penninoe

Alone, stood Alastair before the foot of his father’s grave. Alone, bore Alastair the ember that echoed of their past. Alone, carries Alastair the burden that rests upon his shoulders. Alone, remembers Alastair, the golden lineage of which he descends. And so, did Alastair weep at the foot of his father’s grave, all by himself. “...Oh father,” At first, his words hardly slipped out, his voice fighting not to falter. His father, William, had come to play the role of smoldering ash. “No longer is yours the burden to keep the ember of what is ours lit.” It had been well intended, his fathers birth a well-kept family secret, even unto his death. “Now it remains to become mine, my burden of remembrance.” Cinders that would remain veiled by intention. Left for the wind to carry its sparks to ignite a second fire. William’s part of the play was done, and now the torch had been passed to Alastair. “Free of this burden, rest now.” The moment of mourning was for the boy that Alastair once was, the oblivious child. Who yet bore the burden. That chapter of his life had come to pass as Alastair concluded his words of farewell, his eyes ceased to tear in tandem. The very same eyes that in colour mirrored the cold piece of stone seated atop his fathers final resting place. He feels emotions shifting within him, a fire of determination now rages within him upon every heartbeat. A fire akin of that of a dragon’s breath

"Can I have it." Inquired Ser Kestrel, the Avistran Heir-Apparent with a big ol' smile on his face. 😁

IGN: Pepp1no NAME: Tommy di Ves AFFILIATION: Valmont, Blackwyrm

this be a good post, +1 from Lance of the Fields. ^_^

The Avistran Doves Retaliation Anno Domini 2074 Issued from the seat of House Altwegg, the Margraviate of Avistra Under GOD and Empire On the 22nd of Aurelian’s Glory, the grizzled old Margrave of Avistra, Ser Meili Altwegg, exited his keep. In quick succession he ordered Ser Kestrel the Flamewrath to gather both civilians and militia alike within the square with their proper arms. Did so, they did. Within a nick of time, a force of 90 brave Avistran’s were prepared and ready, swiftly proceeding on horseback towards their destination: a particular famed saloon, residing none other than the Salvos who had laid siege upon Avistra only a Saint’s day prior. The stubborn Avistrans sought vengeance. Blood. And they’d get just that, no matter the circumstance and outcome. The brave flock of Avistran riders traversed the dryland of the mesa, coming to a halt at the foot of the famed impregnable Saloon that not even the Imperials could wholly storm with success. Caught by surprise, the Salvians scrambled. A battle of wits, the seasoned Salvian fighters were quick to muster arms and prepare for a long siege of attrition. This was not the first siege to fall upon their Saloon, and neither would it be the last. The fighting was quick to commence, arrows flew like a storm of hail upon the two respective war parties. This would serve as yet another formidable & rigorous test for the wings of the Avistran Dove. Could she fly, even so far away from home? And fly she did. For two dreadful nights, the Avistran’s were locked in a stalemate. Progress had been apprehensively slow, but despite this, the resolve of the Avistran banner did not shake within the wake of such a valiant struggle. It was on the 1st of Sun’s Smile, that a blunder had been made. The Salvian buffalo had grown too eager. And thus made the mistake of pushing too far into the feathered embrace of the offensive party. As swiftly as it had initially begun, it ended when the blunder had finally been made. Cut off from their main force, the Salvians simply couldn’t hold off the superior number of Avistran fighters, and thus 40 out of the 50 brigands laid dead as the battle came to a close. The Avistran dove would fly back home to her nest, the levymen of the small Margraviate with their swords raised high. And thus, ended the Siege of the Dusty Saloon. His Lordship, Ser Kestrel Altwegg, Captain of the Avistran Armed Citizenry, Lord of Avistra, of Hummingbirds Rest and Wings Crest His Lordship, Merlin Altwegg, Baron of Treuberg, Heir & Lord of Avistra, of Hummingbirds Rest and Wings Crest

The Captain of Avistra's levies, gave but a firm nod to his grandfather as he was put up to the task. He dwelled over what would await them should they pursue pledging their blades on such a crusade. Twice, the Levies of Avistra had proven themselves useful in battle since the Druscan war. Twice, had they fought. "The Dove of Avistra takes flight out of her nest once again." As Kestrel clasped the lorraine cross around his neck, there was no hesitation on the matter, GOD was with them.

The Peasant’s Unshaken Resolve Anno Domini, 2074 Issued from the seat of House Altwegg, the Margraviate of Avistra Under GOD and Empire In the early hours of the 20th of Owyn’s Flame, lightless men rode into Imperial lands. Steel brandished to kill and pillage. They rode deep into Crownland territory met with no resistance. The bandits of Salvo, ever eager to do their ill bidding. It was on that day that they were driven back. Forced into a retreat by the hands of a meager force of peasants. The Salvian cavalry rode on the Margraviate with the belief it would be an easy target, ill equipped and poorly fortified. Though, it would not take long for them to soon realize the vast number of the Avistran peasantry willing to take up arms. And that they did, they took to the streets with courage not seen in Avistra since the days of the Druscan war. On foot, Ser Kestrel Altwegg led them into a charge, he was accompanied by Ser Kepha the Phoenix and Ser Merle Altwegg-Winburgh they would at first flood out of the town gates. Overwhelming the inferior number of Salvian riders and dealing crucial damage to their cavalry. The fighting dragged on, and casualties were taken on both sides. However, the stubborn Dove of Avistra returned to its nest battle-tested knowing she could once again fly. His Lordship, Ser Kestrel Altwegg, Captain of the Avistran Armed Citizenry, Lord of Avistra, of Hummingbirds Rest and Wings Crest

Lance of Little Furnestock, the eldest of son of the deceased Stefan too would frown as he read the missive, he'd only recently become mildly literate. "A hundred mina." His hands clutched the paper, "We can hardly afford t'eat.."

Lance, as strong as he was, had not borne a weight so heavy- the burden of a son carrying his still fathers body to rest. No words were spoken before he finally laid the lifeless body in it's final resting place, a silent expression demanding Justice.

+1