Shmeepicus

The Death of the Lionhearted ___________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________ He trudged through the snow, a trail of blood contrasting against the otherwise white backdrop, a deep crimson red. He held his side and continued onward, wincing and cursing as he went. “Damn it all.” He mumbled to himself, each step taking greater effort than the last- the recent snowfall didn’t help that, fresh snow was always the worst to trek through. Perhaps coming to the valley after a storm wasn’t a good idea, yet it seemed a better alternative to starving. Hours passed, the injury still hadn’t clotted. Not a good sign, given the length of time it’d take him to make it to any major city. He had managed to get to a natural shelter of rocks, hacking bows of pine from trees to form a bed. Percy finally sat himself down, a deep sigh escaping from his chest as he did, leaning his head against the rock next to him. Blood oozed from the injuries to his stomach and chest. “I came out here to find peace, even then I couldn’t find that. You always have something for me.” He remarked, head glancing upwards as he spoke those words to God- unsure now if God was even something that existed. Slowly, he drifted into a slumber- and he dreamt of home as the night took its’ hold on the landscape. * * * “Percival? Get up, you’re going to miss your lessons with Lord Kervallen.” His eyes opened as he stared up at the ceiling, his mothers voice echoing in his ears. He slowly clambered out of bed and got ready for the day. As he made his way to the barracks, the salty, warm sea air washed over him. The smell of fish, from the market, meals roasting in the tavern, the low chatter that came from people about this early in the day. Eventually he made it there, and was taught his first lesson from Ephrem, never underestimate your opponent- and be wary of any tricks they may have up their sleeve. A swift swing from his mace and the Templar had crumpled his breastplate, leaving him gasping for air, a few ribs broken. A lesson that would prove hard to forget. * * * Percy and Tristan rode north, far to the ends of the land to assist a fellow Canonist nation with an attack seemingly led by the undead. Not so much a lesson learned, rather a test of his patience and courage. Unfortunately, amongst the hordes of undead, there was also an abomination, an Olog once perhaps. Tried as they did to fight it and with his brother underneath, Percy lurched forth- stabbing it in one of its eyes with his blade. Though it would not be a trade he’d come unscathed from, as the Olog swung downwards with a club, striking him and then stepping forth, crushing his foot in the process. He winced in his sleep. * * * His last memories- ones that hung over him heavily. The war. Lives lost at a scale not seen since the likes of the War of the Two Emperors. King Aleksandr, Captain Banjo, Sigrun Stonehammer, himself and countless others paved the road towards total victory. Though most memories he’d recall more as nightmares- one stood out more fondly to him. The Battle of Hippo’s Gorge, King Aleksandr and Percy sat side by side atop their horses as the vanguard of both armies clashed. Yet it was a slaughter- the Covenants coming victorious. With that, King Aleksandr turned to Percy, “shall we enter the fray?” He queried, that confidence he was so well known for prevalent in his voice, calm and collected. Percy offered a simple nod of his head, placing his helmet on and unsheathing his sword. A horn was blown- “KILL THEM ALL.” He bellowed, as the ranks of the Covenant surged forth into the Veletzian lines, decimating Man and Orc alike. * * * And there he awoke, laying across the bows of pine now, dawn had not yet come. Yet he felt exhausted, his eyelids fighting with him to close. He pushed himself upwards and dragged himself to the entrance of the shelter, pulling his legs in front of him and leaning against a rock face. He glanced down at his side- and where he slept. No closure, the wounds still bled- and bled a lot over the night. He sighed and offered a short chuckle, finding some irony in surviving all he had only to have an undernourished wolf become the thing that kills him. All he could do was think, though he felt his life was fulfilling, he had regrets- though who didn’t. As the sun slowly came up, its rays beaming down across the mountain and cascading its light across his face, he smiled. His eyelids were still heavy, though he was content- and allowed them to close. He sat still for a few moments, before his body slumped over to the side, hand splayed outwards, fingers uncurled. * * * A week had passed, the cold preserving any decomposition of his body- when he was found by a hunter. He looked him over, recognizing the symbol on his middle finger, Balian’s coat of arms engraved into it by King Adrian when he made the digits to replace the ones he had lost. The man sighed, bringing a horse up to the place of his demise- and carefully slung his body over it, carefully stashing his few belongings on it as well and set off. In a few days, he had reached the city- the aquamarine roofs in the distance and tropical temperatures greeted him. After many long years, Percy was back home. ___________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________

Percy de Lyons read over the missive in some wayward tavern on a road not oft travelled. He smiled brightly at the news, continuing to the place he called home to prepare for a harsh snowstorm that was seemingly on its' way. "Your forebearers' look down upon you fondly, nephew." He remarked to himself, as the aged Knight made his way.

