Silenced

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The cold, early-autumn air nipped at Percival's face as his horse whipped across the muddy plains, two retainers trotting quickly behind him. Riding had become a commonplace hobby among the former-king, who had begun to use it as almost a way to cleanse his head of his frequent troubles. His titular dismissals and falling out with Cedromar had not gone over well for him. The former king seemed to, in only a few months, look more aged, dark rings grew under his dull-blue eyes, and his beard and hair had been grown out more than usual. As the trio passed by a local Ravenstad holdfast, Percival gave a rueful grunt, almost finding it unbearable to even be reminded of his family. "Traitors. Usurpers." He'd shout with dismay and frustration, his retainers behind him not saying a word as their hands tightened around their reigns.

They'd been riding for an hour now, and were far from Ettrenach Castle, where the deposed Ravenstad had made his home. Some loyalists and barons who once served him would travel to the run-down holding frequently, petitioning Percival to act against his cousins to take back his throne. However, the former king heard nothing of it, too enveloped in his own depression to even consider mustering a force. So rode he did, him and his retainers coming into the Bos de Bris forest just south of North Hinterlandia. The wooded area calmed the middle-aged man. Maybe it was the eerie sound of the leaves rustling, or the squawking of the Hinterlandic Ravens that helped him truly escape from the world he left behind. "Only true ravens in these woods." He thought, "Not the farces and shadows of men like my kin.". His eyes could make out a grouping up ahead on the Raven's Road, glancing back to his retainers with curiosity, these roads were empty this early in the morning. The captain of his guard, Kommandant Wulfram Krier, lifted his burgonet helmet from his head, revealing his white beard and balding head, his face aged and lined with memories of long-dead patriarchs, "Probably retainers, my lord Percival. With your cousin raising the banners for war, I wouldn't be surprised to find some lost in these woods." The former king gave a grunt and nod of agreement, Wulfram Krier was renowned for honour and loyalty. More importantly, loyal to him and his descendants, and not to Emrich or Albaer.

The trio galloped down the road, coming up on the ten or so armoured men. Percival tugged back on his reigns, looking over the helmeted Ravenstad retainers with uncertainty, "You're a long way from Vieux-Provence, or the mustering grounds near Machellon for certain." One of the helmeted men pulled his horse around, giving the former king a respectful nod, "Pardon my lord, we're exactly where we need to be." The answer confused Percival, his black-gloved hands tightening on his reigns before he saw the helmeted man give a whistle. It happened too soon, the first crossbow bolt came from the woods, hitting one his men and knocking him from his mare. The horse galloped off down the road as Percival and Wulfram pulled their swords from their scabbards. Though such did not matter, before they could make for it, two more shots came. The one aimed for Percy missed, and dug into his horse's neck, bringing his massive Lancerion down in an instant. The second hit Wulfram's leg, piercing straight through his calf and burrowing into the Kommandant's horse. Percival was able to roll off as his horse fell, avoiding being crushed, though the same was not for Wulfram, whose leg was practically pinned to his horse as it toppled, crushing his calf and shin with a sickening crunch, leaving the elder retainer helpless.

Percival scrambled to his feet, though knew it was hopeless, he was surrounded on all sides. He heared Wulfram's pained sounds from behind him, but kept his eyes ahead on the attackers. The ten of them stayed on their horses through the whole ordeal, and had formed a circle around the two men, a few having crossbows drawn on both. Wulfram shouted out from under his horse, "You're traitors! The pack of y-!" Percival closed his eyes as he heard the loyal commander's voice silenced at the behest of arrow hitting flesh. Memories of growing up under the tutelage of a young Wulfram Krier flooded his mind, recalling his first lessons of the sword with him, how he'd make him and Anton spar with wooden sticks. Those distant summers seemed so far away now. He had to focus on the current predicament. Percy forced the thoughts from his head, looking around with sword in hand at the gathered riders. He boomed out in an angry voice to them all, "I was your king!" There was desperation and disbelief in his voice. Such an act was unspeakable to him, maybe all of this was a dream? No, he knew it wasn't that simple. The riders didn't speak for a good while, one eventually speaking up. His voice was young, Percy could note, and sounded almost guilty of the current happenings, "You were. And The Elder Council wishes to inform you, that you will never be again." He gave a flick of his hand in gesture, and two crossbow bolts flew at the paladin. The first dug itself into his chest, the force of the projectile causing him to stumble back. Then the second one came, and suddenly, the last years of his life wormed their way into Percival's head. Time grew still in that mere second, bringing him to question if this was worth it. All he did, all he wanted to achieve, only caused him to die like this. Percy didn't have the peace of mind to say it was worth it in the slightest. Only regret was on his mind in his last breaths of life. And at that, the second bolt landed, piercing his throat and causing the pretender to collapse onto the road. It was all quiet at that. The forest no longer sung to the Ravenstad as it used to have done, only silence. Somewhere in the distance, only the fluttering of ravens taking off from their nests filled the crisp morning air.

