The Death Of Edward Tarus

[ImpinAintEZ 442]

 

 

 

 

As he stands on the mountain side, Edward watches the smoke rise to the sky. His home was gone. All burnt to the ground. This was the place where he had first laid eyes upon the ocean shore where he knew he would begin his Kingdom, and now the small settlement that had arisen there was burning from the fires of the Oren War Machine. Just hours before, the town had by lively and flowing, but all the people had fled, for nothing was left for them.

 

He thinks on how he had failed his people and his family. They had all trusted him, but in the end he had given up. It was his choice to bend the knee to Oren. The title of Phoenix King would never be upheld by any other, for it died when Edward's hope died. Now there was nothing for him to do. The people of Eyveror would resent him forever and he knew how the Oren citizens though about him. He was clouded by hatred, and he couldn't run from it.

 

From behind him on the ledge that Edward stands on, footsteps can be heard and Edward slowly turns to see where they come from. There, standing with a dagger in hand, was a tall, cloudy figure. It was Thalin Letholdus, the Flay that Edward had welcomed into his hell bound Kingdom. The look upon his face was one of hatred and pain. His motives were clear. "Do what you must, Thalin," Edward states.

 

The Flay gives no response as he walks closer to Edward, gripping the stiletto in his hands with fierce anger. As Thalin grew closer Edward slowly moves from the ledge and to the side where he cannot simply be pushed off the mountain side.  Edward knew that nothing could be said or done to stop Thalin from what he was about to do. It was time to embrace death.

 

Now Thalin stood just a few feet infront of Edward, his eyes narrowing in on his target. Then, in a swift lunge, Thalin jabs the dagger forward to Edward's abdomin. The warm blood begins to spill out from Edward's stomach, the dagger still jammed into his body.

 

"I never should'a trusted in a Kingdom to fight an Empire. Only men can win wars," Thalin spits angrily and lets go of the knife, shoving Edward back into a tree. "You glorious dying fool." With his words spoken, Thalin backs away and makes his journey down to the ruined city.

 

Edward slides down the trunk of the tree and grabs the knife with shaking hands. As he lays there, dying, memories of the past slowly flow into Edward's mind. He could see his happy childhood within Indelwood, when he used to play in the meadows with his brother and cousins. The day that his father named him a Knight of Oren brought tears to his eyes. Then the day that he had been named a Duke made those tears flow. Then the last day he saw his father's face made Edward weep. It was all lost - his whole life and reason for existence. He had hurt all the people that had been close to him. Talon, Edgar, Isabella, Celthric, Reynard - they would all lose hope in him now.

 

As Edward's eyes begin to slowly shut, one last image comes to his mind. It was his father, wearing a kind smile. "I'm coming home, father," Edward mumbles with his last breathe. And as his eyes fully shut, a silent wind seems to sweep across his body, carrying his soul along with it.

 

Now, everything was dark. He was surrounded by darkness. Then, out in a distance a faint light flickers as it begins to glow. Soon, the light overtakes the darkness, and Ed awakes lying down in a meadow. He brings himself to his feet and looks around. The nature seems to be untampered with, a faint dreamy glow outlining everything.

 

As Edward surveys his surrounding, three figures catch his eye and the small sound of laughter fills his ears. He begins to make his way toward the unknown figures and as he reaches them, a smile grows upon his face. He knew who they were. There stood a tall, strong male and two young women. The male figure turns to Edward and smiles to him.

 

"Welcome home, son."

 

 

[KidKrinkles 2044]

   Edgar was floating on his back and choked up more water than any man rightfully should- at this point he may as well have been a fish- why had his brother been such a fool? Only a moment ago he watched his brother toss the Crown of Eyveror, his father's crown, a family heirloom, a prized posession, a relic of a lost time, into the sea. Determined, Edgar followed it with a level of grace and dove under- but the darkness wwas contrasted by the fire on the surface- and night blindness was making it difficult to find.

 

   He opened his eyes, feeling the warmth on his face and the salt searing his lungs, nose, and eyes. He coughed and thrashed, splashes ringing out admist the burning of buildings, as he coughed up the last bit of water. Oh Old Ones grant my strength thought Edgar as he turned to his belly, water taking in his features as he began to swim back down.  The water grew darker as the flames disappeared behind him, his chest tight with the held in breath and eyes stinging with salt as he probed the bottom of the shore for his prize.

