Kronshi
Sky Blue
Majoraa
High Moon
Emberdawn2
VirgoDrago
CitrusArms
Soldat Elf
Estylwen
It was nearing a full week since Duke Willowsteel had been thrown into the darkness of Hathforth's dungeons. Only a handful of days remained before his execution.
Sev sat soberly in a dimly lit cell, barely enough room to sit on the dirty floor, chamberpot and haystack bed to either side. Magelight lit the hallway outside, down a nearly endless corridor of cells before one would reach the guard station, where a guard sat staring at the only door and flight of stairs out of this hellhole.
Time ticked on slowly, yet faster than the tide, as Willowsteel contemplated his death.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, the crack just wide enough for a vintage bottle of wine to extend outwards, followed by the gloved hand that held it, the arm that connected to that hand, and finally, the man to whom the arm belonged to.
Duke Rhinecliff, a somber expression in his face. Within the dim light of the cell, there was nothing that could reflect off the lenses, and thus, nothing that could mask the mixture of disappointment and sadness in his dark eyes.
“Duke Willowsteel, though I wish it were not the case, the Wizard-Queen appears set on making an example out of you.”
Sev looked up, watching the hand, then rest of the form that entered his cell. His eyes widened, before settling, and he remained where he sat against the wall, gesturing to the cell.
“The All-force is kind today, the great Duke Rhinecliff graces my humble abode. I'd offer you something to drink, but…” His eyes hovered on the bottle Duke Rhinecliff had, before he fell silent, and looked away.
“Whatever the Wizard Queen wants, she gets. I have no regrets. But alas, my death won't matter much. They'll put in a puppet in the city of Nordor, and life will go on as normal…”
He side eyed the duke. “...Why are you really here, Duke Rhinecliff?”
“Is there any grand reason I need to visit the son of a departed friend?”
He had been young back when the former Duke of Nordor mustered his armies to encroach upon Odonfield’s territories. War and politicking had been the only methods with which the power-hungry dukes could truly meet with one another, but despite the blood that was shed, that Duke Willowsteel had been upright and straightforward. A proudly human warrior, so opposed to the inhuman ties that sank into the foundations of House Rhinecliff. It was always interesting, that vice and virtue were of the same coin, that qualities could at once be detestable and admirable. They waged war and exchanged poetry.
He sat down upon the floor, taking only a moment to arrange his coattails before he did. The bottom of the bottle clacked against the rough-hewn stone as Laurent placed it against the ground. “It is unlike you to have no regrets,” he spoke. “And you know as well as I that what is ‘normal’ is degrading as the years go on.”
“Only trying to be optimistic as a dead man can, Duke Rhinecliff.” Sev answered gruffly.
Only two years had passed, but where would Nordor be in three? Four? With a ruler more pliant to the Wizard-Queen’s taxes? Where would House Willowsteel be, their sons and daughters ousted from their inheritance? And all over a bottle of wine.
“Has the noble’s burden become unbearable for you, Sev?”
Sev was quiet for a moment as the two sat together in a quiet cell. He had yet to be tortured for his ‘crimes,’ and he knew he had yet to die for them.
It all just seemed… unfair. And it had been unfair for a long time.
”...My father said the people of Nordor were once proud, chipper, and happy under the banner of King Ludwig II. I, however, have seen their transformation into loud, rowdy blade clashers that throw their temper into petty fights and wine.”
He sighed, before raising his head to look at the duke. He looked like a man who had run out of options. ”I am a man that would set himself ablaze to make change for his people, and be ultimately forgotten. But abandoning my duties…” He shook his head. ”My father tried to teach me better than that.”
He leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall. ”Perhaps my death will be the spark to light the rebellion's heart in the people of the East…”
“The world isn’t such a romantic place,” Laurent replied. “Everyone enjoyed the peace brought by King Ludwig’s reign, but where was revenge when an outsider slew him and claimed his throne?”
Twenty years, and many of the old guard had disappeared, leaving only those who were children during those violent years. Children with no opportunity to test themselves in that bloodstained crucible. Where was wealth enough to raise their armies? Where was conviction enough to fight for the future? The Duke of Odonfield narrowed his eyes incrementally, irises black in the darkness of the dungeon.
