31-07-2012, 01:30 AM
(This post was last modified: 31-07-2012, 06:54 AM by Shaman Oren of Staghelm.)
part one of four
Joseph vane had been riding now for three days. The body of his fallen companion limp against his back. The thundering of his charges hooves echoed through the craggy foothills around him. Wind blew through his hair as his eyes looked ahead to his goal. Through rains and snows he had traveled with a heart of mourning. There was no speed adequate enough for his flight thus he spurred his horse till he himself could barely stand that coursing speed. Hill's passed with rolling clouds, the fresh scent of spring rains filled his nose, dreams of his beloved as he slept in dark camps, tending the fallen he had found. His armor shone brightly like a beacon across the plains for those three sorrowful days. Many a tear and prayer came from him to descend up on the ground.
He finally neared the war-camp and stopped his horse, dismounting and pulling the body of Jason vane off of his horse... the man formally known as wolf's blood. His hand was gentle and heavy tears fell from his eyes as he brushed swampy hair from the mans eyes.
“Sleep brother...” Joe looked down at him and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Wolf's body was pale, wet and smelt of the dark marshes. He pulled his black glove from his hand and held his brother's face in his hands before letting out a piercing wail of agony, leaning down onto his body and heaving with laborious sobs.
“Why now! My blood has left me!” His voice cracked as he leaned back up to stair up into raining skies. The knights blue tabard blew back in blowing winds as his black hair whipped about his face. The stinging tears did not cease, even when his wife Marne had appeared before him; staring at her brother in law lying upon the ground... darkness in his eyes. She fell down to her knees there in that place; the gravely ground welcomed her as her hands met her brother in laws chest, grasping his leather plates in agony. There they wept, a noble knight and maiden over the lifeless body of a hero. Joe could not contain the agony now howling in his heart. He wailed, and wept and let loose the waves of his tears. Leaning back in to face his brother he spoke with a burdened heart.
“Don't leave me... Jason.. please... don't abandon me...” His hands tugged and gripped Jason's armor tightly as he let loose a cry of frustrated anger sobbing and cursing as he buried his face into his elder brothers armor. The loose wolf's bane flower still clung to the fallen man's hair and blew in the rainy winds that beat down upon the three.
Broken-hearted and overwhelmed; Marne clung to her husband who now was curled into his brothers chest. She pet Joe's hair and tried to console him, a futile effort as her own anguish was welling. The men of the camp were weary, the invasion and slaughter was taking it's toll. No consolation would mend the sundered heart of a man who had lost his last family... a brother who had lost a brother. Her long red hair lie soaked against her back as she pressed her rosy lips to her beloved's neck. Continually laying her hands upon his hair. She pulled his eyes to meet hers, those blue orbs of love staring into his black eyes, now pinned with searing loss. His wet hair curled down, soaked upon his shoulders.
“Love...” was the only word that she could muster as he held him, the two crossed and leaning over their family members body. With great sorrow she let her lips hold his, and there they remained... family... torn apart by the vast ocean of war. Though they were together... Joe had never felt so alone and alienated from his brother whom he loved so dearly. He kissed his wife as the spear of pain in his heart continued to bleed him. Her gentle touch, the scent of fresh rain and her body, her kind warmth... it was all that could remedy such a catastrophic loss.
It had only been hours since Wolf Blood's death that his body was found. Pursued by Joseph himself... he was too late. The marshes had cleared, allowing him to spot the body and pull it from the mire, thus he drug his brother to land and wept. Having recovered the last of his family, he mounted and made his way back. It was the dead of night upon Joe's return and his cries of pain had awakened the entirety of the camp. Marne was the first to find her lover, hunched over the body of a hero, his horse spooked and tired. Slowly those of the camp made their way out to witness the true face of war... pain and loss were all that was left in the wake of such things and even the young came to know this through Joseph. Hearing the commotion; Asgrim and his brother came out of the camp. Their eyes fell low and hearts sank to see another hero claimed by death. Truly such losses would only breed sorrow and depression in the hearts of those who still trudged on through the Nordic winter... With the people following suit in mournful crying Joe was lifted up. The aria of their cries reflecting all of their burdens.
