Andustar

A newly embraced Centurion notes this track is topping the Immaculate Palace charts.

“I WILL OFFER YOU A CHOICE, KEEPER. AN ACCORD WHICH COULD BENEFIT YOU AND ME.” “May we speak plainly? There’s something I wish to tell you before I give my answer.” “SPEAK.” “I stood once to inherit a Kingdom ‘til the cruel hand of fate determined I would be exiled. As a young boy, I learned that the world in which we reside is a fickle place, one which we must make sense of. I endeavoured from that point on to cry out against fate. To find order in chaos. And I swore to do so whilst remaining true to myself.” “Perhaps My Lord thinks of me a disgrace. Captured by whelps, barely worth his time. But I don’t seek his approval, like a child clinging to his father’s tail…” “No, Azdromoth. I refuse.” And so the Archdrakaar came forth, bearing down upon Albéric - bound in chains, yet unbroken in resolve. Azdromoth would make an example of such defiance. “I WANT A WITNESS TO GREATNESS.” The Keeper’s sister, similarly bound and beaten, would bear witness. Time was no longer a luxury he could afford to waste. Death had finally caught up to him, determined to snuff yet another light that had once burned so bright. So he decided, then and there, that he would make this final moment count. The Keeper would claim a victory in the wake of his defeat. “Lord of Sunlight - Patron of Order…” “I beseech thee. Grace me with your light and bring us victory in this fight.” “Save Her.” His final wish in life, for an intervention, was granted. Order descended, denying Ruin his satisfaction. Even with the Keeper’s demise, the Archdrakaar stood mocked, wounded by the vessel’s hand and robbed of his witness, who drifted to safety. Even as his accursed blade struck Albéric’s head from his shoulders, the pair of them would ensure she lived. Death. Another path on the road we all must take. We fear it because we fear the unknown - the suspense of what will happen next. It was no different for Albéric, adrift in currents beyond the mortal plane. He was lost but not alone, for the fallen knight felt a presence nearby, one he had grown all too familiar with in his years of service. He had only one question: “What now?” Knee-deep in still waters, through which countless souls had passed before, he waited for an answer. His cold hands brushed across delicate reeds, the lake surface shimmering with the faintest glint of sapphire. Gone were the scorched dunes he had once trekked in his mind, punishing and relentless. This place was comforting and familiar - it felt like home. "You will serve, as you have done for those interminable years." It was a callous voice from an indurate, bloodless lord; a bairn clutching at their prized toy, and to Order, Albéric was a chattel - an eternal soldier forced to fight a cruel war in the heavens. “Spoken like a true autocrat.” He raised his voice, not in defiance, but in acknowledgment of his Patron’s nature. “For the longest time, I feared your scrutinising gaze and desire for retribution. But, as the years wore on, I also found myself inspired by your tenacity. Though wrathful, you still cared enough to act, even for those who might seem like insects. For all your cruelty, there’s still a spark of compassion.” “I simply hope you have foreseen what cruelty begets, My Lord.” At the end of the waters, there was a vertiginous drop of light that palpitated into an empty pit; a hang-over of wailing souls trepid in damnation. It was a cross-road, an easy route to prepare for servitude in the Immaculate Palace, whereas the other winding path led only to eternal solitude in darkness. "This blether of words should be focused on somebody who will foster your kindness. To me, these appellations are of no worth." "Enter the light." Albéric’s gaze lingered upon the cross-road ahead. The light offered not the fulfilment he desired but an eternity of ruthless servitude. In the darkness - solitude, but also freedom. Freedom from cruelty and freedom from responsibility. “Responsibility…” The word clung to his consciousness. He could run and save himself from eternal torment, rejecting his fate as yet another cruel arbiter of Order. Yet, what kind of salvation would cowardice entail? The hand of Ruin still gripped the world; there was far more at stake than merely his freedom. “I still have a responsibility to see this through.” Through the waters, Albéric strode towards the light, towards a damnable existence. A necessary existence. He reached forth, fingers stretched as though grasping a sword. His fate was at long last sealed. Yet, the flame of kindness still burned within his soul. “But I also made a promise. I won’t lose sight of myself, for I am a knight of the realm.” A hum resonated from where the light shone, embracing the paladin-keeper in its full breadth and warmth. The Sunlit Lord remained silent in his reprisal, and looked to only embrace a new centurion into his retinue. In the sky, the sun would shine brighter ever so slightly. Art by BasilTheBunny ~~~ Albert Salvian Knight of the Lake 1899 - 1975

There have been hiccups at times, but I've enjoyed the overall development of this eventline. Thank you Event Team, I'm looking forward for what is to come. Also, huge shoutout to @Benleft - I really enjoyed interacting with you and your encounters!

"If you're so obsessed with pride and glory, as opposed to defeating the Titan, then I shan't waste my breath..." A Keeper concluded, recovering from his wounds in wake of a grueling siege. "No matter. The rest of us shall press onward regardless."

Grains of sand blew in a faint breeze, raising dunes like the swells upon a mighty open ocean - an ocean scorched by sunlight, unsetting and unforgiving. The desert was endless, as far as the eye could see. Barren of life signs, save for the faintest footsteps of a lone wanderer. The years ground on, but still, Albéric marched under the blazing heat. Only now, the temperature was a comfort. A familiar warmth in which he found solace and purpose. He was at peace beneath the sun’s sapphire rays, the celestial body his witness and constant companion. “Redwulf…” The name repeated in his mind with eerie familiarity as though given an age prior. He was someone else now - something more than just Albéric. He was a vessel destined for growth.

My character sort of has a thing for swords. Also, considering Suicune purifies rivers by running along the water surface, I felt it was a nice call-back to his homeland.

