This happened during the Season Two of Treason Noble Progression, and was never posted due to my exodus. I decided to post it now to not waste the time put into it, whether it was a good read or not. Enjoy.
(The Progression): https://forums.massivecraft.com/threads/season-two-of-treason.74819/
Darkness, a complete abyss of all feeling. No sound, no sight, no touch, no taste, and no smell. An abyss of nothing, would be all Harric van der Veer could feel. For how long he was in this abyss would be unknown, but the first thing to bring him out of the Void would be the itching of grass at his hands and neck. Seems he's on the ground. More feeling begins to come back, a warm spring breeze, and the feeling of armor upon him and a sword in hand. Where am I. He would think. Trying to open his eyes, a sharp pain would come from his right eye, unable to open it. One by one more spots of this sharp pain would return, dulling down bit by bit. His eye that did not refuse to open, would see him upon the ground, bloodied, with arrows within him. Something would be sticking into his right eye as well, perhaps another arrow, yet at an odd angle, almost as if the arrow grazed the side of his nose, and followed the path to his eye, so the end of the arrow would be within the direct view of his good eye. The next feeling to return, would be smell. The smell of blood, battle, and war, one he was all too familiar with. A familiar smell, much more delicate and vague than the smell of battle, would come to him, of fields, forests and farms. Right, I'm in the Veer again, he would think to himself. Bit by bit his memory would come back to him, of spending his chest of gold upon an army, and sending it forth against the man he recently called Lord, and the statement with it. The fucker, he promised me territory in Essalonia, yet completely ignores me like swine! He thinks to himself. He moves his head to the side, seeing his fellow soldier, one of the few retainers to make the voyage to Essalonia with him, dead with an arrow in his throat. He likely suffocated, unable to breath and choking on his own blood, what a way to go.
His hearing would return next, to the sound of footsteps, and many of them. As he looked to where the sound came from, familiar faces would appear. The first to appear would be young Virraed van der Veer, or Viresh as he has taken to name, and his palest, Arien Pavise. The young van der Veer would rush to his cousin's side, or at least try to before his palest held him back. Next to them would be dozens of soldiers of House Tyrannian, at the head, the Baron himself. Harric would rest his head down, keeping his one good eye at contact with the Baron. "Did we win?" Harric would ask. "The battle is over. The Veer is secure," Gallus replied, giving the man some well needed good news.
As the two men spoke, Dr. Wade Asterik would appear from behind Harric, likely from another area of the field. Kneeling down next to Harric he would tsk silently, uttering a "shit" as he went to work away from Harric's eye, taking out the arrows and debris within him, patching him up. He looks to Gallus, and those gathered around the man, the numbers growing to over a hundred, soldiers of Tyrannian, retainers of van der Veer, and the few family members who are not in exile in Essalonia or Ithania. Harric would look to Virraed. "Viresh.... Take over the House for me.. Live on, and learn from my mistakes…" he would utter quietly, just enough for those around to hear, more of a mutter or whisper than anything. The young man would begin to tear up, his eyes watering, dripping down onto his cheeks. "No… H-Harric… y-you'll be f-fine," the young man says, looking to his palest for confirmation, that never came. "Viresh.." Arien would say, taking the arm of Virraed gently, trying to tug him away. "N-no… H-Harric!" he would almost sob, looking to his elder cousin in fear, shock, and sadness, though his palest would stop her attempt, letting him mourn.
Resting his head down again, as Doctor Wade Asterik and the other medics from Tyrannian came over to work on the once Count, he would begin to think. Virraed will make a good patriarch, perhaps he'll keep us out of war unlike Aeoraed and I, he thinks, smirking to himself lightly. Aeoraed, a controversial topic of our House. The man accused of raping two women, note, accused, as his title became afterwards. He would remember his time within the Holy City as he first arrived, battling nearly the whole city who wanted to see his family dead from the crimes of his cousin. Oh how that angered him. His wife, daughter, brother and cousins were assaulted by members of the peerage, and agents from Rote and Peirgarten, the cruelty! He would remember when his brother came home from a kidnapping with a broken arm and leg. He would remember when his cousin was beaten in the streets and left to rot. He remembered when he heard of Aeoread being tortured until every bone in his body was broken. Most of all, he remembered when his wife was kidnapped, and forced to speak lies, breaking the Longsaean Code, about Aeoraed. The Mourning Month, the time of troubles for his family, and he couldn't protect them. One by one, as they were attacked, soon they were silenced. First his cousin, Alora, was murdered in the city. Second, his aunt, killed in the Veer by an assassin, the mother of Aeoraed. One by one those he called family were slain, Alora, Christine, Aeoraed, Rosaline, Klaus, Brandon, so many names he couldn't even count, slaughtered one by one. As he pondered his lack of control, and lack of ability to protect those he cared for, he would think of his wife. Marina, the love of his life, and his daughter, Elle. They were on a journey home when they were ambushed, killed, with his unborn child. How he missed her, I wonder what she is now, he would think. The final death, his friend, comrade, ally, and what he considered a brother, Jason, killed by his own curse, as Harric stood by unable to do anything to help. What have I done in my life? He would think, with so much loss and no gain. The war in the colonies, the traitorous politics that led to the death of those he called comrade, and for what. Was this, the end of my legacy, to be another one of those stoppable slaughters? To be the man who helped defend many, but could not defend his own? To be the one who failed his family? His wife? His children? He thought. Time could tell, in the end, yet he only hoped that what he had done for his family, or rather, those who remained, had been for the better. A tear would come to his eye as he mourned the loss of all. The loss of friends, the loss of family, and the loss of life, caused by the decisions of his peers, and his own.
