Paulobig

[!] “I Have No Gods; Except The God.” The Steel Company 2 11; Lightning and steel. The thanhic storm raged on. Showering our armour and weapons. The devil bats did not cease to circle the skies above us. Taking dives at our defenses in the night only to be met by spears and the heavily choreographed combat of our 2 11. Accompanied by The School of the Manticore, we took the West of Mordskov while they took East. Meeting together in the middle of a ruined temple, Solsvaerd. There we stood toe to toe with hundreds of mutated abominations that could create weapons with their own bones and bodies. The battle for Mordskov was on… some did not return. Several hundred years later, a new threat emerges to Aevos. The Beast returns. A new cause. - Excerpt from the 2 11 Handbook SECTION I: PREFACE SECTION II: ORDER OF COMMAND SECTION III: ON MORTAL UNITY SECTION IV: THE STEEL CODE SECTION V: A COMPANION’S ARMATURE I. PREFACE After years spent watching the insidious entrenchment of evil within the heart of humanity, we grew tired. We found ourselves disheartened by a world full of injustice, relentless egoism and the tyranny of evil. In this somber era, there was no guardian of the Mortal Realm, no defender who did not rely upon the intangible Aenguls to orchestrate their affairs. Ensnared within the confines of human notions such as good and evil, we yearn for an end to this cyclic struggle. Since the era of Aegis, only few mortals have emerged, rallying against the yoke of malevolence that gripped our Realm. Yet now, the days of inaction are at an end. The guardians of our Mortal Realm have arisen, placing their unwavering faith solely in the divine Creator, GOD. Armed with intellect and might, they strive to uphold the rule of Mortal Authority using the forces bestowed upon them by God. No longer shall humanity remain complacent while our lands smolder in the infernal embrace of damnation. No more shall we tolerate those who consort with the forces of DOOM and those who seek to condemn our nations. And thus, we stand united, resolute soldiers beneath the radiant light of Sol. A company bound by an unswerving devotion to their cause and the emancipation of Mortalkind that will readily lay down their lives to safeguard Mortal Authority without hesitation. Worshiping none but the singular Creator, known as God. The bestower of one of the cherished gifts to Mortals—the primal orb of flame that illuminates the night skies, a celestial body named Sol. Its radiance proven to purge the fell and the tainted, while nurturing the spirits of the righteous. This luminance possesses an irreplaceable significance within the task of the 2 11, a symbol of inspiration that adorns the pauldrons of sworn Knights. With unyielding fervor, we engage in battle, waging a relentless war against the legions of Iblees and other devilish forces. Our mission to ensure the eternal fortitude of the barrier that separates the realm of Being from the abyssal Void, aptly named the Veil. Through unwavering dedication, we secure the perpetuity of Sol's luminous embrace. We stand at the forefront, battling the Axis forces both in the realm of intellect and physicality, for in our creed, these realms are indivisible. We are the champions of humility and loyalty, steadfast defenders of a future free from corruption, a future where humanity can flourish devoid of the shadow of DOOM looming overhead. Our allegiance lies solely with the Creator—an omnipresent energy that courses through the tapestry of the cosmos, birthing all that is. The 2 11 extends its hand in invitation, allowing individuals to join, to pledge their loyalty, and to take up the mantle of the oath. Yet, let it be known, once that pact is forged, a Companion’s heart and soul become inextricably intertwined with the cause. Such a calling of paramount significance forbids treachery. The act never justifiable. For, should such emerge, a Knight shall swiftly locate and extinguish the errant from the Steel Company 2 11. II. ORDER OF COMMAND “From the Creator’s hand comes the strength to bear our burdens.” - The Litany of Fortitude The Steel Company 2 11, founded in 1630 and now newly reformed in the year 140 S.A, is an Order tasked with achieving utmost mortal unity and progression, and vanquishing the Wrong in the entirety of Aevos. The Steel Company is headed by its original founder, Grandmaster, SER DARIUS ‘LION’ DENUREM, who has a cadre of Lords including Lord Mechanicus, JEFFREY DE WEES; Lord Arcanus, DARGICUS. Companions of Steel are organized into a complementary structure to achieve hierarchical unity. Therefore granting equivalent rank and status between Support Units and within them—allowing the 2 11 to function as a loosely connected network of Companions based in the 2 11 Temple. These distinct segments are classified apart as they provide meaning to the organization established by the Creator. In warfare, this is seen through vanguard and enforcement; in the realm of alchemy and sorcery, it manifests as intellectual and arcane advancement. Moreover, a Companion is not constrained to be exclusively associated with just a single Chamber. They come to be recognized as the following: I. THE CHAMBER OF WARFARE Tactics Diplomacy Espionage R&D Those that lead the cause as combatants. Direct pieces in the playing field that act as asset recovery for the Scholars. Those that walk the path of the righteous by the way of the blade are the dam-breachers and war dogs in combat. Their grouping of militants are composed of the Warfare Command Echelon and its Combat Support Unit. II. THE CHAMBER OF ALCHEMY Mutagens Tinkering Herbology R&D Those that lead the fight as non-combatants. Support pieces in the playing field that provide 2 11 Soldiers superior power in the ways of alchemical inventions. Potions, salves, and mechanical artefacts are developed in their