OOC Notes

Yes, this is canon and happened just this morning (Or technically yesterday morning, since it's 12 AM as I'm writing this). For the sake of anyone caring to use Percy's death in RP, here's what any character "can know".

Percy was found dead with two retainers in the Bos de Bris forest in the Hinterlands area, in Northern Brissiaud. His body was on the side of the road with two crossbow bolts in him, one in the chest, on in the throat. His horse and the retainers horse, and both the retainers, were all dead as well from crossbow bolts. Nobody knows the culprit, but Ravenstad history scholars are saying it was likely bandits or highwaymen, and that is what is being assumed to have happened. Percy's body was recovered and buried in Machellon Castle in the Ravenstad Hall of the Dead during the afternoon, and his death was announced that night.

@MonMarty @AntonVoron @Tiber_ @PonyoWantHam @VaguelyBagley @YLMadness @BillyTheScroofy @MantaRey @TyrolleanEagle​
 
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The cold, early-autumn air nipped at Percival's face as his horse whipped across the muddy plains, two retainers trotting quickly behind him. Riding had become a commonplace hobby among the former-king, who had begun to use it as almost a way to cleanse his head of his frequent troubles. His titular dismissals and falling out with Cedromar had not gone over well for him. The former king seemed to, in only a few months, look more aged, dark rings grew under his dull-blue eyes, and his beard and hair had been grown out more than usual. As the trio passed by a local Ravenstad holdfast, Percival gave a rueful grunt, almost finding it unbearable to even be reminded of his family. "Traitors. Usurpers." He'd shout with dismay and frustration, his retainers behind him not saying a word as their hands tightened around their reigns.

They'd been riding for an hour now, and were far from Ettrenach Castle, where the deposed Ravenstad had made his home. Some loyalists and barons who once served him would travel to the run-down holding frequently, petitioning Percival to act against his cousins to take back his throne. However, the former king heard nothing of it, too enveloped in his own depression to even consider mustering a force. So rode he did, him and his retainers coming into the Bos de Bris forest just south of North Hinterlandia. The wooded area calmed the middle-aged man. Maybe it was the eerie sound of the leaves rustling, or the squawking of the Hinterlandic Ravens that helped him truly escape from the world he left behind. "Only true ravens in these woods." He thought, "Not the farces and shadows of men like my kin.". His eyes could make out a grouping up ahead on the Raven's Road, glancing back to his retainers with curiosity, these roads were empty this early in the morning. The captain of his guard, Kommandant Wulfram Krier, lifted his burgonet helmet from his head, revealing his white beard and balding head, his face aged and lined with memories of long-dead patriarchs, "Probably retainers, my lord Percival. With your cousin raising the banners for war, I wouldn't be surprised to find some lost in these woods." The former king gave a grunt and nod of agreement, Wulfram Krier was renowned for honour and loyalty. More importantly, loyal to him and his descendants, and not to Emrich or Albaer.

The trio galloped down the road, coming up on the ten or so armoured men. Percival tugged back on his reigns, looking over the helmeted Ravenstad retainers with uncertainty, "You're a long way from Vieux-Provence, or the mustering grounds near Machellon for certain." One of the helmeted men pulled his horse around, giving the former king a respectful nod, "Pardon my lord, we're exactly where we need to be." The answer confused Percival, his black-gloved hands tightening on his reigns before he saw the helmeted man give a whistle. It happened too soon, the first crossbow bolt came from the woods, hitting one his men and knocking him from his mare. The horse galloped off down the road as Percival and Wulfram pulled their swords from their scabbards. Though such did not matter, before they could make for it, two more shots came. The one aimed for Percy missed, and dug into his horse's neck, bringing his massive Lancerion down in an instant. The second hit Wulfram's leg, piercing straight through his calf and burrowing into the Kommandant's horse. Percival was able to roll off as his horse fell, avoiding being crushed, though the same was not for Wulfram, whose leg was practically pinned to his horse as it toppled, crushing his calf and shin with a sickening crunch, leaving the elder retainer helpless.

