His Final Orders

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Nick
I Remember the Rejection
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His Final Orders

Post by Nick » Tue Sep 24, 2013 10:05 am

"Get them through the portal, protect them from whatever may lie ahead."

He cried like he had never cried in his life. His aunt, his father, dead, his mother perhaps may yet live but he knew not where. He had been broken utterly. He could not afford to be. He had his orders, he heard their voices as he read the letters. He knew what he must do. With Vorliath, Mathew and Lissa around him Isaac found some peace.

Now as the others began going to their friends and allies he looked to the civilians standing in quiet fear. The many faces, Afacian, Silurian, some Nosque, most women and children with the occasional city guard or auxiliary. Those that he and his fellows had managed to snatch from the dragon's maw. Some wounded, many hungry all in need of rest.

The young knight finds a suitable stone protruding from the grass at his feet. Standing on it he goes to shout but no noise is made. He looks down, clears his throat and wipes the last tears from his face before finding his voice.

"Afacians! Children of Arkarne! Sil, or the Twins! I am Sir Isaac Neville, Knight Commander of the Order of The White Rose! I know you are tired, hungry and many injured but I implore you, Listen to me now! I know we have lost friends, family and loved ones to the fires of madness. But here we are now, Saved by their Sacrifice, may it never be forgotten.

Here we are in this strange new world. Here you must make your homes, here we must rebuild! Thank whatever gods you hold for your lives, mourn your kin yes, but stay strong! We will not survive if we do not pull together! I, We will need your help soon. As me and my kin bled for you I ask you in return... Tradesmen, Hunters, Farmers, Tailors, Seamstresses, Blacksmiths and Builders." He pauses for breath, emotion clear on his face but his voice still carries.

"There is so much work ahead of us in rebuilding our lives, our homes, our cities. But know this, whether skilled or not, be you of noble blood or but a bastard farm hand. I, Isaac Neville and the remanence of the White Rose, Swear to you our protection if you will have it! As we stood at the gate, we will not abandon you now." With that the young knight, breaths, throat dry, face caked in blood and rust, and looks to the people before him.


'The refugees look up from their work, bone weary and dejected. The words of the young knight seem to give them heart and a ragged cheer echo's from some of the crowd. The rest, too tired to even hope, turn back to their work and carry on setting camp for the night. One villager, braver than most, walks up to Sir Isaac and lays a hand on his shoulder. 'It was a good speech boy, one of the best I've heard, but now is not the time for words. We are all tired and full of grief. Our homes are gone, as are our families. Now is the time for grief, but your words will stay with these people, and when they are ready they will take heart from them.'


"Thank you" Isaac says, the man's words offering him some reassurance as well. As the refugees return to making camp Isaac joins them. He moves from tent to tent aiding wherever he can with needle, herbs, bandages and what little water he has to help to wounded.
Mahesh ullah Ardshir ben Jau'an Shaghal

IC: King Isaac Neville: Son of Saint Alistair, The Sword of the Just, Head of The Order of the White Rose, King of Afacia

IC: Lord Daitengu Komainu: Loyal to the last.

OOC: Nick Pasieka

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Vorlaith
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Re: His Final Orders

Post by Vorlaith » Wed Sep 25, 2013 11:03 pm

Vor Stands in the crowd, watching as his friend speaks to his brothers and sisters.

As the crowd disperses, Vor see's flickers of hope in everyone's eyes. Easily missed, but definitely there. Vor doesn't move. A Man speaks to Isaac, and departs, and where once a hundred stood, there is only Vor. Alone. But not alone.

Vor smiles to himself, glances up, smiles to Isacc, and saunters over. 'Isaac, they were good words. Looking at you now, I don't know how we couldn't see a Nobility in you all along' he quips and nudges him in the shoulder. 'Don't worry Sir, I'll keep your blue blood feet on the ground'

'While you've been tending our flock, I've had a look around, and game appears to be readily available. A few good bows and we could keep everyone here from starvation. With regards to a settlement, I've seen some terrain that looks to be two days away, that looks defensible with water nearby, though, wood isn't plentiful.'

Vor looks at Isaac, and he see's stoic determination, chiselled into his features, grim determination, but Vor knows him better than that. 'Isaac, you look knackered, how long since you've rested? Come to my fire and eat something hot, it's no Skorm, but it'll do.' before Isaac can argue, he puts his arm round his shoulder 'Your not alone here Commander, lets figure out how we're going to do this together. Now. What do want from us first?' as Vor slowly guides his friend to the warmth of his fire.
IC - Vorlaith
OC- Glenn, but not THAT Glenn. =D

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David of Shea
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Re: His Final Orders

Post by David of Shea » Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:35 pm

"You, boy."