laboratories. Their collective of artificers are composed of the Alchemy Command Echelon and its Scientific Support Unit. III. THE CHAMBER OF SORCERY Voidal Arts Arcane Mysteries Enchantments R&D Those that lead the fight as support combatants. They will cast spells, or provide ranged support in combat situations. Aiming to defeat enemies distracted by their companions that walk by the way of the blade. Their assembly of arcane scholars are composed of the Arcane Command Echelon and its Arcane Support Unit. III. ON MORTAL UNITY “And shall the righteous stand in God's light!” - The Litany of Faith See, in the time when the Creator breathed life into Man, both man and woman were formed to tread upon the land of Arda, being assigned a sacred duty. From the loins of this primal being, His offsprings were entrusted with the stewardship of the realm of mortality. Four brethren emerged, known as Horen, Malin, Urguan, and Krug, bearing the legacy of the original Man. Thus, as destiny wove its threads, there arose a shadow named Iblees, the First Disbeliever, who defied the divine will and trespassed into the realm of the Mortals. With sinister intent, he and his fallen kin sought to taint the souls of Man through otherworldly manipulations. A web of deceit was spun, veiling their schemes in cursed charms and hollow blessings, fueled by a twisted belief in their supremacy over Man. They resented that Man had inherited Arda as a divine bequest. For they were made of flame, and thought superior to the earthen body of the Man. Were Krug's offspring not already worthy of honor, having defied Iblees with valor? Did the descendants of Urguan need further fortitude, having toiled within ancient mines? Was not the ascent to the Seven Skies already guaranteed, without the intervention of Aenguls to aid Horen? Even the elves, graced with longevity, bore the heavy cost of madness in their twilight years, a bitter reminder of the afflictions concealed within the so-called "gifts'' of the Aengudaemons. Ergo, the discerning mind can deduce that the malevolent aim underlying these curses and blessings was to fragment mortals into disparate races, to ensure perpetual disunity beneath fractured banners. A blatant scheme to sow division and claim dominion through conquest. The brethren suffered transformations, save for Horen, birthing the destructive Mortal Race. Lest the world comes to doom, as the bearers of the torch of mortal progression and unity, we are summoned to renounce these fabricated schisms, to scorn those who sow seeds of discord and fraternal strife. The Companions united within the 2 11 are heirs to the sacred mission of Man and GOD. Only through collective purpose can they forge a greater union, preserving Mortal Authority by quelling the flames of racial discord that might otherwise ignite within their ranks. IV. THE STEEL CODE “Tvorauee Ist Meinae Poschtol.” - Old Marian Saying Within the Steel Company, every individual bears the responsibility of embodying a dignified and exemplary archetype of Mortalkind. Hence, each member is entrusted with the obligation to uphold the subsequent principles—which serve as guiding beacons for their conduct in matters of social etiquette: You shall have no gods, but the Creator; You shall oppose all Aengudaemonic influence. It corrupts the Cause; You shall pursue the defense of mortal unity at all times, thus you shall not make personal judgments, nor shall you ferment corruption in the lands; You shall not see yourself as superior to your brother or sister due to your birthright. Knowledge, not bloodline, is what makes one great; You shall not abuse the authority rank grants you. Your subordinates are your brothers and sisters, not servants; You shall not harm the innocent life and property of your fellow descendant. You are to be their shield against the darkness, not another threat; You shall take no actions which would reflect poorly upon the Steel Company. Conducting yourself with utmost respect and stature; You shall treat members of foreign guilds and governments with the utmost respect; You shall not question your orders until they have been completed and the scope of your actions can be revealed. Have faith; You shall not desert the Steel Company after having taken your oath. Retirement due to old age, health, etc. will have to be approved by your superiors; You shall not spread any classified information to outsiders without direct clearance to do so; You shall not trade, bargain with, sell, or gift any weapons or equipment without direct clearance to do so; You shall not neglect the maintenance of any weapons, equipment, or attire issued to you. You may modify your uniform within reason, so long as it remains practical and recognizable. V. A COMPANION’S ARMATURE “Thought for the day: God protects, but a drawn sword helps.” - A Sariant’s Memoir Armaments and garb for the members of the Steel Company 2 11 are provided by their respective Command Echelons. Within the equipment parcel presented to each dutiful Companion, one finds a pair of standard issue blades, forged through an ancient technique refined by Teutonic blacksmiths and artisans over six centuries prior. The first blade, hewn from resolute steel, is intended to be used against racial targets, poised to defend with an edge honed by tradition. Its twin, designed to be used against monsters and fell beasts, is crafted of slayer-steel, ensuring a calculated auxiliary should such ungodly creatures come to the fold. Alongside these weapons of purpose, a Companion will receive rations for three Saint’s Days, to sustain vigor in the heat of endeavor—finally, a basic yet fundamental first aid kit stands ready. Thus, within this provisioned trove, the foundation is laid for their resolute undertaking in safeguarding the realm, an embodiment of the Steel Company's indomitable spirit and commitment.

