PerfectLittleLady

Ciaran Vildr pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "At least...at least Sylvi is the Marshal?" He hopes his daughter will keep the Ruric children out of too much trouble. Somewhere in the library Sindri shrugs. His sister and cousins do their own thing usually.

Ciaran Vildr sat in the palace meeting room, reading the report in silence. Well, he really read it in silence two hours ago. Now he was just staring at the parchment with blank eyes. It was still difficult to believe: the brother he’d looked up to his entire 50+ years of life, brainwashed and made to attack the people he’d sworn to protect. There was a time he’d thought his brother invincible, immortal, completely untouchable. Even when Sindri was missing, he never once believed he was dead. Now there was no denying it. He’d seen his brother’s mutilated body with his own two eyes. Sindri Vildr was dead. In reality he’d died months ago. The person who attacked was just wearing his face. That’s what he’d have to say over and over until he managed to convince himself it was true.

Ciaran Vildr nods as he reads. He knows things are about to get lively in Alisgrad and can’t wait to meet the newcomers. Like many older Norlanders he remembers moving to Alisgrad after the burning of Varhelm, so hopefully the citizens of Norland can use that experience to better help the Vistulian refugees.

[!] An announcement is posted all across the Kingdom of Norland, from the streets of Alisgrad to the hills of Dunrath [!] “All citizens of Norland and her allies are hereby invited to the wedding of Ciaran Vildr & Marta Sutharlainn. The wedding will take place at the beautiful wedding venue in the Lairdship of Grenzstadt." Personal invitations have been sent to: The members of Clan Vildr The Jarl of Rathonia and all members of the Sutharlainn family Keepers of the Red Faith All members of Clans Edvardsson, Eiriksson, and Freysson, and their respective leaders The Laird of Grenzstadt and all family members And all other Clans of Norland, and their respective Chieftains

Ciaran Vildr wipes his brow, having just returned home from helping his comrades work in Dunrath. He’s proud of the citizens that ran to give aid, and he’s already thinking of ways to thank and repay them for their hard work. He silently prays to the All-Father that all their work turns out to be for naught, and that peace continues in their lands.

Name: Ciaran Vildr Age: 41 Gender: Male Race: Adunian Interested in: men and women, but tends to prefer women I am interested in being scehmed on? (yes or no) Probably not?

Lissa first learns of the King's demise while she is busy cleaning out Doctor Blackthorn's office. She simply nods with a frown. "Such a shame. He was a good King, and he will be missed." She finishes her task and decides its time to go home for the day. Only when the door closes does she allow herself to break down. The Adunian falls to her knees and leans against the wall, sobbing, crying, wailing into her hands. She thinks of their last interaction and wonders if she should have done more, if she should have said something else. Her corgi tries to console her, but its no use. Ciaran can hear his mother's cries from his room in the attic, though he doesnt run to ask whats wrong. He knows. He's known about Ragnvald's passing, known before anyone else in the city. He knew the moment he watched the King leave alone on his horse, knew it would be the last time he would see the frail man alive. Ciaran stares out his window long after is mother's wailing stops, long after the moon rises and the sounds of toasts and celebration drift in from the tavern. He should be there, shouldnt he? Toasting the life of the King of Norland? The former Marshal? The man who treated him like a son? The man he'd called father as he watched him leave through the gates? He is still wearing his armor, having not moved from that spot on his bed since he returned home. He should go. No, as Overseer it is his duty to be there. Ciaran wipes his eyes one last time and stands to leave, but not before he takes a note from his pocket and sets it in his bedside drawer. The Adunian still hasnt read it, but he doesnt need to. Hopefully no one has to. One last adjustment in the mirror and he's off, already mentally preparing a toast to the life of Ragnvald Eiriksson Ruric.

Lissa hears the news through her son, who breaks down the moment the front door is closed. She does her best to calm him, until he’s too tired to shed any more tears for his greatest friend. Once her son is settled, she takes a deep breath. There’s someone else she needs to comfort. Herilissa leaves the Vildr clan home and heads straight for the palace. Hopefully Ragnvald isn’t too fargone.

Ciaran sighs as he reads the letter, rubbing the back of his head. “Oh, Princess…” He heads back to the Vildr Clan home, thinking hard about his next move. It’s always tough for him when Astrid and Ragnvald disagree.

Ciaran steps outside the door to Ironguard, adjusting his pack. He’s still got to return to Alisgrad to collect his mother. Hopefully she won’t mind a small vacation there, especially since she seems to be getting along well with many of the newer Adunians. He’s heading for his horse when Lissa’s trusty blue jay flies down to land on his shoulder, a note tied to its leg. The young man of course takes the letter, thanking it with a scratch under the chin, and begins to read. Let’s see…hope this finds…nothing you could have…wait, what couldn’t he have done? As he reads, his face grows paler and paler. Ciaran stumbles back, landing on a bale of hay when his legs finally give out. He can’t take his eyes off the letter. There has to be a mistake! There was no way this was true! How could…how could his sweet little cousin…how could… he keeps reading it over and over, hoping there was some way he missed something, anything, but the All-Father does not answer his prayers. The Adunian’s arms fall to his sides, the letter dangling, barely held between two fingers. His eyes are unfocused and his breathing is shallow. He’s like that when Astrid finds him not long after receiving a similar letter. Only then does he allow the dam to break. The gentle giant first sobs, then whimpers, then finally lets out a gut-wrenching cry. He clutches the smaller woman with all his might, his wails echoing in the valley. Every so often he manages to speak, but he simply says the same thing over and over. “She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead.” Olivia, his dear sweet little cousin, the light of his life, is dead.

Ciaran reads the summons, groaning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Olivia, what did you do now?!”

Ciaran is tending the horses in the barracks when he hears two others speaking outside. Nothing unusual there. Oh they’re talking about Astrid? It better be only good things or he’ll have to…have to…did they just say she had the baby??? The Adunian drops the bucket of feed, sprinting off to find his best friend.

Ciara Vildr nods upon reading the missive. “I’d gladly stand at the front once more should this threat return.” He hands it to his mother, Herilissa, to read as well. She looks worried but proud, offering to make his favorite to bring to training.

Ciaran stared at the missive, still not quite processing the information, and clenched his fists in frustration. There wasn’t anything he could do for his best friend except be there for her….right?

Lissa sighed, watching a few more brittle leaves fall from the tree. It sadly did not matter what had caused this, as the damage was already done. Her youngest son, Ciaran, looked concerned, asking what was happening to the great tree. “Perhaps,” she replied, “this is simply part of the Ashwood’s life cycle. All living things must die, after all.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “It does not make this any less troubling, though.”