Percival scrambled to his feet, though knew it was hopeless, he was surrounded on all sides. He heared Wulfram's pained sounds from behind him, but kept his eyes ahead on the attackers. The ten of them stayed on their horses through the whole ordeal, and had formed a circle around the two men, a few having crossbows drawn on both. Wulfram shouted out from under his horse, "You're traitors! The pack of y-!" Percival closed his eyes as he heard the loyal commander's voice silenced at the behest of arrow hitting flesh. Memories of growing up under the tutelage of a young Wulfram Krier flooded his mind, recalling his first lessons of the sword with him, how he'd make him and Anton spar with wooden sticks. Those distant summers seemed so far away now. He had to focus on the current predicament. Percy forced the thoughts from his head, looking around with sword in hand at the gathered riders. He boomed out in an angry voice to them all, "I was your king!" There was desperation and disbelief in his voice. Such an act was unspeakable to him, maybe all of this was a dream? No, he knew it wasn't that simple. The riders didn't speak for a good while, one eventually speaking up. His voice was young, Percy could note, and sounded almost guilty of the current happenings, "You were. And The Elder Council wishes to inform you, that you will never be again." He gave a flick of his hand in gesture, and two crossbow bolts flew at the paladin. The first dug itself into his chest, the force of the projectile causing him to stumble back. Then the second one came, and suddenly, the last years of his life wormed their way into Percival's head. Time grew still in that mere second, bringing him to question if this was worth it. All he did, all he wanted to achieve, only caused him to die like this. Percy didn't have the peace of mind to say it was worth it in the slightest. Only regret was on his mind in his last breaths of life. And at that, the second bolt landed, piercing his throat and causing the pretender to collapse onto the road. It was all quiet at that. The forest no longer sung to the Ravenstad as it used to have done, only silence. Somewhere in the distance, only the fluttering of ravens taking off from their nests filled the crisp morning air.

OOC Notes

Yes, this is canon and happened just this morning (Or technically yesterday morning, since it's 12 AM as I'm writing this). For the sake of anyone caring to use Percy's death in RP, here's what any character "can know".

Percy was found dead with two retainers in the Bos de Bris forest in the Hinterlands area, in Northern Brissiaud. His body was on the side of the road with two crossbow bolts in him, one in the chest, on in the throat. His horse and the retainers horse, and both the retainers, were all dead as well from crossbow bolts. Nobody knows the culprit, but Ravenstad history scholars are saying it was likely bandits or highwaymen, and that is what is being assumed to have happened. Percy's body was recovered and buried in Machellon Castle in the Ravenstad Hall of the Dead during the afternoon, and his death was announced that night.

@MonMarty @AntonVoron @Tiber_ @PonyoWantHam @VaguelyBagley @YLMadness @BillyTheScroofy @MantaRey @TyrolleanEagle​
 
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I think this is a wonderfully composed piece of work, Muffins, and a good way to end a long-time character.
 
The news passed along between the Court and eventually it reached the ears of a young lady of nobility. Juliette gave a small gasp of surprise, if only because no one expects a former king to be found dead in the forest. "Who's killed him?" she'd ask her Bloodhound that sat loyally by her feet. The Wodenstaff couldn't help feeling a pang of pity- she'd never really known Percy, of course, though they had spoken on a single, terrible occasion. He'd never crossed her as a bad person. With a sigh, the Ithanian patted the canine's head before standing and moving off to rest. A tragic day, then.​
 
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It was quiet at Beurg Eleng. The golden-orange light from the setting sun kissed the corners of each room, leaving distorted shadows across the floor. A warm breeze moved through the gardens and into the hallways like an invisible tide, warm waves of the Summer air wafting the smell of fresh Geraniums toward the stairway and ballroom. It was as if the whole building stood still whilst the world moved slowly around it, the daylight creeping further toward the walls as if the coming evening was draining the orange glow through the gaps in the floorboards down into the darkness below.