Ser Alaric DeNurem raised a hand to his heart in salute as he read the missive. "So it begins - usaer hteaati verschoen reatz svaerdv." The olden knight uttered in Old Marian, then gazing upon his racked warhammer.

Sir Alaric DeNurem traveled about the diverse landscapes of Arcas, observing their fauna & flore with great care, keeping a little catalog of his own as per the numerous species he encountered. During a passing by Helena, the man came to hear of his wife’s revelries, thinking to himself of the extent this seemingly unending series of conflicts that this rivalry produced – since the before their marriage, when they first went out to chat in the Dragon’s Rest. Remarking to himself: “Truly this ist the end of a Saga. . .” And thus the Knight ventured forth from the Imperial Capital, wandering up the continent, to the frozen wastelands of Northern Oren to find Vik, and learn more of the ordeal. . .

Sir Alaric DeNurem took the missive during a quick visit he had into the Imperial Capital, scanning the missive with great intent & interest, before remarking along his way outward – to whatever wilderness awaited: “True words of wisdom Ledicort has.. Commerce, trade, exchanges – the economy. We cannot sustain ourselves without them...”

Sir Alaric DeNurem stood within his and his wife’s, Viktoriya DeNurem, wooden abode in the far off North-East of the Orenian Empire, his broken mind having drifted the man off to a deep slumber – missing the descendant’s defense of the city of Aegrothond. Though, as the visions of his unconscious mind swarming the halls of his mind, a glimpse of a light was shed amidst that fog – in the far off distance he felt a great burden being relieved, the once jailer of the love of his live had perished, at long last, the threat of her return to the grasps of the Inferi streamed down into the Void. -=- A few hours passed on, the Orenian knight slowly gaining his consciousness back, eyelids carefully opening to peer at the darkened spruce above where he laid, simply staring at the ceiling – a hand sliding upward to touch the newfound scars across his torso, furthering the route till his visage, the same wounds cast across his skin. -=- Biding his time; Patience paid off; Yet for how long?

Sir Alaric DeNurem ventured out the Capital. For the first time in a while, not donning his former plate – That, he left at his house back in Helena, remarking along the way of his journey: ”Long live the Empress, the Emperor, and the Empire.”

Sir Alaric DeNurem received the missive as he wandered about the Capital, a light frown gathering upon his visage – The Captain’s right arm lifted to sign the Lorraine. ”I recall the day I enlisted, Haarald was there to meet me. A shame I could not bear arms with him.”

