The mornings of Lorhauser awoke to the sounds of horses riding across the countrysides, with the proud General of the Peirgarten Armies, Rodrigo at the head. A small militia of his own followed him around the fields, wearing the golden plate armor with the small touch of a magenta that adorned the very top of their helmets. Rodrigo yanked at the reins of his horse to stop in the woods, looking about. It looked as if he was expecting to find something, and was left sorely disappointed that he didn't.
He turned his head to his side and looked to one of his Captains, speaking in confusion. "The army was to be summoned here two hours ago. They were going to mobilize. Where in the world are they?"
The Captain stared back to Rodrigo, shaking his head. "Your grace, the barons and local lords did not respond to your call for mobilization."
A surprised and baffled "What?" was the first word to escape the Commander's lips. "How come they defy me? I have been leading this battle, and this army, for months now."
The Captain almost seemed hesitant to respond, before speaking. "Your wife, the Duchess of Lorhauser. She has decided that war will not happen. The army no longer responds to your command."
Rodrigo cursed under his breath, "Fuck!" He looked over his shoulder down towards the distance. "They're coming here, and you are telling me I have no fucking army to back me." The Commander slipped his helmet off and tossed it away into the woods, before taking the reins of his horse and yanking at them, forcing the horse to start riding. The Commander wordlessly disappeared into the woods, riding so fast with fury in his eyes, that he realized he left his small group of men behind him. He rode through forests and small villages, riding for hours and hours, passing by a witch house with a curious woman staring at him with undescribable intent. And now he was charging into a battle against a group of Northern brigands, not under Garth Viduggla, but a collection of the men left from the decimated families in Essalonia.
A sudden flurry of arrows came from the distance, causing Rodrigo to nearly take one through the shoulder, but he luckily escaped it. Although, he was not so lucky to maintain his balance on the horse, and fell off, onto the ground. It took him some moments to regain his balance and weigh himself back to his feet. By the time Rodrigo was back to his feet, he found himself surrounded from every side, every corner. Men began to approach him, holding axes, swords, spears. His eyes widened as the Commander was singled out by a large group of revenge-seeking brigands.
Rodrigo reached immediately for the handle of his blade and freed it from it's scabbard. He took the stance of a fighter, raising the longsword over his shoulder, preparing for a fight to the death. "Watch me, Amelina," he whispered under his breath. "I will die as I have lived."
Men charged towards Rodrigo, and Rodrigo charged towards them with unexpected bravery. Swords clashed in the air, blades striking one after the other while Rodrigo took on a group of men on his own. He seemed naive, believing that he would actually win. And for a moment, it seemed that he would. For a moment, it seemed that Spirit was on his side. Cutting one man open from the throat, running the next through the stomach and downing the next with a headbutt before a delivery of the blade into the chest, Rodrigo was most certainly winning. A loud laugh was barked out. "Hah! The Spirit loves me! The Spirit favors me!"
His euphoria lasted short. His laugh was suddenly cut off, his eyes blanking out and losing all focus. Rodrigo felt his entire balance shaken, his grip on the handle of his longsword loosened. He felt himself going numb all over. His eyes trailed down to find a spear sticking out of his chest, pouring baths of blood out. His lips twitched, voice too hoarse to even speak. He intended for words, but the only thing that left his mouth was blood. Rodrigo stumbled forward. The man who had speared him from the back had let go of the weapon, and now the entire spear was stuck in Rodrigo's chest, entering from the back, and leaving from the front.
He stumbled and stumbled, but did not fall. His sword did not leave his grip. He was still going to fight. Not all was over. A spear had entered his body and stayed, but that was not the end of him. He was Rodrigo Peirgarten, and he had a wife to go back to. He used his remaining breath to scream out into air, a desperate, broken war cry; "AMELINA!" he yelled out. "AMELINA! AMELINA!" he continued to repeat, forcing his sword to heave up, and attacking the next man who came at him. "AMELINA!" he repeated, desperately crying out for her name. He struggled to fight, and challenged his odds, swinging his blade despite his constantly draining blood from the spear that was stuck in his body. "AMELIN--" a man came from the front, nailing another spear into his chest. He stopped swinging, as a third spear shot into his body. Men began approaching him from all sides, repeatedly stabbing their spears into Rodrigo Peirgarten. Defeated, Rodrigo fell to the ground, with that one single spear still stuck in his chest. His eyes glazed over, a hollow stare towards the air.
The brigands began to strip Rodrigo of his armaments, taking anything worthy of a coin from his body, and then left the man to his demise. Rodrigo Peirgarten laid on the ground, life slowly draining from his body. His desperate calls for Amelina were left unanswered. In his last moments, he feared for his soul. And with every final breath leaving, his sadness grew, his desperation to see the woman he loved so much. But she was not going to be there. No one was going to be there. He lived, preaching glory and virtue, and now he was all alone, his name soiled and stained with the atrocities and cruelties he committed. He heard footsteps nearby, but his senses were already dull. The pressure in his chest was leaving him breathless, and soon his eyes closed.