“House Corrin is gone.”
He let that linger in the air.
“And rather than question it, the vultures flock to the Queen, hoping for a slice of that land before the bodies have cooled. They will do the same to you and yours, no doubt. Evelyn is mustering an army; with the weight of your crimes as justification, it will be your people who will bolster her vanguard.”
Sev's heart froze at that knowledge, baring his teeth in the semi-darkness. ”House Corrin…”
Immediately, his mind raced with possibilities of who. Immediately, he thought of the Wizard Queen. But, being a man full of conspiracies and no proof, what good were his words?
Getting slapped with the additional knowledge that the Wizard Queen was amassing an army caused the duke to utter profanities under his breath.
He and his people were dealt with a losing hand, no matter which way he turned.
Sev gritted his teeth, shaking his head. ”Then I have failed my people, and let my own foolishness run my mouth. I… I was tired of waiting for change that may never come.”
A weak laugh left him. “Then I deserve to be here.”
A severity descended upon Laurent.
“Rhinecliff endures, no matter the change of the tides.”
Duke Rhinecliff stood up, leaving the bottle of wine just within range of the prisoner’s grasp.
“But I see that this generation of Willowsteel is more the former than the latter.”
Sev couldn't bring himself to speak, feeling humiliation color him, just from a sentence spoken from Duke Rhinecliff's lips.
He watched him leave.
And the door shut behind him, leaving Sev alone a bottle of the accursed wine. Sev stared hard, his glare willing the bottle to rend asunder.
He'd never drink again.
The next time one of the guards came by to check on Sev, they instead found their throat sliced with a piece of the shattered wine bottle. Sev made his way all the way to the barracks, where he killed two more guardsmen, before one guard cast a magical net, trapping Sev.
He was beaten and lashed before being returned to his cell, his clothes turned to tattered rags, and his hands bound to the chains on the wall, left without food for the remainder of his days…
Laurent had been smiling as he closed the door to the dungeon.
He had offered the prison guard an extra coin and carried himself with light steps up the dungeon stairs. There was no mistaking it: the man was in a good mood.
Flames burnt out, but ash made for good fertilizer.
No matter what end befell Willowsteel, Rhinecliff will benefit.
Sev sat soberly in a dimly lit cell, barely enough room to sit on the dirty floor, chamberpot and haystack bed to either side. Magelight lit the hallway outside, down a nearly endless corridor of cells before one would reach the guard station, where a guard sat staring at the only door and flight of stairs out of this hellhole.
Time ticked on slowly, yet faster than the tide, as Willowsteel contemplated his death.
The door to the dungeon creaked open, the crack just wide enough for a vintage bottle of wine to extend outwards, followed by the gloved hand that held it, the arm that connected to that hand, and finally, the man to whom the arm belonged to.
Duke Rhinecliff, a somber expression in his face. Within the dim light of the cell, there was nothing that could reflect off the lenses, and thus, nothing that could mask the mixture of disappointment and sadness in his dark eyes.
“Duke Willowsteel, though I wish it were not the case, the Wizard-Queen appears set on making an example out of you.”
Sev looked up, watching the hand, then rest of the form that entered his cell. His eyes widened, before settling, and he remained where he sat against the wall, gesturing to the cell.
“The All-force is kind today, the great Duke Rhinecliff graces my humble abode. I'd offer you something to drink, but…” His eyes hovered on the bottle Duke Rhinecliff had, before he fell silent, and looked away.
“Whatever the Wizard Queen wants, she gets. I have no regrets. But alas, my death won't matter much. They'll put in a puppet in the city of Nordor, and life will go on as normal…”
He side eyed the duke. “...Why are you really here, Duke Rhinecliff?”
“Is there any grand reason I need to visit the son of a departed friend?”
He had been young back when the former Duke of Nordor mustered his armies to encroach upon Odonfield’s territories. War and politicking had been the only methods with which the power-hungry dukes could truly meet with one another, but despite the blood that was shed, that Duke Willowsteel had been upright and straightforward. A proudly human warrior, so opposed to the inhuman ties that sank into the foundations of House Rhinecliff. It was always interesting, that vice and virtue were of the same coin, that qualities could at once be detestable and admirable. They waged war and exchanged poetry.