Sir Alaric DeNurem kept true to his vows, that Captain had an undying & hellbent resolve to rescue his wife and other half, the great purpose to his life, from the grasps of the Inferi – Alas, along with Vik, he was not seen in the Capital for the following weeks, the madman, to some, pressing forth at every form he possibly could to rid her of that imprisonment. - Death seeming to be the sole way of halting his advance - “Come you aliens, show me what passes for fury amongst your misbegotten kind! Nei, I won’t back down..” - The Knight uttered, words filled with rage, and a mind readied for blood - -=-=-=-=- -=-=-=-=- – Hope... – AS many months passed, the Knight having delved around and about the Korvassan hellscape – Through great feats of stealth, proving a human capability of reaching far enough extents to within their territory with but a set of well-sown textile and body paint – Alaric felt a calling, one from above and beyond, the distant echoes of his wife’s voice calling her husband home... Back to Sabari One, where their house, not home, laid, home rested inside Vik’s heart. -=-=-=-=- ”Vik? Vikky? Love..? My princess...?” -=-=-=-=- THE desperate Alaric called as he swung the Manor’s entry doors wide open, though, to his dismay, it was simply a voice in his head – Hope – to what end, he thought, would that feeling bring him? Suffering, contempt, distress, confusion, sorrow, frustration... Was it worth all the tears, why did he feel so lost? ALAS, he worked and pondered, searching the deepest, and innermost halls of his mind for an answer... Maybe it was there, he thought, and to that he kept – Days turned to weeks – Weeks to months – His thoughts reaching back to the days they first met when a simple act of kindness from their part paved way for the strongest attachment of mankind: A bright day, yet unlike any other, Viktoriya had recently begun working on restructuring the Fourth Brigade barracks beneath the Novellen, the duo keeping tabs of constant communication, as if long-time friends during the long workday. As nighttime approached, Alaric decided to invite & pay her a drink at Helena’s Dragon Rest, the Tavern... There, they conversed and enjoyed each other's company, though something was missing – Drinks – When the DeNurem offered some booze, Vik immediately sought his strongest, the man taking a custom brew ‘Orc’s punch’, packing a damn punch. Whilst Alaric took another homemade brew, one spicy and not so much to one’s liking, though nonetheless worthy of forming some good times. As soon as he reached the table with the bottles, Vik made quick work of her own, squeezing out the cork to pour down the liquid into her cup – Lifting & guiding her mug up to her lips, allowing the ‘Orcish fist’ to slide down within. Cup by cup, her bottle was hastily emptied, despite the ferocity of that drink. All the while, Alaric kept his slow & calm pace, his not so pleasant brew being taken to half-way. Both keeping and exchanging to a delightful conversation meanwhile, smiles, chuckles, grins, and laughs. Viktoriya: "Ooh!" She hummed, glancing at the two bottles with a wicked grin. "'M a sucker for strong drinks. Want t'other back?"... Viktoriya winced as the alcohol trickled down her throat, immediately feeling the burn of its contents. “Wooh! These are . . . Way better than the tavern's,” she cackled, holding her head as she emptied the rest of the 96-percenter into her gullet. She seemed to remember her doctor's orders, of her to stop her heavy drinking, and slid the glass under her arm - oblivious that it was still completely visible and, obviously, a cocktail glass. While they spoke, the woman cast a few dubious glances around the space, her eyes squinted and her lips puckered in some sort of amusingly skeptical expression... Though, soon, the hardy brew Vik had taken in slowly began mustering and summing it’s effects into fruition, alas, she asked for the toughest, the treatment of the liquid making due. The woman became heavily drunk, her words mixing into bits of incomprehensible speech – And with that, she lost a sense of direction, a hand fateful sliding across the table, hitting her glass cup and sending it down to lay sideways upon the wooden table. Beforehand, Alaric’s mind had grown concerned as to her dealings and a possible accident, his hand letting the spicy drink down to watch Vik’s wellbeing at that time, pushing himself to stand to clear the mess. Viktoriya: “...I'll have m'arse . . . 'Anded to me by d'commander if I miss it!” She whimpered, head sinking toward the table with a thud - landing atop the glass, the sound of shattering heard. Yet, she didn't seem to quite realize, gratefully accepting the water. “Mmm . . . Erci', friend . . . !” As soon as he came to stand, Vik’s torso abruptly beckoned down, unto the previously scattered glass – Her forehead being sent directly at the turned cup, the glass shattering & piercing her skin with ease, blood slowly flowing out. With all due haste, Alaric rushed to her position, circling the table, his hands sought to carefully pull her torso rearward, till her back reached the chair’s backrest. Thereafter, the DeNurem slid his fingers down & around his first-aid kit, unbuckling a small metal to access its contents – Inside, he gathered a file of fresh cloth, a roll of bandages, and a vial of distilled alcohol. Those items proving his treatment for the relative injury, yet as minor as it was, Alaric worked with both care and haste, making easy pick off of the stuck shards, soon disinfecting the wound with the alcohol, wiping the blood with the rags & later sealing the wound with the roll of bandages. Viktoriya: “...O' this . . . M'home!” She blinked, seeming to realize. “Sorry . . . S'ppose I didn't exactly clarify where Sabari was,” she frowned, head hanging low as she tried to clear her vision. “Hmm . . . Aye, downstairs. . . Thank ye! Did I cause any problems?” Alaric: “...There you go-“ He gave her a dip of his head. “Of course, nei problem.. And well, to yourself, you did.” He replied with a muffled chuckle, taking a few steps forth as he knelt beside her. “Lean your head onto the armrest, try not to move it. Resting will do you well...” Alaric was not done yet. It was at that moment, that kindness, that care, that unconscious love they shared, was mustered from the depths of their hearts, minds, and soul. The DeNurem’s right arm outstretched as support for her to stand, he nauseous form slipped forth into that aid – As she came upon her feet, the man’s knees bent somewhat, both arms snuggling underneath a section of her body, left to her upper back, right to underneath her thighs – Alaric taking her body upward, carrying Vik bridal-style, a great coincidence, and later feat, back into her house, which also, to a great coincidence, came to be the couples’ a year later. Even within, Alaric pressed onward, taking her to a large couch at her house’s basement, gently laying her recovering bodice at the comfortable piece of furniture – Tending and caring for her during hours & hours, their chatting resuming to a sweet tone, despite her injury... The months, years that followed were bombarded with chaos, sorrow, grief; – Suffering – Yet the newly-wed couple endured time & time again; -=-=-=-=- -=-=-=-=- Their love, greater than any driving force in existence. -=-=-=-=- Alaric’s mind soon returned to the present, although not to his reality: – Vik was missing – For the first time in his life, he felt a carbarum hammer sinking into his heart, striking against it without mercy, without yield, without ceasing. An Aengulic-sized spear warped and launched itself at his heart, piercing his core with a stinging pain akin to that of a massive scorpion’s poison, jabbing constantly. As if that weren’t enough, a metal gauntlet curled its digits around his soul, striving to crush it with the sheer tenacity of a steel titan, pressing continuously. The pain, the suffering, was nigh unbearable, his paces wobbling forth into the first level. There, his form lost balance, slumping onto one of the dining-table’s chairs, that seating gradually bending and turning to the hefty weight of the man – Till it fell sideways, taking Alaric with it, the DeNurem crashing his head onto the flooring below, his body turned nearly limp, arms spread about, legs dazed out wide – Alaric’s eyes remained half-lid, the man peering at the ceiling above as he laid there, all alone, in their house, the massive aching within his body warping & tearing at his soul. A moment later, his breathing turned brisk, an attempt at words gone to nothing but whimpers; those whimpers soon turned to sobs, his stomach twisting upon itself – Until, from around those eyes, water slowly filled the socket, pouring down his eyelids, that formed a stream down his cheeks, each droplet escaping his skin for the black & white floor below. Alaric’s visage, once a natural light tinge of red, transformed into its crimson counterpart, a wearying heat brought to his facial skin. The man’s chest contorting within itself to each brief inhale & exhale he took. -=-=-=-=- The Knight kept to that crumbling state, the pain eating away his soul with each second... -=-=-=-=- Yet Alaric was not done yet, an otherworldly will keeping him alive. In a moment’s notice, the man began heavily turning himself around, shifting his bodyweight to a side, till the front of his torso met the ground – His arms gradually squirming out to the flooring ahead, his body slithering onwards at a snail’s pace, with each movement, a grain of his former resolve was recovered – Alaric crawled down to their basement, the very same he had taken Vik to years prior, yet this time, he carried none other than himself, laboriously rolling his body up to the same couch, his back facing the cushion. At that, Alaric dragged his eyelids shut for a moment, the strikes, jabs and crushes eased & numbed to his exhaustion, for that night – His crimson-red face lightening somewhat, those twists and turns of his chest softened, and his breathing uttered out a sob & whimper only ever so often – Amidst that calming, the DeNurem began mustering his throat for words once more, a tune recollecting in his mind: -=-=-=-=- “ Is it getting better..?- Or do you feel the same..? Will it make it easier on you now..?- If you've got someone to blame..? You said one love.. One life.. When it's one need.. In the night.. One love.. we get to share it.. It leaves you baby if you don't care for it... Did I disappoint you..? Or leave a bad taste in your mouth..? You want me to go without.. Well it's never too late.. Tonight.. To drag the past out..- Into the light.. We're one.. but we're not the same.. We get to carry each other.. Carry each other.. One.. Have you come here for forgiveness..? Have you come to raise the dead..? Have you come here to play Wilven..?- To the lepers in your head..? Did I ask too much..? More than a lot..? You gave me nothing now..- It's all I've got.. We're one.. but we're not the same.. Well we hurt each other.. and we're doing it again... You said love is a temple..! Love the higher law..! Love is a temple..! Love the higher law..! You ask me to enter.. I keep holding on..- To what you've got.. One love.. One blood.. One life.. You've got to do what you should.. One life with each other.. One life but we're not the same.. We get to carry each other.. Carry each other... One.... One... One.. One! ” -=-=-=-=- With that, Alaric fell fast asleep atop the couch. In his unconscious, true self, his soul – amidst that profound, lengthy & grieving search – found what he was looking for. A simple answer to the complex queries: -=-=-=-=- ~Alaric loved Vik, forevermore~ -=-=-=-=-