the loss was devastating; even the Jarl and his brother were touched at the core by such tragedy. Asgrim, having been saved by this man would not forget his name or his heroism. The arrow had been halted by the warnings of his voice, he drew away the assassin with his determined pursuit, and he had died in the name of his Jarl
Back at the camp they lifted the body of Wolf's blood high in honor. A procession of mourners gathered and his body dressed and placed upon a wooden slat. They lit torches in the fields and carried them up to the mountains. In that place the dead were close to the living, graves and memories spoke loudly to those who drew near. Thus with mournful hearts and torches ablaze the procession ventured high to the tombs of A'lo tharen. With reverence they entered the catacombs in the side of the mountain, traveling deep into its dark recesses. The torches lit grim and downcast faces as Jason Vane was laid to rest in that place. His body put upon a stone altar in the middle of the room. Prayers were uttered, tears fell, cries echoed amongst the dead. Amongst this choir of broken hearts was the shattered gaze of Joseph William vane, Knight of the Rhodok realm, Son to a murdered father, brother to a hero... Tears fells silently down his rugged cheek as he watched breath no longer grace his dearest brother's lips. The mourners left, the torches were dowsed, and the people returned to their needed sleep... all aside from one... One torch, one soul remained amongst the dead. Joseph clung their, unwilling to move...
“Brother... I... rest... I miss you. I will never be strong without you brother... My only brother... Don't abandon me in this bereaved land of sundered hearts and be-sieged lives... do not abandon me to a world sick with war and treachery... I beg you...” Joe's voice echoed quietly in the tombs for the duration of the night as he kept vigil over the fallen. Hour after hour passed and his burning eyes found restful sleep. In his dreams he wandered that forsaken swamp that had claimed his elder brother's life. Thus through pool and pond he wandered, brushing bushes aside till he came to a clearing with a bright light. Standing there was his brother and father, smiling with open arms. And upon that clearing he was reunited with his family, holding them with flowing tears. He could hear their voices, feel the capes blowing around them as they spoke. In his dream his father unsheathed the sword of Vane... an heirloom said lost when his ship was sunk...
“carry it well my son... it will need you and you it before the end.” Joseph Vane spoke to his son sir William Joseph before fading into the shade of dreams. Thus he awoke, dry pained eyes seeing nothing but the darkness of the musty tomb about him. He had fallen asleep upon the chest of his brother. Brushing his slick black hair from his face he oriented himself and groped around for his torch and upon finding it struck it alight.
Joseph's eyes adjusted slowly to the dancing flames. He allowed himself to sit there, his heavy mail and tabard burdensome upon his body as he looked around. The dead nobles of many nations lie in this dark place. Repose and rest finally taking them from the hardships of the living world. It was utterly silent, cold, loose sand covered stone floors. Scooting his foot back, Joe managed to stand himself up after some time, wiping his face with a gloved hand before looking around, his green cape twirling at his ankles as he oriented his way. Just before he set forward to leave the tombs, an odd sound echoed behind him, the rasp of a blade in its scabbard... then a clatter. Joe quickly drew his sword and turned at the ready, before him was an open coffin, standing on its end. The corpse inside was still dressed in courtly garb and its sword had finally been loosed from its decaying scabbard. He knelt and looked over the blade which was in a surprisingly good condition compared to its former owner and sheath.
He brushed the blade with his glove and removed the dust from its breadth. As the torchlight came over the engravings of the sword his eyes widened and mouth went agape. Upon the blade read the words
“The sword of Vane... defender of the destitute...” These words held Joe in in shock, the golden hilt and silver quillons shining dimly below the torchlight. Thus with a shaking hand and confused mind he reached out to scoop up his birthright. He stood and looked to his fallen brother; speaking with a heavy heart.
“I'm leaving now... rest well brother. Your name will be my battle cry... your face will be my remembrance. And with our father's sword which has appeared to me in this sanctified tomb... I will avenge your spilled blood.” he knelt down to kiss his brother's face once more before taking the light of life with him, stepping out into the mountains that still coursed with rain water and slick mud. He lifted his face to listen to rolling thunder, took in the fresh scent of rain, the cool winds blowing about his face, whipping his hair and cape about. There was work to be done... and he would honor his brother in death till he was reunited with him.
Slowly he made his way down the path, fingers exploring the hilt and pommel of his father's blade. The weight was unfamiliar, it was new, strange... something he wanted to get to know. Looking down the path Joe could see the camp below him. People were just arising from sleep and fires dotted the scene here and there. Smoke arose and passed his nostrils as the sound of crunching wet gravel made him think of what was to come. It was chilly and wet and he tugged his cape close to his body, clothed in gambeson, mail, and blue tabard. His wet black hair hugged his shoulders and jets of warm breath escaped his bearded mouth. It was cold... gray... there was not happiness nor joy in the sky and the earth was unyielding and harsh to those who now tread upon her surface.
