change the game in the future (no troll). He also makes awesome builds (look at his portfolio unironically). 

 

The Empire will not last forever, so cherish what the server has in store for you, people will probably look back on it. Out of all races, humans are the most frequent to change. Humans splinter, kingdoms rise and fall, Empire’s collapse. It is the constant cycle of this universe. If your answer to being on the losing side is to say that outside forces swayed the story, you’ve started to lose yourself to this server. 

 

Bigup: @CharmingCavalier, he was one of the few people who helped relieve my financial stresses.
Bigup: @Coronate for helping organise the military and the war-side of things, including running the knights near the end. 

Bigup: @kuerbis, hope you enjoy being Empress, you did great at keeping the city active and hosting events.

Bigup: @Tide1 for making me Emperor in the first place.

Bigup: @Lenny for being there for my reign, the RP was interesting and I’m happy Idunia & Empire wasn’t left in its prior state.

Bigup: @trinn for formatting this post and being a presence in RP and OOC, kept my mind clear.

Bigup: @Halt& @Aeus for being around to chat throughout the night and hangout and have fun RP beyond the boring politics.

Bigup: @The Tough Guy, one of my good friends on this server, his presence helped out a lot.

Bigup: @SethWolf, one of my besties, being able to take time off Empire stuff to game with him was sexy. 

Bigup: @cadaziofor running the Chancellery and ensuring things were smooth when I wasn’t around.

Bigup: @Luto, genuinely the most helpful person on this server. I didn’t even know her and she did so much for the Empire. She’s going to make it big, I’m sure. 
 

And shoutout to others like: hugh(m1919), squakhawk, Gaja, tomfunks, fishy, zhulik, _stal, maltamoss, olpx, ninjaclimb, vurmy, sam, kbr, xmuted. 

 

Shoutout to all the vassals and places / nation leaders, hopefully I wasn’t too much of a pain. I’m happy to see that everyone was able to play nice and rally together for these wars and events. 

 

Don’t contact me for Empire stuff in the future. 

 

My final words are to PKDON: just have fun. Do what you want mate, you’re the Emperor of Azuras now, just make it fair on others.

 

Peace and love.

 

Thanks for everything.

 

[trinn 5128]

 

For Joan, Hadrian had died long before this.

 

That sweet, beaming brother of hers in her memory, who ran through green meadows and crystal lakes. Their races between pine woods, inevitably scolded in tandem for the chaos brought by their speeding heels. A shared mischievous laugh. A lesson on dancing and chess. The Hadrian she knew, before the burden of sickness and Imperium, held an unmovable spot in her heart and mind. For every cruelty enacted by his hand as Emperor, she recalled a kindness taught to her by his tutelage. Know our mother through me, he promised as a boy. 

 

It was her own unintended cruelty to him; the memory of his sweetness as a boy overshadowed his being as a man. A deliberate blindness to his viciousness, an unwillingness to consider too long the gravity of his deeds; if only that it would keep her love for him intact. And it stayed intact, as selfish as it was, as her love for him remained unconditional. So perhaps, their dwindling interactions in his later life was a blessing – a parting kindness from him, who kept from her his spiral so as to conserve her desperate clinging to the memory of that sweet, beaming brother. 

 

But the truth, which she had vehemently denied even to herself, is that the Hadrian she knew was solely a shadow, trampled underfoot the Emperor of Man. This Emperor walked with the face of her brother, his voice; but that boy was long dead, taken by the illness early, and walked a corpse. And if he was not, then he desperately wished to be.

 

✦ • ───────── • ✠ •  ─────────• ✦

 

The letter came to her in the early mornings. Read twice, then thrice. Likely more, though she lost count by the third read of it. As if the words would somehow change its meaning, and the reality of his death, by continued reading. But in her last read, she had found herself on the ground, staring at marbled floors and her warped reflection. No sweet memory could shelter her from Hadrian’s final truth:  that he was, by his own hand, well and truly gone.

 

Joy – … joy? Invoke joy? I have painted you, my beloved brother for all the beauty I believed in you,

But you deny yourself even that.

 

A dead man asks me for joy. What a cruel jape.

 

Joan found herself walking quickly, a horse taken from its stables even before the sun had properly risen. Grief felt more like anger in its early blossoming, pelting at her heart in the silence of her search upon the shores of the Imperium. An indignance against his ask for forgiveness, denying him what little she could now. Yet, the irony of it all, was her uncertainty of if she would recognise his body; or if it would fall too unrecognisable amidst the countless others reaped from his Conquest of Azuras.

