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“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
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The Last Stand of Sir Arthur ‘the Lionhearted’, Knight Paramount of the Commonwealth. The first Knightly Council began with the reciting of a prayer by the church’s own, the knights and dames of the Petrine Laurel gathered as one to uphold the codes to which they swore their lives. To judge a woman who they believed unworthy of their service and anathema to all that is righteous. These men and women were led by Sir Arthur ‘the Lionhearted’, Knight Paramount of the realm and sworn sword to Archduke Constanz. But instead of an audience with the woman they called to trial, the knights of Petra were beset by raiders and creatures of nefarious origins. “Defend the assembly!” Sir Arthur ordered, his men scattering to guard the pockets of Petrans who stood fearful and unable to defend themselves. The Knight Paramount found himself cornered within a sub-surface corridor, subject to the battering of countless foes and burns of relentless dragonkin. Yet, though his armour was rent and his body torn to shreds, still he stood valiantly in the defence of those who flocked behind him for protection. Eventually, the assault proved too much for one man to handle, and so the Knight collapsed in a crash of steel plates. Terribly burnt and losing blood, his last moments were witnessed by Cardinal Viktor and his retinue, who desperately worked to save the man from his injuries. But to no avail… There, in the halls of Castle Moere, where he first took his oath in defence of the Commonwealth, the Knight Paramount died in service of his people. Yet, before his ultimate demise, he would utter but one final word of sorrow and love. “Juliana…” And then, he was gone. Sir Arthur ‘the Lionhearted’ de Lyons 1878 - 1909 Knight Paramount of the Sovereign Order of the Petrine Laurel.