"There's still a hunt to be had," Albéric remarked, preparing his equipment for a future encounter.

"This shit's crazy," remarked a concerned Hedge Knight. "This Pontiff's no fun. I suppose bardmancers will have their work cut out for them." (OOC: Reminds me of this lot.)

Take it easy, Emi. Hope things go well for you!

There was no triumph in capturing the lonely tower, for a grievous toll was exacted upon the besiegers. Albéric too was vexed by the outcome, tending to Ser Sterling in the aftermath. He had come so close to finishing the Vicar himself, only for the necromancer to slip away with merely a cut to tell of their brief encounter. He now patrolled the territory with renewed conviction, eager to root out the festering taint. "Run and cower, darkspawn. Next time, I'll leave you with more than just a mere scratch."

Username: Andustar Persona Name: Marcus Antonius Persona Age: 30 Place of Residence / Street Address: Royal Palace Seat you are running for (ex. The People's seat of Val de Lagne): Val de Lagne [The First People's Seat of Val de Lagne, specifically]

"Elena..." Albéric was no stranger to the loss of comrades. Yet, the death of one so devoted and eager shook him. "One chapter ends, another begins. May you serve dutifully alongside our lord. We shall meet again, someday."

"You were no thug, nor a beast. You're a man, capable of making mistakes like anyone else." Marcus stated plainly, "And we mustn't let our mistakes define us. You may no longer serve as the Knight Commander, but neither shall your efforts and contributions be forgotten." The Prince set aside the missive, "I believe this was the right decision. Now, put your mind towards new ventures, Ser Aimo. I'm certain you'll find your way again."

THE UNTOLD COST The attack had come in the night, homes burning with their occupants scattered in fear. The perpetrators cackled, spilling blood and looting with a keen eye for valuables. In the years since the continental war that had wracked Aevos, an exacting toll fell upon the Commonwealth. There was much to rebuild amid the stricken countryside - a suitable environment for lawlessness and brigands. A peasant tore at the ground with chipped nails, a highwayman dragging him by his hair. He felt the onset of tears as a diminished granary, already pressured by a poor harvest, was pilfered. They threw his body to the dirt; he was weak and malnourished. Dark eyes bore down upon him, and he could do nothing but plead. “Mercy, please! We ain’t got nothin’ to spare!” A wicked smile was the last thing his eyes perceived. The cold bite of steel ran through him, and the darkness embraced him. “Tear this place apart, lads! Leave nothin’ unturned!” The brigands had no concept of mercy but only what they stood to gain. Screams echoed through the night as the massacre continued and flames consumed all. A red sun soon broke across the river valley, revealing nothing but smouldering remains and the stench of death. [!] The noticeboard in Vallagne bore a new bounty. To the Petran People, A band of brigands has taken to plundering outlying villages within our borders. They are emptying granaries, looting valuables and slaughtering the inhabitants. I call upon all able-bodied members of the populace to put their names forward and aid in eliminating these vile men before tragedy strikes another village. Whoever should return with the head of their leader will receive an ample reward of two-hundred minas. SIGNED, HIS HIGHNESS, Marcus Antonius of the Petra HIS EXCELLENCY, Rigoberto de la Cruz Vice-Chancellor of the Petra, Mayor of Vallagne, Headmaster of the Society of the Exalted Horen

A wandering knight prepared his equipment for the trek to Lotusgrad. "Ser Sterling calls for aid. He shall have it."

"It's one thing to rebuke a man for prejudice. But to challenge him to a duel, whilst acknowledging he's a cripple?" A wandering knight read the missive with disdain, recalling the oath he had sworn many moons ago. "Thou shalt constitute thyself the defender of the weak..." - "It appears chivalry truly is dead."

A UNION LONG OVERDUE Dearest friends, family, and citizens of the Commonwealth, His Highness the Archduke of Vallagne, Marcus Antonius, and Her Ladyship, Emeline Josephine, cordially invite you to their devoted union in matrimony. The wedding shall be held within the Chapel of Saint Edmund, to which all peoples of the realm are welcome. Afterwards, a public reception will take place within the city square and tavern. [7PM EST, SATURDAY THE 2ND] Special invites are delivered to the following: Her Majesty, Catherine Arabella, Queen of Petra, and her esteemed pedigree Her Majesty, Renilde Helena, Queen-Emeritus of Petra, and her esteemed pedigree His Royal Highness, Paul Alexander, Duke of Valfeur, and his esteemed pedigree And the people of the Commonwealth His Princely Grace, Alfred Konstanz Barclay, Prince of Sutica, and his esteemed pedigree His Serene Highness, Leon Anton Barclay, Grand Prince of Minitz, and his esteemed pedigree House Barclay And the people of Reinmar and Minitz HIS SERENE HIGHNESS, Marcus Antonius of the Petra Archduke of Vallagne, Count of Cantal, Master of the Hunt of the River Court of the Commonwealth HER LADYSHIP, Emeline Josephine Barclay

News travelled swiftly throughout the Canonist realms. The High Pontiff was dead, assassinated by servants of the Deceiver. The common people gossiped, and some even grieved, but none appeared quite as stunned as the wandering hedge knight. Albéric trembled with anger, but never raised his voice. He could have cursed whoever bore the blade 'til daybreak, but why offer them a rhythm to cackle over? He would offer his lamentation in silence; only the heavens above would bear witness. Most would offer their condolences for the death of a holy man, but Albéric would fondly remember his younger brother. The bothersome middle-child with a knack for irritation. If only they could have had one last conversation. There were still matters to discuss. "Another day, perhaps..."

"At long last," Marcus stated, putting aside his sword to focus on domestic matters.

A wandering knight briefly caught sight of the missive, reading its contents. "Someone spends too much time in their mother's basement," he remarked before moving on.