[Cryptic 549]

After a night out, Barathan and Sofia left a meeting with Hadrian and Sir Antonius. It seemed he had a lot to drink.

 

"The Emperor of Azuras sure is a nice fella." He said to her.

 

The next morning, waking up from a heavy hangover, he heard the news...

 

"May you rest in peace, Emperor of Azuras." The Golden Lion looked at the final picture he had taken with Hadrian, saddened.

 

 

[!] Sofia Euler, taking a photo of her boyfriend, Barathan, with his boyfriends, Hadrian I and Sir Antonius, having a nice pint mate.

 

 

[SethWolf 2340]

Titus was not at home when the news came to him. He was in the lands of the West, resting beneath a cherry blossom and dictating a report of his findings of recent darkspawn incursions into that flowery forest from Lichtenwald in the North.

 

And when the runner gave him the news, Titus tilted his head up, looking to the young man acrossed from him as if he'd merely spoken a riddle.

 

"The Emperor, Sir. He has gone from us." A hand reached out, stamped with Hadrian's personal insignia. His letter to his son. Condolences were offered, though no words came back to that man.

 

Titus paused for a moment, and dismissed the runner thusly. He sat back against that tree, looking through the branches. Invariably, he thought of his father. For in truth, he knew in the back of his mind that his Father grew weary of his charge. That nothing would spell his end but by his own hand, no matter how many feckless morons sought to carve his head from his shoulders all these years.

 

His hands finally broke the seal, and he read that letter.

 

Titus had seen a side of his father that perhaps not many in this vast continent had. He'd seen Hadrian as a man born with chains about his ankles. A man who did what he had to not because it was what he wished for, but because it was his duty. None could ever dispute that in his charge he served his empire truly, and would forever be cemented as one of the greatest Emperors to ever live.

 

Yet, then came the pained knowledge that his father would have given it all away, if it meant a chance at a quiet home in some sunny island, writing and singing his songs and poetry. Titus's sadness was pulled away, for he believed that now, perhaps his father would wake up on a white-sand beach with palm trees all around, and know nothing but the silence he'd always dreamt of.

 

The prince stood, and looked over the Western cliffs. Over the vast waves, a soaring eagle flew overhead. With that creature flying so freely, Titus' sorrow went with it, carried on the wind. He loved his father, he always had. Now, he was gone. One day, if the Lord permitted such, they would meet again and leave all the bitterness of politics and the mud of past battlefields behind them.

 

But not today.

 

His father could now finally be at peace. For now, that was enough.

 

He picked up his shield, saddled his horse, and made for Rittersberg.

 

[kuerbis 3802]

When had she started to feel sympathy for this baseless murderer with a crown? Those were her earliest thoughts about Emperor Hadrian; he had inspired terror and fear into Valentiná, and admittedly many, many others, where she wanted to inspire mercy and kindness. They are opposites, through and through, or at least that is what Valentiná had started telling herself to sleep easier at night.
 

It was HE who killed all of those people and it was she, who benefitted off those killings. It had been a calm night, only a few weeks ago as she sought him out in his office. The words he offered her were of a, for Hadrian, strange gentleness. They were words the woman would carry for life.
 

When she heard about his death, Valentiná felt a strange sense of dread in her chest.

 

The Emperor is dead.

…

Marcus is now Emperor

…

You must support him.

 

The sore wound between the Imperials had only just started to close. They had both hurt one another in the worst ways they could think of; now, they would rule the lands together. A sigh parted from the new Empresses maw, her eyes darting mournfully across the letter Hadrian had left her.
 

She had wanted to run away, but duty brought her back.
She had asked for a divorce, but duty kept her bound to her vows.
She had wept all her tears and mourned all she could before her gaze settled upon what truly mattered:

 

the Empire.

 

Perhaps this was the wisest last lesson Hadrian could have imparted upon his daughter-in-law. It was one she would tell herself, every day, going forward.

[Random 1690]

"Oh wow" said a short man in the western Kingdom as he lit a Count Cigar from the Euler stall - a most luxurious good. The veteran of many wars looked up to his brother, Frederick, to see how he reacted to the news. "I wonder how Zôrzagar reacts to this- think he will disappear too?"