Joseph made his way into the camp. People looked grim and winded from the tasks of their lives. Even putting food in their bellies was weighted with painful memory. The tents were soaked and the people shivering. The smell of warm food, hot ales and meads, confections and fire smoke was everywhere. Beneath his boots was cold hard mud, soaked earth. This was a miserable place... with miserable motives. He made his way now to his tent where his wife was still asleep. Slowly and quietly he pulled his mail over his head and let it come to rest upon its rack, he placed his heirloom into a sheath hanging from the tent walls and pulled off his pants. Crawling into bed with his beloved, Joe started to drift. Her body was warn, inviting, soft... with perfect breasts and a toned stomach. She was a perfect red rose in his mind, lovely and kind to him. His lips slowly met the back of her neck as he slipped into a restful sleep.
Outside of his tent and down the way a gathering of nobles was occurring, men of Swadian birth, Rhodok, and Nord. Discussing their intent for passing the tall mountains that now stood stalwart in their way. They had to get passed, they had to find the shoreline beyond. Thus Asgrim and his brother Oren sat and listened. They would not pass above nor around, it was not their way, the Nordic way. So they listened, and listened and listened... after hours of deliberation a young girl in black leather spoke, approaching with a bow slung around her toned back, and an axe about her curvacious hips.
“through the mountains... that is the way. Passed the tombs is a passage that will lead you to the lakes of Isyr Thane.” her full lips smiled as she proposed her route to the Jarl.
“Isyr thane... the frozen grave... I know this way brother” Oren spoke as he looked from his spot near the fire. “It is a dangerous way... but opens a pass clear and close to the shores we seek... it could work” Oren cautioned, yet spoke on behalf of this choice.
The girl, tall with black hair and dark eyes grinned, her way was being had without trouble...
“So be it... we go by the way of the frozen graves at sun up.” The Jarl commanded without recourse. His mind was resolute and their path decided. Thus the men went about their way and sheltered themselves from the rains. This place had not been kind, the skies vengeful and the earth harsh. It was not a place of joy... this was a land of mourning...
Mourning...
Joseph vane had been riding now for three days. The body of his fallen companion limp against his back. The thundering of his charges hooves echoed through the craggy foothills around him. Wind blew through his hair as his eyes looked ahead to his goal. Through rains and snows he had traveled with a heart of mourning. There was no speed adequate enough for his flight thus he spurred his horse till he himself could barely stand that coursing speed. Hill's passed with rolling clouds, the fresh scent of spring rains filled his nose, dreams of his beloved as he slept in dark camps, tending the fallen he had found. His armor shone brightly like a beacon across the plains for those three sorrowful days. Many a tear and prayer came from him to descend up on the ground.
He finally neared the war-camp and stopped his horse, dismounting and pulling the body of Jason vane off of his horse... the man formally known as wolf's blood. His hand was gentle and heavy tears fell from his eyes as he brushed swampy hair from the mans eyes.
“Sleep brother...” Joe looked down at him and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Wolf's body was pale, wet and smelt of the dark marshes. He pulled his black glove from his hand and held his brother's face in his hands before letting out a piercing wail of agony, leaning down onto his body and heaving with laborious sobs.
“Why now! My blood has left me!” His voice cracked as he leaned back up to stair up into raining skies. The knights blue tabard blew back in blowing winds as his black hair whipped about his face. The stinging tears did not cease, even when his wife Marne had appeared before him; staring at her brother in law lying upon the ground... darkness in his eyes. She fell down to her knees there in that place; the gravely ground welcomed her as her hands met her brother in laws chest, grasping his leather plates in agony. There they wept, a noble knight and maiden over the lifeless body of a hero. Joe could not contain the agony now howling in his heart. He wailed, and wept and let loose the waves of his tears. Leaning back in to face his brother he spoke with a burdened heart.
“Don't leave me... Jason.. please... don't abandon me...” His hands tugged and gripped Jason's armor tightly as he let loose a cry of frustrated anger sobbing and cursing as he buried his face into his elder brothers armor. The loose wolf's bane flower still clung to the fallen man's hair and blew in the rainy winds that beat down upon the three.