He would be brought back to reality with a sharp pain, as the arrow within his eye was taken out, likely the procedure to do so done while he was in his trance. How long was he out? A minute? An hour? He couldn't tell, but the circle of soldiers still remained around him. Gallus peered down at Harric, his usually emotionless face revealing a slight pang of regret in his eyes, and in his posture. He looked around, then back down at Harric. "For Spirit's sake, he's dying. Pull yourselves together and help him." Harric would look around at the faces surrounding him, likely to be the last he would ever see. The last face he would look to, the man he called friend, role model, and hero. He would close his good eye, bowing his head as good as he could in respect to Gallus. "May your blade be Stronger than Iron, Gallus, and may you Bleach the Banners of all who oppose the Veer," Harric would say to Gallus. Gallus leaned down, putting his hand on Harric's shoulder and looking straight into his eyes. Gallus's steel gaze penetrated deep, and his words even deeper. "I will not bleach them, my friend. I will burn them." Harric would give a soft smile as his eyes closed, being put on a makeshift gurney, and taken away by medics. His fate? Who knows, yet it would not be a pretty one. But in the end, the story of Harric, the Stallion of the Veer, and of his House, would be remembered. How? Only time can tell, perhaps as the House who aided in the defeat of Rote, who squashed the plans of Peirgarten, and put all matters aside to stay true to their identity and help their fellow Veermen and Veerwomen, protecting the weak; or perhaps as the swine who got in the way of the powerful, and was stomped on like a bug because of it. But, this day, the day of armies clashing, of men dying, of history, would be remembered, as the day of the Stallion, and the Hound.
((People who had characters participate that I remember:
@CorrosGaming @Aespair @Cipherition (Dr Wade Asterik I do not remember sadly.
Alright, time to return to my abode. Peace.))
(The Progression): https://forums.massivecraft.com/threads/season-two-of-treason.74819/
Darkness, a complete abyss of all feeling. No sound, no sight, no touch, no taste, and no smell. An abyss of nothing, would be all Harric van der Veer could feel. For how long he was in this abyss would be unknown, but the first thing to bring him out of the Void would be the itching of grass at his hands and neck. Seems he's on the ground. More feeling begins to come back, a warm spring breeze, and the feeling of armor upon him and a sword in hand. Where am I. He would think. Trying to open his eyes, a sharp pain would come from his right eye, unable to open it. One by one more spots of this sharp pain would return, dulling down bit by bit. His eye that did not refuse to open, would see him upon the ground, bloodied, with arrows within him. Something would be sticking into his right eye as well, perhaps another arrow, yet at an odd angle, almost as if the arrow grazed the side of his nose, and followed the path to his eye, so the end of the arrow would be within the direct view of his good eye. The next feeling to return, would be smell. The smell of blood, battle, and war, one he was all too familiar with. A familiar smell, much more delicate and vague than the smell of battle, would come to him, of fields, forests and farms. Right, I'm in the Veer again, he would think to himself. Bit by bit his memory would come back to him, of spending his chest of gold upon an army, and sending it forth against the man he recently called Lord, and the statement with it. The fucker, he promised me territory in Essalonia, yet completely ignores me like swine! He thinks to himself. He moves his head to the side, seeing his fellow soldier, one of the few retainers to make the voyage to Essalonia with him, dead with an arrow in his throat. He likely suffocated, unable to breath and choking on his own blood, what a way to go.
His hearing would return next, to the sound of footsteps, and many of them. As he looked to where the sound came from, familiar faces would appear. The first to appear would be young Virraed van der Veer, or Viresh as he has taken to name, and his palest, Arien Pavise. The young van der Veer would rush to his cousin's side, or at least try to before his palest held him back. Next to them would be dozens of soldiers of House Tyrannian, at the head, the Baron himself. Harric would rest his head down, keeping his one good eye at contact with the Baron. "Did we win?" Harric would ask. "The battle is over. The Veer is secure," Gallus replied, giving the man some well needed good news.