[Gaja 1310]

Frederick Euler bore a clear conscience.

[Crevel 7557]

"LONG LIVE THA NEW EMPRAH!" Arthur Littlewood exclaims in Rittersburg.

[The Tough Guy 4319]

Sir Ghetsis Mareno lit a cigar as his face paled, spotting a small boat off the coast of Myrine. Soon he saw it burst aflame in the far distance.

"My friend, my Emperor. We have known eachother since we were kids. It is only fair GOD gave you a weak body, for your mind was sharp enough to conquer the continent. I hope in the end, your insatiable mind was satisfied. Though knowing you, friend, I doubt it."

He gazed at the trident near his person, and the polished set of Dragon knight armour to his left as he sat atop the peak. As soon as the burning wood floating off the coast extinguished, so did Ghetsis his cigar.

[TheIchorDruid 1986]

 

There are fates more cruel than death; chief among them, to mend all but the one life that mattered. 

 

Four and twenty summers had the Physician endured in service, her hands unerring through fever and fracture alike. A sentinel beside Emperor Tiberias in ailment and in war. Where the father had borne his afflictions with a tempered fortitude, the son did not, and thus Hadrian grew into the heavier yoke. Scarcely was she drawn to hate, even the Master of Mankind could she find reason to admire. Though she was still human, needling contempt endured- sharpened by his cruelty toward his own daughter. The child she herself had chosen to raise with a devotion nigh sacred. 

 

In this, duty eclipsed all softer inclination. The affection she bore the girl held dearer than any resentment she might have claimed, and it was by this singular allowance of love that she remained bound. Thus did she continue, not for him, but for what lingered beyond him. Now to be endured again, in the keeping of his son.

 

-=♱=-

 

How suited the pelting rain had been, driving an assault of damp daggers into the sides of the three. The entrusted three charged with retrieving Hadrian’s remains. With sodden insistence, had the woman’s cowl clung to her brow, the chill was an all too familiar thing that settled deep within the marrow of her spirit. When at last the laboured steeds were granted reprieve from their gallop, Andromede’s verdant eyes lifted toward the darkened depths of the ocean. There was nothing but the vow of driftwood marked on the water’s surface. With a hitch of her leg did she dismounted, boots meeting the beach in a muted thud. How ironic, she thought. For a dragon to end in flame. Fitting. She did not step forth, nor did she speak. As ever she was in Hadrian’s presence, she waited, fingers latching about wrists.
 

Whilst the two grieved in their own ways, burdened by sentiments too vast to name, the Physician's taut expression revealed little of what stirred within her. Peace? No, for this moment had only delivered sorrow to those closest. She knew the truth of it, though it was something she would scarcely ever dare to speak; relief. With the passing of the Master of Mankind, choice had been returned to her. At last her breath slipped free, half-hidden behind the whip of darkened strands across her face. When all was done, she answered without flourish, fingers hooking to the saddle's edge as she pulled herself up onto the mare.

 

And so the remains of Hadrian were delivered.

 

✠ AVE IMPERIUM ✠

 

 

 

 

[cadazio 2105]

 

A now Duke of Grense heard the news much later than he should've, receiving the raven in the midst of class. A Crown had befallen that young Prince, and he tried to find a warm sun in that darkened sky for it had lowered in a dusk, there beyond the West.

 

As tears pricked his eyes, he prayed for it to rise again for his father Marcus.

[Coronate 5519]

The pin of the Imperial Lord Marshal, as well as that of the Grand Knight were left upon the tableside.

 

The True Drake was dead, Lord Vander, Thrax- was no longer indebted to servitude. 

 

"Goodbye, True Drake, until we meet again."

[hopey 364]

 

 

Still yet did her cheeks relish the coil of the brackish breeze, the persisting ebb and churn of waves shamelessly bounding lithe ear to ear. Her feet were hollowed by sand, all while a book of splendor rested against her knobby knees. Her father cradled a tome of poetry, and every now and then, she could hear the rustle of a page folding over another. It had been their day of normality, without the burden of responsibility, freed from his unending shackles of leadership that seemed to get heavier each passing day. That was how they should’ve merited their lives, released of expectation, disburdened of titles and all that feigned importance. That figment of freedom tasted so sweet on her tongue, a rare delight that she so often neglected amid her turmoil of youth. The sun never really seared so vehemently like it did that day, a warmth so very lacking in the aloof hearth of Rittersburg. Hadrian deserved a life richer spent– a hereafter of no nightmares, a commencing without regret or toilsome melancholy. For a long while, Livia believed she only saw him befit of jovial luxury, for many had not esteemed him as bounteous as she had. Nothing could ever deter her from the likeness she kept. It hadn’t mattered how large the pool of blood festered beneath her feet, or the bitter scorns of the diffident denizens of his Imperium. Her love of him was not to be snuffed.