The man makes his way through the villagers, city dwellers and battered militia, walking against the crowd until he faces the young tired looking knight, before standing between the knight, the inquisitor and the comforting fire.

"I am Erik Reinhard, Huscarl to Jarl Torsten Tobias, Sil rest his soul. We where fighting on those blasted islands under the King, alongside some Afacian lads, when we got the order to pull out. I know you are bone weary lad, but some of us still haven't a blessed clue what in all the gods names is going on. You said you defended these people at the gate? Do you know where we are, and what's happening back home?"

His voice is earnest, and cautious. In build, he could be described as rangy, with a shock of unruly black hair, dense black stubble framing a short beard, and a livid fresh wound from his forehead to his cheekbone that spoke of recent, close combat, though that wound has at least been treated. His axe, a battered old thing is still clasped in a gauntleted hand, while a heavy steel banded round shield rests on his back over old plate armour. He has the demeanour of a tired old dog, and there is little hope in his eyes that the answers to his questions will be good.

"There are few Silurians here, Ser Knight. And none of us know what in Sil's balls is going on, pardon my language Ser. When do we go home? Is the war over? Did we win or did we lose? All our nobles seemed to go mad at once, all the werefolk with them. What can you tell me lad?"

His voice nearly breaks on the last sentence, his axe hand trembling slightly.
Now playing: Ult Ramarine, Professor of Unusual Geography, University of Hoch Katheder.

"To say we cannot is lazy. We cannot do this, we cannot do that, we cannot know this. I know that we can."

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Vorlaith
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Re: His Final Orders

Post by Vorlaith » Sun Oct 06, 2013 2:32 pm

Vor swallows his ire, at the initial outburst of Boy, as tries to see the worried knight in front of him.

'Erik, you are welcome at my fire, please take a seat with us. Things at home are bad, so steel yourself.'

Vor gestures to the fire and steps round Erik, pulls out another log, which all act as make-shift seats, and sits down himself. Staring into the fire, hoping Erik has chosen to sit, Vor revisits the horrible memories of less than a day ago.

'Erik, i'll say it to you straight. The world as we knew it is gone.' Vor continues keeping his voice flat to hide his emotions 'Facts are hard to come by, but it appears that the Dragon somehow killed, directly or indirectly, all of our gods. Elm, Akarne, the Green Man, Sil they're all gone. Further rumours even suggest that Sil, was targeted first, and slew at least one of the other gods before being killed himself, so mighty indeed he was.'

'These events released Wyldefyre across the entire world, hours ago the last of the Order that you've seen around you, escaped through the great mage circle in Afacia City, and the last thing we saw, was the world being consumed by fire. Our world is gone, and almost everyone who hasn't made it through here, is gone.'

Vor continues quickly, aware of the magnitude in his words, but keen to have his short tale finished, before Erik's multitude of questions and grief.

'One final rumour, persists. The gods are not dead, but have somehow endured. One, I myself saw Saint Gregor, a priest of Akarne, perform a Miracle of great power, sacrificing his life, in Akarne's name, which brought dozens of refugee's back to life to escape Afacia city. Such an act wouldn't be possible, if Akarne wasn't able to hear is words. Two, there are people around us, though I don't know who, have for want of a better word, a piece, of each of the Gods. I am certain, that Sil endures, and though our friends may have been lost, hope for our Gods, has not yet been extinguished.'

Vor looks up, ready to help Erik, through whatever is about to pass, taught to respond to rage, patient to respond to grief and love to help another.
IC - Vorlaith
OC- Glenn, but not THAT Glenn. =D

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David of Shea
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Re: His Final Orders

Post by David of Shea » Mon Oct 07, 2013 11:25 am

At the invitation to sit, Erik does so, wary at first but relaxing once the warmth penetrates his armour and to his flesh. He places his axe on the ground and listens intently to Vorlaiths words.

He listens to the devastating news and sits silent and still, his fingers clenching into fists.

"Who did this." he almost whispers at last. "Who did this to our Gods and our world? The Leno and the Bringers? The Dragon? Some mad elven witch or goblin shaman?"

He stares into the fire and snarls.

"Our Gods failed us. But that doesn't mean I won't avenge them. Tell me who did this."
Now playing: Ult Ramarine, Professor of Unusual Geography, University of Hoch Katheder.

"To say we cannot is lazy. We cannot do this, we cannot do that, we cannot know this. I know that we can."

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