The old Ravenstad sat peacefully with one hand curled around the exquisitely carved oak arms of the chair, the other gripping a wooden brush that she moved slowly through her hair. The silence was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps, first faintly knocking their way through the marble-floored entrance before growing louder and faster as they mounted the stairs. The sound of heavy boots thudding against the wooden floors pierced the silence as they approached the door, halting quickly. The returning silence lasted only a second before four knocks sounded, each softer then the one before it. Before Constance could bid the visitor entry the door had already been pushed open.

The ageing Ravenstad twisted her body ever so slightly to the side to bring the visitor into her peripherals, slowly lowering the hairbrush to her lap. Her brother Leopold offered a brief bow, pausing a moment before opening his lips to speak. "Sister." The man's voice trailed off as he stopped to clear his throat, shifting his weight before attempting his message once more. "Percival is dead." The silence that had consumed the castle before the interruption slowly made its way back, engulfing the moment as the two remained motionless like statues. The old woman offered little in the way of a response aside from a single nod.

She twisted herself back toward the table, staring blankly at the mirror that reflected the decrepit Lady of the Elder Council. "This principle is old, but true as fate..." She paused, offering herself a reserved smile on remembering the words her father once sang with joy as he recited the Leutz nursery rhyme. "Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate." Silence fell once more.

A minute past. "Leo." She said softly, locking eyes with her own reflection in the mirror. "Do not enter my chambers without my permission ever again." Leopold opened his mouth, ready to speak but a raised hand from his sister suggested that it was only his leave she desired. He left the door sitting awkwardly ajar as his footsteps faded back downstairs and out into the courtyard leaving the Ravenstad to her peaceful solitude.

Her fingers fumbled about her lap, fighting off the concentrated ruffles of dress in search of the brush.

Part of her was pleased it was over, part of her was devastated.
 
The court of Lapalaise Plus-rême came to a slow start of the day, servants filling the halls and gardens to clean, prepare and gossip about the latest news they had heard. Two architects next to her as she overlooked the gardens of the royal seat, which needed quite some work after the uprising off the dead, when a group of squabbling servants passed them.

To focussed on her work, the morning passed and slowly made it's way to the afternoon. Teatime.

Redressed, the Ithanian made her way through the halls of the palace to find her companions for tea.
Teatime brought chit-chat and gossip to every corner of the palace. From nobility to servants, from servants to outsiders and back into the expanse of Aloria. Yet one topic was the most important of that day. Percival had died.

Some were glad it had happened, others spoke of it as a loss for the empire and some kept their opinions to themselves; as did Sophia. It wasn't until the day was coming to an end, as her carriage passed one of the many water features of the garden, that she spoke out of his passing.

''He only wished to make things better, he was a good man.''

''Pardon Madame?''
A servant asked, looking at her with his head tilted.

The answer was a mere shake of her head, as she focused her gaze to the garden. Tomorrow the court would have forgotten about this happening and with that, the carriage drove off to the city, the glow of the lights fading as it exited the gardens.

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Father looked to his Son with a rather confused look on his face, as though he had been told something irrelevant, like that the ground was wet due to rain. "Who?" the aged Altalar asked a second time, confusion in his voice. "Percival Ravenstad, father." Father blinked twice, leaning forward as though he had misheard something."Who the f*** is a Percival?" "He was a king, father." The Altalar leaned back, taking it in. "Oh. Well then. Long live the king I suppose." Father gave his son a small portion of cake and sent him off before muttering to himself privately, "The f*** /is/ a Percival..."
 
The door to Kaja and Rodderick's chambers remained shut for the duration of the day and the night. The young woman's gaze hardly left the window she sat beside. Her hands lie empty yet weary against her lap, burdened by nothing more than the strain she dealt upon her own flesh; palms aching and numb from how long she had clenched her hands into fists. Her face, already maimed by other causes, was shrouded with a veil of grim loneliness. Eyes puffy and red, cheeks sweltering with heat and color. Words flooded over her tongue, yet she could not free them. All she could do is stare beyond her window, aimless in her intentions. A pained exhale left her mouth, and soon one of her tired, worked hands lifted to clutch over her heart where Grief stabbed so relentlessly, and soon felt waves of regret fall upon her. What now?

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