He sat down upon the floor, taking only a moment to arrange his coattails before he did. The bottom of the bottle clacked against the rough-hewn stone as Laurent placed it against the ground. “It is unlike you to have no regrets,” he spoke. “And you know as well as I that what is ‘normal’ is degrading as the years go on.”
“Only trying to be optimistic as a dead man can, Duke Rhinecliff.” Sev answered gruffly.
Only two years had passed, but where would Nordor be in three? Four? With a ruler more pliant to the Wizard-Queen’s taxes? Where would House Willowsteel be, their sons and daughters ousted from their inheritance? And all over a bottle of wine.
“Has the noble’s burden become unbearable for you, Sev?”
Sev was quiet for a moment as the two sat together in a quiet cell. He had yet to be tortured for his ‘crimes,’ and he knew he had yet to die for them.
It all just seemed… unfair. And it had been unfair for a long time.
”...My father said the people of Nordor were once proud, chipper, and happy under the banner of King Ludwig II. I, however, have seen their transformation into loud, rowdy blade clashers that throw their temper into petty fights and wine.”
He sighed, before raising his head to look at the duke. He looked like a man who had run out of options. ”I am a man that would set himself ablaze to make change for his people, and be ultimately forgotten. But abandoning my duties…” He shook his head. ”My father tried to teach me better than that.”
He leaned back, resting his head against the stone wall. ”Perhaps my death will be the spark to light the rebellion's heart in the people of the East…”
“The world isn’t such a romantic place,” Laurent replied. “Everyone enjoyed the peace brought by King Ludwig’s reign, but where was revenge when an outsider slew him and claimed his throne?”
Twenty years, and many of the old guard had disappeared, leaving only those who were children during those violent years. Children with no opportunity to test themselves in that bloodstained crucible. Where was wealth enough to raise their armies? Where was conviction enough to fight for the future? The Duke of Odonfield narrowed his eyes incrementally, irises black in the darkness of the dungeon.
“House Corrin is gone.”
He let that linger in the air.
“And rather than question it, the vultures flock to the Queen, hoping for a slice of that land before the bodies have cooled. They will do the same to you and yours, no doubt. Evelyn is mustering an army; with the weight of your crimes as justification, it will be your people who will bolster her vanguard.”
Sev's heart froze at that knowledge, baring his teeth in the semi-darkness. ”House Corrin…”
Immediately, his mind raced with possibilities of who. Immediately, he thought of the Wizard Queen. But, being a man full of conspiracies and no proof, what good were his words?
Getting slapped with the additional knowledge that the Wizard Queen was amassing an army caused the duke to utter profanities under his breath.
He and his people were dealt with a losing hand, no matter which way he turned.
Sev gritted his teeth, shaking his head. ”Then I have failed my people, and let my own foolishness run my mouth. I… I was tired of waiting for change that may never come.”
A weak laugh left him. “Then I deserve to be here.”
A severity descended upon Laurent.
“Rhinecliff endures, no matter the change of the tides.”
Duke Rhinecliff stood up, leaving the bottle of wine just within range of the prisoner’s grasp.
“But I see that this generation of Willowsteel is more the former than the latter.”
Sev couldn't bring himself to speak, feeling humiliation color him, just from a sentence spoken from Duke Rhinecliff's lips.
He watched him leave.
And the door shut behind him, leaving Sev alone a bottle of the accursed wine. Sev stared hard, his glare willing the bottle to rend asunder.
He'd never drink again.
The next time one of the guards came by to check on Sev, they instead found their throat sliced with a piece of the shattered wine bottle. Sev made his way all the way to the barracks, where he killed two more guardsmen, before one guard cast a magical net, trapping Sev.
He was beaten and lashed before being returned to his cell, his clothes turned to tattered rags, and his hands bound to the chains on the wall, left without food for the remainder of his days…
Laurent had been smiling as he closed the door to the dungeon.
He had offered the prison guard an extra coin and carried himself with light steps up the dungeon stairs. There was no mistaking it: the man was in a good mood.
Flames burnt out, but ash made for good fertilizer.
No matter what end befell Willowsteel, Rhinecliff will benefit.