 

Finger ache was all she could keenly recall amid her lifetime of exile, upheaved by the correspondents she assayed to give to Hadrian. Heaps of paper that all felt the singe of fire, devastated from her burgeoning sensation of inadequacy. Letters for a man who she believed deemed her a blight to the name of Horen. How could she plead forgiveness? To restore that homage of his that cribbed her youth, his unending reverence that seemed to only siphon her out of her kin. It was his gratification that she chased alone, his bellicose gawk of approval. None other did she bend to, trailing only his veneration all amid isolation. Her devotion was so sourly derided by those closest to her, reprimands not only of friend but of foe. The countering side of war upturned chins when she would not betray her father, enraging many who tried to captivate her worship and wilt it towards loathe. Relenting was not of her nature, a trait learnt through Hadrian. All while she underwent dejection, her crevices of grief could not yet be punctured by any sort of rival.. And as she nearly encroached a decade of ostracization, no weakness was sheltered between the cracks of her countenance.

 

It was all too surreal. Had God truly loathed the both of them? He thieved her endlessly, uprooting all that was goodly in her life, without a breadth of reprieve each time. His neglect began with ichor in her coughs, proceeding an ache of her limbs that fastened her to her chambers. An ailment all too closely mirroring that of her father's. If she was to squeeze her eyes shut hard enough, all that presented itself as reality seemed fickle– as if she was simply shedding a misery hallucination of her late father. None of her preparations bore fruit, her sorely attempts of stiffening her mien, the endless nights devoid of visions of him.. All that was a warning of his impending death. His absence only gouged a deeper emptiness in her chest, sorrowing her body could not yet bear. As the letter came to her by kin, Livia could not yet tolerate unraveling it. Ailing had been the forefront of her life, yet within this moment of odious grief, she had not yet felt so infirm and fragile. Wreathed by exhaustion and sullied by piteous weeps, her trembling hands deigned that letter close. 

 

You have conquered this world for me?

 

It was unclear the amount of times her eyes pestered that sentence, contending it as if she could bring it erasure. It was a revolting irony, to have something so precious claimed for you, a conquest she did not once desire. All she had asked of him was endearment, love that she deciphered between his melancholy lines uttering of failure. Never to her was he anything of disappointment or rendered as a frailty. It was his feathering of touch that she remembered most of all, his murmurs of console and his everlasting pleas of her to be kind. No one really knew what it was to be him. How could they? The burden of life is a lofty hand that shapes each soul it touches, twisting its victims with incomprehensible weight. Not one man is wrought the same. He differed the most against any. Oh how direly had she wished he escaped his fated duties, the expectations constrained to the first borns of this realm. Obligations now suffocating her eldest brother. It utterly enraged her. Her father spoke only wisely, for hunting the anticipations of others directs the erratic towards a path of misery. She understood now. And soon enough Marcus will live the same life as him, subsisting within mirroring binds. The densest bonds one cherishes is of kin, for blood runs thickest in a land of scrutiny. Livia would disallow Marcus to suffer as he had. She determined that the very moment she concluded that letter. 

 

Worry not father, relish in your time of peace. I shall watch over him in your stead.

[mojanghunter 566]

William of Glasgon knew not what to think of that Emperor’s death, a man more fable than flesh. He mused someday, the hour would soon come when he should speak to his own children of Emperor Hadrian. How favored they must think themselves lucky, to have dwelt so near in the annals of time to a figure so storied as he. Until such a day would come, however, the Duke would repair to the chapel, and lift a prayer for the man who next must take that brimming cup.

Edited March 28 by mojanghunter

[Lbunz120 41]

Sir Leoni Corvus read of the news, crushed of seeing The Mad Emperor finally descending from the ivory throne. He truly never met the man, nor would he have wished too. . .But he hopes the reign of Marcus Tiberius is long and fruitful. Ave Imperium.

Edited March 28 by Lbunz120