Broken-hearted and overwhelmed; Marne clung to her husband who now was curled into his brothers chest. She pet Joe's hair and tried to console him, a futile effort as her own anguish was welling. The men of the camp were weary, the invasion and slaughter was taking it's toll. No consolation would mend the sundered heart of a man who had lost his last family... a brother who had lost a brother. Her long red hair lie soaked against her back as she pressed her rosy lips to her beloved's neck. Continually laying her hands upon his hair. She pulled his eyes to meet hers, those blue orbs of love staring into his black eyes, now pinned with searing loss. His wet hair curled down, soaked upon his shoulders.
“Love...” was the only word that she could muster as he held him, the two crossed and leaning over their family members body. With great sorrow she let her lips hold his, and there they remained... family... torn apart by the vast ocean of war. Though they were together... Joe had never felt so alone and alienated from his brother whom he loved so dearly. He kissed his wife as the spear of pain in his heart continued to bleed him. Her gentle touch, the scent of fresh rain and her body, her kind warmth... it was all that could remedy such a catastrophic loss.
It had only been hours since Wolf Blood's death that his body was found. Pursued by Joseph himself... he was too late. The marshes had cleared, allowing him to spot the body and pull it from the mire, thus he drug his brother to land and wept. Having recovered the last of his family, he mounted and made his way back. It was the dead of night upon Joe's return and his cries of pain had awakened the entirety of the camp. Marne was the first to find her lover, hunched over the body of a hero, his horse spooked and tired. Slowly those of the camp made their way out to witness the true face of war... pain and loss were all that was left in the wake of such things and even the young came to know this through Joseph. Hearing the commotion; Asgrim and his brother came out of the camp. Their eyes fell low and hearts sank to see another hero claimed by death. Truly such losses would only breed sorrow and depression in the hearts of those who still trudged on through the Nordic winter... With the people following suit in mournful crying Joe was lifted up. The aria of their cries reflecting all of their burdens.
the loss was devastating; even the Jarl and his brother were touched at the core by such tragedy. Asgrim, having been saved by this man would not forget his name or his heroism. The arrow had been halted by the warnings of his voice, he drew away the assassin with his determined pursuit, and he had died in the name of his Jarl
Back at the camp they lifted the body of Wolf's blood high in honor. A procession of mourners gathered and his body dressed and placed upon a wooden slat. They lit torches in the fields and carried them up to the mountains. In that place the dead were close to the living, graves and memories spoke loudly to those who drew near. Thus with mournful hearts and torches ablaze the procession ventured high to the tombs of A'lo tharen. With reverence they entered the catacombs in the side of the mountain, traveling deep into its dark recesses. The torches lit grim and downcast faces as Jason Vane was laid to rest in that place. His body put upon a stone altar in the middle of the room. Prayers were uttered, tears fell, cries echoed amongst the dead. Amongst this choir of broken hearts was the shattered gaze of Joseph William vane, Knight of the Rhodok realm, Son to a murdered father, brother to a hero... Tears fells silently down his rugged cheek as he watched breath no longer grace his dearest brother's lips. The mourners left, the torches were dowsed, and the people returned to their needed sleep... all aside from one... One torch, one soul remained amongst the dead. Joseph clung their, unwilling to move...
“Brother... I... rest... I miss you. I will never be strong without you brother... My only brother... Don't abandon me in this bereaved land of sundered hearts and be-sieged lives... do not abandon me to a world sick with war and treachery... I beg you...” Joe's voice echoed quietly in the tombs for the duration of the night as he kept vigil over the fallen. Hour after hour passed and his burning eyes found restful sleep. In his dreams he wandered that forsaken swamp that had claimed his elder brother's life. Thus through pool and pond he wandered, brushing bushes aside till he came to a clearing with a bright light. Standing there was his brother and father, smiling with open arms. And upon that clearing he was reunited with his family, holding them with flowing tears. He could hear their voices, feel the capes blowing around them as they spoke. In his dream his father unsheathed the sword of Vane... an heirloom said lost when his ship was sunk...
“carry it well my son... it will need you and you it before the end.” Joseph Vane spoke to his son sir William Joseph before fading into the shade of dreams. Thus he awoke, dry pained eyes seeing nothing but the darkness of the musty tomb about him. He had fallen asleep upon the chest of his brother. Brushing his slick black hair from his face he oriented himself and groped around for his torch and upon finding it struck it alight.
