A Rose's Return

[Altiak 1648]

The sea lapped at the boat’s ligneous hull, the sun slowly setting before the weary seamen that sailed it. Upon the frame of the ship, stood a broad and tall northerner, his silky hair tangled and reaching down to his shoulders. His piercing brown eyes gaze out to the distance, and the aura he emits is of fierceness and determination. Battle scars blemish his body, and it was no mystery that the man had been tested by the brutality of war and conflict in his lifetime.

 

Closing his eyes, the warrior recollects his arduous past. It had been a plethora of exhilarating years, serving within the fabled order, and then becoming a patriot of the kingdom he had fought and bled for. He had risen to the status of gentry, a soldier renowned and acknowledged, by his superiors, who he valued and cared for profoundly. Politics were not alien to him, for he was bluntly introduced to the scheming and shrewdness politics was riddled with, the coldness and vehemence of it all. Subjects spoke the words of their liege, forming no opinion of their own. He was belittled and antagonized, the rose insignia sewn upon his tabard, acting as a beacon to all, signalling fear, hatred, mocking, death, and suffering.

 

His cut hands, he looked at them now, his fingers too familiar with the iron clasp exerted on the hilt of his sword. As if in a trance, he reached abaft, going to brandish the massive bidenhander which was painstakingly crafted by one of his own comrades and order-mates. The bittersweet effect he had felt, after invariably disciplining himself, and building up muscle to wield such an esteemed and deadly weapon. The blade whistled precariously, as it was removed, and the warrior caressed the weapon in his hands, in remembrance to the countless foes he had slain. Grinding his teeth, he experienced the trauma, as if it was occurring once more, that he endured on the battlefield.

 

The Sacking of Malinor ran through his head, elves plunging from their wooden walls, the grip on their bows loosening, from their lanky, yet firm fingers. The structures and forest around were set aflame, and women and children cowered in their homes, soldiers banging open the doors and stepping inside with malicious grins, licking their lips. His sword was held in front of him, and his unit marched at his flanks. Elves jumped before them, from the trees, and vines, hopelessly attempting to halt the Orenians from advancing. Carefully conserved literature and relics were burned, valuables were pillaged, and many, many lives were seized and taken.

 

Sighing, his heart rate slowed, and he glanced down to the calm water, flowing to and fro. He heaved up his shoulders, a look of conflict set in his aged features. He did not regret committing such acts, for even now, the man held an imbued pride for the long-gone and disbanded Kaedrin and White Rose. An undying servant of the Creator held strong and faithful in his beliefs, and he knew that he had only done good for his people and his god.

 

Though, the authentic Orenians soon were compelled to partake in the gargantuan exodus, for they desired to depart from this troubled continent, that they had given up on. Nevertheless, within his secret heart, the knight held a small pinch of regret to leave Anthos. Though, he disregarded this contrition completely, and instead commenced with the fact that he was now a father, rejoicing with his wife. All would be well, if he had his family and his brothers around him.

 

The Creator’s plan for the soldier abolished this idea of a happy ending, though. His wife developed an illness, whilst embarked on the vessel. Not him, nor his companions, nor the Chivays could amend such a terrible sickness and soon after they had arrived in Gaekrin, the Chivays’ homeland, his darling wife had perished. Their plan to live in each others’ arms forever vanquished, and the burden of the couple’s son, falling onto the soldier.

 

For months, he was angry, spending his nights at the tavern, drinking his pain away, in an effort to dissolve it. He matured a heated temper, often losing himself and destroying objects around him, a burning hatred enveloped within him. Brawls also ensued, and the Rose deemed it best to live in solitude, until he figured out how to cope with this situation. Entrusting his son to one of his kin, and setting out into the woodlands of Gaekrin.

 

Within the peace and serenity of the woodlands, the knight could hear himself think at last. And soon, he concluded that the Creator was not satisfied with the holy warrior’s efforts. He had further plans for him, that needed carrying out. He also settled on the fact, that his love had succeeded to ascend the “Seven Skies”, walking with the prophesied Aenguls in paradise. So, without further ado, he spoke to his Rose brethrens, to the fragment of his family that immigrated, and with the Chivays’ revered blessing, the warrior set his course to Anthos, to continue his quest of bringing light to heresy, and to slay the non-humans, which executed nefarious deeds.

Ser Jason Clamedeus, Knight of the Rose, and patriot of the Kingdom of Kaedrin, had returned, to undertake the profession he knew best, which was to kill and to carry out the Creator’s blessing and serve the Roses proud. And he would accomplish such a feat, or perish trying.

[TheBareSheet 194]

((Hmm...))

[Rig 17580]

{{Welcome back}}

[Sneaky 189]

((yea making a,comeback!

[Sky 0]

((iLike))

[Moot 1719]

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