Bedridden, with his gaze set on a slit between the curtains and the light filtering in, blindingly crossing his left eye. He wheezed and spluttered for a moment, bringing a cloth to his mouth and then rolling over to gaze up at the ceiling. His features were drawn out, the man's face seeming worn, thinned out. His hair was greyed and his skin a pale white. His usual bright blue eyes lacked the light they retained before and his smile had all but faded, a permanent look of pain situated on his face as he struggled to take in air.
He tried calling out, his dried throat quieting his shouts to the point where his raspy voice could only utter quiet words that made him feel so weak and defenseless. He rolled in his bed, trying to stand himself at the edge, only to collapse unto the floor. In a heap, he cried out in pain and started dragging himself across the floorboards, towards his desk on the other side of the room where a jug of water stood tall. Each muscle tensed as he dragged himself provided him with ache after ache, each worse than the last and ever so agonizing.
Stopping at the centre of the room, his breathing stopped and he gripped his throat as he rolled onto his back in panic, staring up at the ceiling once again and reaching a hand up as he saw the faces of his friends in his mind. Through tears he gazed upon a one-handed man, his Ex-Commander and he tried to weakly call out for him, though the face only disappeared to reveal the visage of a pair of familiar Barons, one with black hair and blue eyes and the other of tanned skin. His mind raced as he reached further, grasping at thin air and forcing himself to roll over and continuing across the floor. His gaze flickered up and he saw a young woman, short and proud, armed with a crossbow stood by a young blonde witchblood girl and his cheeks finally lifted into somewhat of a smile before they too faded. His hand gripped the rug beneath him and as he tried to pull himself, the rug only dragged towards him. He was defeated, taking a final glance towards the jug of water and seeing the woman he loved standing aside the desk. He took a note of her features, trying to make out her deep blue eyes, her black hair and fair skin. His gaze fell as the Anglian looked down at him with her ever-caring smile and he knew he had failed her as he drifted off into long slumber for the last time.
For a moment, his mind showed a final image of his friends, his family and he found peace before everything went black. Within the room, a chilling silence lingered as the sun trickled through the windows and hit the lifeless body of the man on the floor, no longer did he feel pain, nor fear. His blade rested beneath the windowsill, a worn old greatsword without purpose any longer. His books, his notes and the letters he received from his friends all retained no purpose any longer. His life was over and just as the man lay in the light, a portrait of him remained in the shadows, upon the wall above his desk; a display of a ginger haired man with a wide smile, donning Imperial Fashion. A painting remembering him as he was and as he would forever be in the minds of others, Aurelius Krupp.
He tried calling out, his dried throat quieting his shouts to the point where his raspy voice could only utter quiet words that made him feel so weak and defenseless. He rolled in his bed, trying to stand himself at the edge, only to collapse unto the floor. In a heap, he cried out in pain and started dragging himself across the floorboards, towards his desk on the other side of the room where a jug of water stood tall. Each muscle tensed as he dragged himself provided him with ache after ache, each worse than the last and ever so agonizing.
Stopping at the centre of the room, his breathing stopped and he gripped his throat as he rolled onto his back in panic, staring up at the ceiling once again and reaching a hand up as he saw the faces of his friends in his mind. Through tears he gazed upon a one-handed man, his Ex-Commander and he tried to weakly call out for him, though the face only disappeared to reveal the visage of a pair of familiar Barons, one with black hair and blue eyes and the other of tanned skin. His mind raced as he reached further, grasping at thin air and forcing himself to roll over and continuing across the floor. His gaze flickered up and he saw a young woman, short and proud, armed with a crossbow stood by a young blonde witchblood girl and his cheeks finally lifted into somewhat of a smile before they too faded. His hand gripped the rug beneath him and as he tried to pull himself, the rug only dragged towards him. He was defeated, taking a final glance towards the jug of water and seeing the woman he loved standing aside the desk. He took a note of her features, trying to make out her deep blue eyes, her black hair and fair skin. His gaze fell as the Anglian looked down at him with her ever-caring smile and he knew he had failed her as he drifted off into long slumber for the last time.
For a moment, his mind showed a final image of his friends, his family and he found peace before everything went black. Within the room, a chilling silence lingered as the sun trickled through the windows and hit the lifeless body of the man on the floor, no longer did he feel pain, nor fear. His blade rested beneath the windowsill, a worn old greatsword without purpose any longer. His books, his notes and the letters he received from his friends all retained no purpose any longer. His life was over and just as the man lay in the light, a portrait of him remained in the shadows, upon the wall above his desk; a display of a ginger haired man with a wide smile, donning Imperial Fashion. A painting remembering him as he was and as he would forever be in the minds of others, Aurelius Krupp.