 

   Sand kicked into his face. He felt it hit his eyes and they shut instantly. That's it then, I'm gone with the others. Just then it entered his hand- that soft feel of gold and dirt, parting, he felt the warmth of the gem like it were a fire burning in his hands- and he felt himself renewed. Old Ones guide me. He curled and kicked up quickly- his stomach wrenched from rising so quickly, as he splashed out with a loud exhale, and deep breathing and inhalations, frantically grasping each breath. He croaked out as he clambered ashore, "A king yet lives!"

[Praetor 1550]

Aikanaro was wandering the lands around the Malinor hold like it was so common for him to do. Yet today was different. Today he had seen the fires.

His footsteps crunched softly against the rugged mountainside grass as he walked, his dark hair waving softly in the crisp wind. 

 

He looked mournfully towards the Burning settlement, his eyes a tad moist. Quickly, he averted his gaze from the scene of destruction and looked for something kinda to observe. Then he spotted the tree, with a smile he hurried over, his eyes focused upon the leafy top and the rough bark. His fingers stroked it gently, running up and down the nodules with an almost loving touch.

 

Then his eyes looked down. With a cry, he jumped back in surprise for the shape of a man was outlined on the bottom of the tree, opposite to him. He circled the tree quickly, only to let out a surprised gasp, his slim fingers covering his lips as he sees the dagger planted deep within the mans stomach. He was dead, that much was obvious to Aikanaro.

 

He crouched down next to the corpse, noting the royal clothing with curiosity. His delicate hands felt for a pulse, before bowing his head low and muttering a small prayer to Malin. With a grimace he removed the dirk from the mans stomach, releasing a flow of still fresh blood. He then proceeded to carefully fold the mans hands upon his lap and set a small flower plucked from nearby in his clasped hands.

 

He rises once more, looking quite saddened and turns around, he would need to talk to Daerthiriel after this...

 

((Ps; Well written, +1~))

[Pato 82]

Oswin spots the body as he walks about in the black night, kneeling by it. Oswin remains expressionless, gently touching the dagger. 

"A shame... for dreams to be crushed..."

 

Oswin picks up the king's body gently, moving him aside. He then proceeds to pull out a shovel, and begins digging a grave. After some time in silence, with only the sound of dirt and gravel being tossed aside, a big enough hole is made. He drops the shovel aside, placing the king inside it. Oswin stands above the man's body, staring at it solemnly. 

 

"May you find peace...."

 

Oswin turns his head, spotting the flower that was on Edward. He leans over to pick it up, and inspects it. He places in neatly in in his hands, trying to make the king seem elegant. He begins filling the hole with the dirt he dug out, and pulls out his own dagger. Oswin begins carving on the tree.

 

Here lies Edward.

A good man.

 

Oswin stares at the messy carving, and nods to himself quietly. He sheathes his dagger, and looks about into the darkness around him. He sighs, fixing his hood, and walks off deeper into the hills. 

[Bircalin 332]

Gravel scowled and snarled under a pair of thick leather boots. They trudged almost aimlessly through the streets, ignoring the harsh licking of flames around them as they searched. Bircalin's eyes had not yet found anything worth fixing on for everything burned wildly, a forest fire, fueled by the history and livelihoods of the very homes it consumed mercilessly.

Fingers latched onto his hairline, sending themselves through the ash-sprinkled, enigmatic brown hair until they could go no further. Bircalin's eyelids folded shut, collapsing over the soulless white vessels once filled with a life of their own.
Sister City, Ravenhold, Serpent Ridge, Laurelin...Eyveror.
Another home to add to the list of prey to tyrannical burning...

His door hung loosely from it's latches, barely held in place as he ushered it aside. His home had been ransacked, looted, destroyed and beaten. For what purpose? To serve as an example? To serve as a warning? To silence the hatred that bubbled within?

Oren teetered upon the edge of Bircalin's patience. This ​was not Oren. This was the product of the delusional, bloodthirsty and self-righteous Emperor 'Godfrey'.

Be it by the hand of Eyveror, rag-tag militia or Bircalin alone, Oren's leaders will answer for their crimes. In this land or the next.

"I swear it..."

[Thatpyrodude 2008]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.