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♪♫ [Click for the quotes' music!] 5th of Vzmey and Hyff, 378 ES [5th of Godfrey's Triumph, 1826] , the old dame, sat slumped against her overgrown desk. Blood trickled from her nose and her lips were cracked; some bruised indent sat atop her forehead, like she'd been hit in the head, and a jammed crossbow sat to her side. The space was in a disarray, and her mind the same as her glossy eyes started at the wall. Lavish furniture was tipped on its side, vines growing through them and breaking the leather. Paintings were torn. Someone had broken in and made a mess, even before she could. "I know you may not be feeling . . . The same way I am - sweetheart, you're mine and now our lives are all planned!" As she made haste toward her room she'd made, memories of her service washed over her like a fifty-foot wave cresting some unfortunate shore. Multiple failed attempts on her life-- The infernal war and the campaigns she lead-- Her husband, Old Captain Sir Alaric DeNurem, and their long-dead comrades-- Captured by Demons for two years, a proper long story-- The destruction of Helena, and the voyage to Almaris. It all burned at the back of her mind. As the missive for her banishment was sent out, in place of woe, she felt spite. Seventy five years of service in the army, knighted by the old Emperor; dozens of achievements among those in the century she'd existed, she lived a hero among her comrades. A fiend behind her veil of misdeeds, only known to her; but a hero. And those years of paradise were swept away, soon after. "Nobody needs you. . . . The way you know I DO, forget what they say, let's start our lives anew." The Fifth Brigade had been taken first; her dignity swept and her will to fight dwindling. But there was hope - there was hope, she was sure. There always would be. She could still climb her way up, things would have been fine. She descended into a madness that she hadn't felt ever before. The walls had ears, no one was to be trusted, and each of her comrades sought to kill her, she thought. One false step, and that step would be her last into a lake of cold water. And she had, at last. "Oh darling, I'm not so sure about our hearts aligning, at sixteen years old, could this have been bad timing; puppies pinning?" Then, had come her service in the Imperial Army. She was discharged on account of her degrading mind. "Yam neicht degrading . . . Yam . . . Give me a chance. GIVE ME A SECOND CHANCE! PLEASE!" Her pained howls shook the room, as blue-clad lawmen busted through the doors. Like Major Othaman had been apprehended at his retirement; they were here to claim her, as well, like wicked reapers. The three that'd hosted the Court Martial refused her to be taken, but the lawmen still had their way. Before she was told of her crimes, she was put on trial against the world. "Listen to me sweetheart, you are nothing when we're apart! I can promise you this;" The trial dragged on for hours. The court room was packed, and the air was heavy. Her lawyer, Patrick O'Rourke, fought for her like a soldier on his last breath. It wasn't enough. For her child wounding a Hanseni boy, it was suggested she be hung in the child's stead. Like a dog. It was suggested she be slaughtered. "When we split the town . . . You won't be missed." In some mercy, she was fined several thousand and banished. She scrambled to get her belongings, and now, where she stood, she could hear folk coming to fully throw her out. No, she would leave on her own accord. In the few thirty years they'd settled on Almaris, she'd learned the Bastion like the back of her hand. She looped from her room, toward the War Room, and back down, descending into her labs to snag the last of her belongings. So, left a single note before the Bastion, held firm by a wad of Jailor's Moss. "Good-bye, comrades. Farewell. This injustice shan't be forgotten, and these wounds will ever bleed on. I've found peace with the family my child wounded, in a mere agreement of some hefty sum of service & repayment with Ruslan. The Hanseni are reasonable; yet the Orenian law is not. The Orenian Law purges good folk and ensures the soldiers they lead are brainless, unknowing, and abused. We had plead the trial be ended - I was never told my rights, their reason for arrest, nor the case at hand. But the Orenian law ignored it and took my life in turn. In Memoriam of Sofia Teufel, in Memoriam of Heath Linnord. In memoriam of the veterans I had lead that died or have gone missing amidst this terrible chaos in this Saint's week. If Oren does not mourn, I surely do. Take heed. Good-bye, Dame Viktoriya."