Sir Alaric DeNurem occupied his office-tower, his form lowered upon a chair, whilst his eyes overlooked a few pieces of parchment - Slowly making progress to the files of parchment, each stroke of his quill across the paper ridding himself of one less task. A common day, akin to any other for the Captain. Till, a courier sped to the lower chambers, where the approach to his office was, a knock issued at that - And the missive delivered. "May he rest well..."

Sir Alaric DeNurem traveled back into the Crownlands from the northern road. Upon his left hand was a shield, his fingers lacing around the metal handle firmly. Whilst dangling from his right leg was a light slayersteel chain linked to a sizable aurum Lorraine cross -- The lone Knight's paces were hasty, the perpetual void cast across the horizon above him. A full moon looming over a hazy fog as he hastened back to the Imperial Capital, not a second lost to his stride. As the DeNurem approached Helena, near its first entry gatehouse, a light sound of the tolling of bells echoed throughout the air - The beforehand gloomy atmosphere shifting ever so grimmer with every clash of the alloy. First was old Mister Basrid's resignation, presently the elder Monarch, Peter III’s reign coming to a conclusion. That was the end of an epoch, one he was proud to have lived through. Yet his task was not achieved, the Imperial line had to persevere time, and that was his duty. The soon-to-be Empress, Anne Augusta, to assume her rightful crown along with her husband, Joseph Clement. The man uttered to himself, in remark to the realm, and former liege: -=- “One unbreakable shield against the coming darkness, One last blade, forged in defiance of fate, Let them be my legacy to the world I conquered, And my final gift to the species I failed; Such ist Oren. The Emperor ist dead; Long live the Empress.” -=- Alas, Oren underwent drastic transformations, and with the rupture of the status quo, on came unique foes. Hence arose a new period, and the beginning of his crusade. That Knight held his cross ever so closely, signing the Lorraine upon it before he venturing inside to find his wife, Viktoriya DeNurem… @TreeSmoothie

Sir Alaric DeNurem sat at the same bench as the prior withering of Peter Sigismund, a leg crossed atop the other, his hands folded neatly upon his lap as he watched the flower hills ahead, the red ball of fire fading over the distant horizon gradually below the grassy landscape. As the realm's light dimmed, the Knight produced his Swint pocketwatch aiming to take a look before darkness took hold of the sky. Though, to his dismay, the mechanism had ceased... A few hours passed, and soon the rift left by the former glow was permeated with the spacial void, save the tiny white particles across the sky. Till – As midnight came about, the frozen clock ticked one last time. Perhaps there was still something out there left, alas, such was his hope...

Sir Alaric DeNurem sat on a wooden bench overlooking a field of roses somewhere in Oren, a leg folded atop the other and hands mirroring his legs, resting on his lap as he watched the scenery ahead. A long while passed, the man simply staring out the flower hills, till in the far distance, he peered at a lone rose overhead, it’s stem & petals withering, it’s once crimson hue fading to a dark grey – There he felt the passing of his former comrade and brother-in-law, Peter Sigismund, unto the Seven Skies, where Godfrey rested...

Sir Alaric DeNurem scanned the missive intently given by his wife, his eyes trailing through the words till the end, to which a nod was given – Quickly penning a response to sign up and promptly sending it off. “And you broke that bottle right after with your head! I promised myself I’d never let you drink again after what happend..” He exclaimed with a grin, shaking his head lightly as he let out a hum. NAME: Sir Alaric DeNurem RANK: Captain [[IGN:]] paulobig