Joseph's eyes adjusted slowly to the dancing flames. He allowed himself to sit there, his heavy mail and tabard burdensome upon his body as he looked around. The dead nobles of many nations lie in this dark place. Repose and rest finally taking them from the hardships of the living world. It was utterly silent, cold, loose sand covered stone floors. Scooting his foot back, Joe managed to stand himself up after some time, wiping his face with a gloved hand before looking around, his green cape twirling at his ankles as he oriented his way. Just before he set forward to leave the tombs, an odd sound echoed behind him, the rasp of a blade in its scabbard... then a clatter. Joe quickly drew his sword and turned at the ready, before him was an open coffin, standing on its end. The corpse inside was still dressed in courtly garb and its sword had finally been loosed from its decaying scabbard. He knelt and looked over the blade which was in a surprisingly good condition compared to its former owner and sheath.
He brushed the blade with his glove and removed the dust from its breadth. As the torchlight came over the engravings of the sword his eyes widened and mouth went agape. Upon the blade read the words
“The sword of Vane... defender of the destitute...” These words held Joe in in shock, the golden hilt and silver quillons shining dimly below the torchlight. Thus with a shaking hand and confused mind he reached out to scoop up his birthright. He stood and looked to his fallen brother; speaking with a heavy heart.
“I'm leaving now... rest well brother. Your name will be my battle cry... your face will be my remembrance. And with our father's sword which has appeared to me in this sanctified tomb... I will avenge your spilled blood.” he knelt down to kiss his brother's face once more before taking the light of life with him, stepping out into the mountains that still coursed with rain water and slick mud. He lifted his face to listen to rolling thunder, took in the fresh scent of rain, the cool winds blowing about his face, whipping his hair and cape about. There was work to be done... and he would honor his brother in death till he was reunited with him.
Slowly he made his way down the path, fingers exploring the hilt and pommel of his father's blade. The weight was unfamiliar, it was new, strange... something he wanted to get to know. Looking down the path Joe could see the camp below him. People were just arising from sleep and fires dotted the scene here and there. Smoke arose and passed his nostrils as the sound of crunching wet gravel made him think of what was to come. It was chilly and wet and he tugged his cape close to his body, clothed in gambeson, mail, and blue tabard. His wet black hair hugged his shoulders and jets of warm breath escaped his bearded mouth. It was cold... gray... there was not happiness nor joy in the sky and the earth was unyielding and harsh to those who now tread upon her surface.
Joseph made his way into the camp. People looked grim and winded from the tasks of their lives. Even putting food in their bellies was weighted with painful memory. The tents were soaked and the people shivering. The smell of warm food, hot ales and meads, confections and fire smoke was everywhere. Beneath his boots was cold hard mud, soaked earth. This was a miserable place... with miserable motives. He made his way now to his tent where his wife was still asleep. Slowly and quietly he pulled his mail over his head and let it come to rest upon its rack, he placed his heirloom into a sheath hanging from the tent walls and pulled off his pants. Crawling into bed with his beloved, Joe started to drift. Her body was warn, inviting, soft... with perfect breasts and a toned stomach. She was a perfect red rose in his mind, lovely and kind to him. His lips slowly met the back of her neck as he slipped into a restful sleep.
Outside of his tent and down the way a gathering of nobles was occurring, men of Swadian birth, Rhodok, and Nord. Discussing their intent for passing the tall mountains that now stood stalwart in their way. They had to get passed, they had to find the shoreline beyond. Thus Asgrim and his brother Oren sat and listened. They would not pass above nor around, it was not their way, the Nordic way. So they listened, and listened and listened... after hours of deliberation a young girl in black leather spoke, approaching with a bow slung around her toned back, and an axe about her curvacious hips.
“through the mountains... that is the way. Passed the tombs is a passage that will lead you to the lakes of Isyr Thane.” her full lips smiled as she proposed her route to the Jarl.
“Isyr thane... the frozen grave... I know this way brother” Oren spoke as he looked from his spot near the fire. “It is a dangerous way... but opens a pass clear and close to the shores we seek... it could work” Oren cautioned, yet spoke on behalf of this choice.
The girl, tall with black hair and dark eyes grinned, her way was being had without trouble...
“So be it... we go by the way of the frozen graves at sun up.” The Jarl commanded without recourse. His mind was resolute and their path decided. Thus the men went about their way and sheltered themselves from the rains. This place had not been kind, the skies vengeful and the earth harsh. It was not a place of joy... this was a land of mourning...