He turned his head to his side and looked to one of his Captains, speaking in confusion. "The army was to be summoned here two hours ago. They were going to mobilize. Where in the world are they?"
The Captain stared back to Rodrigo, shaking his head. "Your grace, the barons and local lords did not respond to your call for mobilization."
A surprised and baffled "What?" was the first word to escape the Commander's lips. "How come they defy me? I have been leading this battle, and this army, for months now."
The Captain almost seemed hesitant to respond, before speaking. "Your wife, the Duchess of Lorhauser. She has decided that war will not happen. The army no longer responds to your command."
Rodrigo cursed under his breath, "Fuck!" He looked over his shoulder down towards the distance. "They're coming here, and you are telling me I have no fucking army to back me." The Commander slipped his helmet off and tossed it away into the woods, before taking the reins of his horse and yanking at them, forcing the horse to start riding. The Commander wordlessly disappeared into the woods, riding so fast with fury in his eyes, that he realized he left his small group of men behind him. He rode through forests and small villages, riding for hours and hours, passing by a witch house with a curious woman staring at him with undescribable intent. And now he was charging into a battle against a group of Northern brigands, not under Garth Viduggla, but a collection of the men left from the decimated families in Essalonia.
A sudden flurry of arrows came from the distance, causing Rodrigo to nearly take one through the shoulder, but he luckily escaped it. Although, he was not so lucky to maintain his balance on the horse, and fell off, onto the ground. It took him some moments to regain his balance and weigh himself back to his feet. By the time Rodrigo was back to his feet, he found himself surrounded from every side, every corner. Men began to approach him, holding axes, swords, spears. His eyes widened as the Commander was singled out by a large group of revenge-seeking brigands.
Rodrigo reached immediately for the handle of his blade and freed it from it's scabbard. He took the stance of a fighter, raising the longsword over his shoulder, preparing for a fight to the death. "Watch me, Amelina," he whispered under his breath. "I will die as I have lived."
Men charged towards Rodrigo, and Rodrigo charged towards them with unexpected bravery. Swords clashed in the air, blades striking one after the other while Rodrigo took on a group of men on his own. He seemed naive, believing that he would actually win. And for a moment, it seemed that he would. For a moment, it seemed that Spirit was on his side. Cutting one man open from the throat, running the next through the stomach and downing the next with a headbutt before a delivery of the blade into the chest, Rodrigo was most certainly winning. A loud laugh was barked out. "Hah! The Spirit loves me! The Spirit favors me!"
His euphoria lasted short. His laugh was suddenly cut off, his eyes blanking out and losing all focus. Rodrigo felt his entire balance shaken, his grip on the handle of his longsword loosened. He felt himself going numb all over. His eyes trailed down to find a spear sticking out of his chest, pouring baths of blood out. His lips twitched, voice too hoarse to even speak. He intended for words, but the only thing that left his mouth was blood. Rodrigo stumbled forward. The man who had speared him from the back had let go of the weapon, and now the entire spear was stuck in Rodrigo's chest, entering from the back, and leaving from the front.
He stumbled and stumbled, but did not fall. His sword did not leave his grip. He was still going to fight. Not all was over. A spear had entered his body and stayed, but that was not the end of him. He was Rodrigo Peirgarten, and he had a wife to go back to. He used his remaining breath to scream out into air, a desperate, broken war cry; "AMELINA!" he yelled out. "AMELINA! AMELINA!" he continued to repeat, forcing his sword to heave up, and attacking the next man who came at him. "AMELINA!" he repeated, desperately crying out for her name. He struggled to fight, and challenged his odds, swinging his blade despite his constantly draining blood from the spear that was stuck in his body. "AMELIN--" a man came from the front, nailing another spear into his chest. He stopped swinging, as a third spear shot into his body. Men began approaching him from all sides, repeatedly stabbing their spears into Rodrigo Peirgarten. Defeated, Rodrigo fell to the ground, with that one single spear still stuck in his chest. His eyes glazed over, a hollow stare towards the air.
The brigands began to strip Rodrigo of his armaments, taking anything worthy of a coin from his body, and then left the man to his demise. Rodrigo Peirgarten laid on the ground, life slowly draining from his body. His desperate calls for Amelina were left unanswered. In his last moments, he feared for his soul. And with every final breath leaving, his sadness grew, his desperation to see the woman he loved so much. But she was not going to be there. No one was going to be there. He lived, preaching glory and virtue, and now he was all alone, his name soiled and stained with the atrocities and cruelties he committed. He heard footsteps nearby, but his senses were already dull. The pressure in his chest was leaving him breathless, and soon his eyes closed.
"He who stopped at nothing to conquer,
to slay thousands for an unknown cause,
lies here now, for everyone to rejoice.
Oh Holy Spirit, close the doors of Everwatch,
and banish this corrupt soul from your heart,
For he is undeserving of heavens grace,
and should suffer until his memory departs."
to slay thousands for an unknown cause,
lies here now, for everyone to rejoice.
Oh Holy Spirit, close the doors of Everwatch,
and banish this corrupt soul from your heart,
For he is undeserving of heavens grace,
and should suffer until his memory departs."