Came back to speak my piece on this million dollar question. @Mio @Masouri @Mmmonkee (RIP) @The60th@GMRO @Pureimp10

just another average day on LoTC

[!] A short few days following the public missive a letter was sent to the Cardinal.

Percy de Lyons witnessed, actually in person, the craven, pathetic Norlanders shelter the Veletzers and their ilk- after throwing what few bodies they had to their death during the war for the MIDlands. "Eh- they've been pathetic fighters since the fall of Dunharrow- if this totalitarian dictator wishes to throw heathen bodies into the flame, who am I to deny their death?" He quipped, glancing at his blade."Looks like we might get our revenge after their pathetic mewlings for peace- and their betrayal of the Covenant."

"If the Church- whom claim to be oh so wise and wish peace upon all, truly wished such, they would excommunicate all who descend from Veletz and her peers- as it is evident they cannot prevent their own wanton need for power." Remarked the aged Knight, Percy- all too prone to the shenanigans of the sad states descendants. "If you cared for your flock, you would excommunicate those who declare this war- yet you play the political game once more. Do you stand for God? Or do you stand for the designs you wish for Man?"

Probably Percy for sure, don't play much anymore. Getting off the Craft- haven't played but a few hours in the last 8 months, very refreshing.

Two for one combo. Too busy. Sonic, 1. 0- made a lot of friends, no depression. 2. Get out as soon as you can. NLing is fun but also stressful, this mineman server shouldn't feel like a job, which is unfortunately what NLing feels like. If you're committed to being an NL, take breaks and don't try to take it too seriously. Enjoy yourself. Thank you man- hope you are as well.

The title speaks for itself.

A Response to Renilde and Petra Almost a Saint’s weeks’ past, the Queen-Emeritus of Petra, Renilde, distributed a missive decrying the Marnan Brigades act of arson upon the Courteis Hale. As one of the few present at this scene, I would like to debunk the claim that there was anyone in the building- as we thoroughly checked it inside and out to ensure that no innocents would be harmed in our act. This was also reinforced by testimony from 3rd party spectators from Haense. IF there were by chance bodies within the ruins after our act, I feel it important to consider all possibilities- especially when none were present within the manor whilst it burned. I would suggest that Renilde; whom is no stranger to kinslaying, had murdered her own granddaughter, Helene-Olympe and all others who were found inside in yet another insidious plot to reflect poorly on our leal Brigade and in extension, the Apostolic Kingdom of Aaun. I see only this option or another- that there were no bodies inside to begin with and this is merely another lie concocted by you, Renilde. We are God fearing people, one and all- and the shedding of innocent blood is far beyond our moral capabilities, though I feel it is something Renilde is well and truly capable of, given her colourful past. Our terms are of Unity and Peace, to arrest traitors as demanded by our United Front, our prior engagements causing no loss of life, as opposed to Petra’s own into Enswerp. Clasp as you wish and try to find a footing Renilde, for whether it is a sword or age that takes you- your time will soon be up and the history books will remember you only for the power-grabbing, self-interested woman that you are, or forget you entirely. To the people of Petra, I pray that you soon see this woman for what she is- and how she is removing the foundation of our peace from beneath us all, brick by brick. UNITATUS SUPER OMNIA Oliver, Brigadier of Horen

"And I'd do it again." Commented Oliver, leal companion of the Marna. "Though, seriously, we checked the rooms. There wasn't a soul inside."

"Holy shit!" Ivan Barrow shouted as he laughed like the psychopath he was. "Ser Belisar wiped them like dust from a table!"

"Looks like the Haenseni Rutherns should spend more time in a classroom of history, than on the training grounds." Grumbled an aging Knight. Percy de Lyons tired of this stupid fighting.