As the two men spoke, Dr. Wade Asterik would appear from behind Harric, likely from another area of the field. Kneeling down next to Harric he would tsk silently, uttering a "shit" as he went to work away from Harric's eye, taking out the arrows and debris within him, patching him up. He looks to Gallus, and those gathered around the man, the numbers growing to over a hundred, soldiers of Tyrannian, retainers of van der Veer, and the few family members who are not in exile in Essalonia or Ithania. Harric would look to Virraed. "Viresh.... Take over the House for me.. Live on, and learn from my mistakes…" he would utter quietly, just enough for those around to hear, more of a mutter or whisper than anything. The young man would begin to tear up, his eyes watering, dripping down onto his cheeks. "No… H-Harric… y-you'll be f-fine," the young man says, looking to his palest for confirmation, that never came. "Viresh.." Arien would say, taking the arm of Virraed gently, trying to tug him away. "N-no… H-Harric!" he would almost sob, looking to his elder cousin in fear, shock, and sadness, though his palest would stop her attempt, letting him mourn.
Resting his head down again, as Doctor Wade Asterik and the other medics from Tyrannian came over to work on the once Count, he would begin to think. Virraed will make a good patriarch, perhaps he'll keep us out of war unlike Aeoraed and I, he thinks, smirking to himself lightly. Aeoraed, a controversial topic of our House. The man accused of raping two women, note, accused, as his title became afterwards. He would remember his time within the Holy City as he first arrived, battling nearly the whole city who wanted to see his family dead from the crimes of his cousin. Oh how that angered him. His wife, daughter, brother and cousins were assaulted by members of the peerage, and agents from Rote and Peirgarten, the cruelty! He would remember when his brother came home from a kidnapping with a broken arm and leg. He would remember when his cousin was beaten in the streets and left to rot. He remembered when he heard of Aeoread being tortured until every bone in his body was broken. Most of all, he remembered when his wife was kidnapped, and forced to speak lies, breaking the Longsaean Code, about Aeoraed. The Mourning Month, the time of troubles for his family, and he couldn't protect them. One by one, as they were attacked, soon they were silenced. First his cousin, Alora, was murdered in the city. Second, his aunt, killed in the Veer by an assassin, the mother of Aeoraed. One by one those he called family were slain, Alora, Christine, Aeoraed, Rosaline, Klaus, Brandon, so many names he couldn't even count, slaughtered one by one. As he pondered his lack of control, and lack of ability to protect those he cared for, he would think of his wife. Marina, the love of his life, and his daughter, Elle. They were on a journey home when they were ambushed, killed, with his unborn child. How he missed her, I wonder what she is now, he would think. The final death, his friend, comrade, ally, and what he considered a brother, Jason, killed by his own curse, as Harric stood by unable to do anything to help. What have I done in my life? He would think, with so much loss and no gain. The war in the colonies, the traitorous politics that led to the death of those he called comrade, and for what. Was this, the end of my legacy, to be another one of those stoppable slaughters? To be the man who helped defend many, but could not defend his own? To be the one who failed his family? His wife? His children? He thought. Time could tell, in the end, yet he only hoped that what he had done for his family, or rather, those who remained, had been for the better. A tear would come to his eye as he mourned the loss of all. The loss of friends, the loss of family, and the loss of life, caused by the decisions of his peers, and his own.
He would be brought back to reality with a sharp pain, as the arrow within his eye was taken out, likely the procedure to do so done while he was in his trance. How long was he out? A minute? An hour? He couldn't tell, but the circle of soldiers still remained around him. Gallus peered down at Harric, his usually emotionless face revealing a slight pang of regret in his eyes, and in his posture. He looked around, then back down at Harric. "For Spirit's sake, he's dying. Pull yourselves together and help him." Harric would look around at the faces surrounding him, likely to be the last he would ever see. The last face he would look to, the man he called friend, role model, and hero. He would close his good eye, bowing his head as good as he could in respect to Gallus. "May your blade be Stronger than Iron, Gallus, and may you Bleach the Banners of all who oppose the Veer," Harric would say to Gallus. Gallus leaned down, putting his hand on Harric's shoulder and looking straight into his eyes. Gallus's steel gaze penetrated deep, and his words even deeper. "I will not bleach them, my friend. I will burn them." Harric would give a soft smile as his eyes closed, being put on a makeshift gurney, and taken away by medics. His fate? Who knows, yet it would not be a pretty one. But in the end, the story of Harric, the Stallion of the Veer, and of his House, would be remembered. How? Only time can tell, perhaps as the House who aided in the defeat of Rote, who squashed the plans of Peirgarten, and put all matters aside to stay true to their identity and help their fellow Veermen and Veerwomen, protecting the weak; or perhaps as the swine who got in the way of the powerful, and was stomped on like a bug because of it. But, this day, the day of armies clashing, of men dying, of history, would be remembered, as the day of the Stallion, and the Hound.
((People who had characters participate that I remember:
@CorrosGaming @Aespair @Cipherition (Dr Wade Asterik I do not remember sadly.
Alright, time to return to my abode. Peace.))
