The Tower of Lady Adelaide, Vieux-Provence, Hinterlandia, September 13th, 226 AC.
The bells tolled in the center of Vieux-Provence, summoning the citizens of the Raven Capital to worship on the murky late-September morning. To the west of the Hinterlandish chapel, Castle Machellon rested with eerie silence by the coast, the waves sloshing up against the rocky base of Lady Adelaide Tower, the westernmost section of the complex fortress. It wasn't connected to the castle, and was built upon a small island of rocky land a short boat ride from Machellon's shore. The tower came to be known as such after Lady Adelaide Ravenstad; known as "The Virgin Raven", Adelaide's piety was paramount and fabled throughout the dynasty, and stands as a symbol of Unionist fervor in the Hinterlands. The tower's intention used to be a crude lighthouse, the fire at the top would be lit to guide Hinterlandish trade ships into the dangerous Gallow's Bay, which hugged Vieux-Provence's coast. The story went, that the piety of the Virgin Raven would guide good Unionist men safely to harbour, but now, the tower stands as a run-down relic. It was only natural this was the chosen place of prayer for Revain Rodolphe I "The Confessor". Inside the topmost room of the tower, the holiest of Ravenstad rulers was knelt in prayer before the statue of Justinian I, muttering words inaudible, though nobody was there to listen in the Revain's solitude.
His appearance was grizzly and almost monstrous. He'd been in secluded penance for a month now, on his fasting diet of bread and water, what little fat on his body having withered away. The starved and bony man looked thirty years his senior, one would think he was in his sixties, rather than his late thirties. The Confessor's nails were grown to multiple inches long, with dirt caked at their base. His hair was long, matted, and unbrushed, it having faded from ginger to a blend of ash and orange, leaving him to look sickly. His stink of his unwashed self permeated around the cluttered tower room, which was riddled with loose papers, book of religion, and Unionist symbols alike. As his chant-like muttering continued with outstretched arms and shut eyes, a knock rapped on the door of the room with impatience.
With only the courtesy of a knock on the door, the Revain's namesake son entered the room, letting the room breathe for even that short of second, sucking the stench from the tower and rousing the Revain to his feet, a rising made awkward by his weak state of being. Rodolphe shuffled over to his son in his sack cloth robe, going to wrap him into a kind, and smelly, hug, much to the other Rodolphe's displeasure. Allowing his father that short moment, the son pried the Revain from him, his young eyes looking over the yellow, sunken ones of the father. "It's been a month. You must rouse yourself from this seclusion and return to rule, father. The Elder Council has run rampant in your absence, and someone must bring the realm back under cont--." The heir was cut short at that, Rodolphe only smiling and looking around the tower in pious awe, "My son, my son! Do you feel it? The Spirit's embrace, Justinian has touched my soul this morning, I can sense it in my bones, my son." It was as if the Revain didn't even hear, nevertheless acknowledge, the words of his son. The heir slowly followed his father as the Revain shuffled along the floor, his overgrown toenails scratching against the floorboards every so often as the son spoke, "Father. You must listen, everyone is concerned of you. The country needs a lea--." Once again, he was interrupted, the skeleton-like elder man turning around to grasp his son's arms, "I cannot leave. Everwatch calls me, our ancestors call to me and beg my ears to listen. Each moment I am closer to the Spirit, and I cannot abandon him when I am so close to the answer I seek."
Silence overtook the two Ravenstads, only the distant sound of bells, and waves smashing against the rocks so far beneath them, being heard. The son eyed his father, observing him with complete misunderstanding. His thoughts ran wild, "Is he truly mad? Must /I/ act?", it didn't take long for thoughts of sinful treason to manifest themselves, the same words the Elder Council had been whispering to him, urging the young heir to act. He took a final act of hope, speaking more desperately to his father, who had begun wandering about the room, muttering prayers to himself, "You are the first Revain since Charles IV to rule for more than a few short years. We have stability, please, you must not force his family into chaos." The confused father looked to his son with sunken, tired eyes, though seemed strangely alight with life despite it all, "Nonsense! I'm just finding my way to my forties next March. I am in close communion with the Spirit, this dynasty will be the better for it. There is no risk of any instability…" The elder Ravenstad trailed off, having been reminded of his current prayer to the Emperor, and continued on with renewed fervor, reaching down to pick up a book which the son could make out to be a cookbook. "Father. What is that book about?" Revain Rodolphe looked alight with life at that, perking up as he walked quickly to his son, flipping open the book with wild eyes, "Look, look! My son don't you see it? These words, they speak to us. Not a more important book exists in our library, truly…" The heir looked stern, masking his inner feelings of heartbreak. He's gone mad, he must have, the son thought how his father must not even think this is real. Likely some vision, perhaps.
With shaky hands, though dutiful in his purpose, the son moved to his pocket, retrieving a small vial of liquid from the castle alchemist. His throat felt like sandpaper, dry words choking his very being as he tried to get them out, "..Father. Reverend Julius thought this drink might be of use to you in your religious quest." Rodolphe beamed with happiness, moving to his son to wrap his bony fingers around the vial, "Ah! Ah! Perfect, perfect. This will assist us, surely. Justinian's grace is upon us, I can feel it!" The heir could only muster a solemn nod as he watched his father down the whole vial, tears beginning to stream down his cheek slowly. Revain Rodolphe looked to his son with confusion and pride, cupping his cheek in utter ignorance, "My son...No tears. This is a happy day….A happy…" He looked confused then, trailing off as he begun to collapse, the son catching him as the pair lowered to the floor. The heir cradled his withered father as the life began to leave him, the crazed eyes of Rodolphe the Confessor flickering around wildly every moment with confusion as he spoke quietly, "I-I feel it...Everwatch, holy communion...It must be upon me, yes? Yes?" The son could only nod, tears dripping onto his father's forehead as he rocked the elder Revain back and forth.
The deed was done soon enough, and the father was dead. As the son Rodolphe left the room and shut the door behind him, he was shaking in disbelief, wondering if what just happened was real. He felt a hand on his shoulder after, causing him to turn around with sudden defensiveness, before only seeing his uncle, Reverend Julius, his father's brother. The Reverend hushed Rodolphe, shaking his head, "Speak not of it, nephew. It had to be done, and the Elder Council is thankful for it...Did he expect it? Was there trouble?" Rodolphe shook his head, glancing down in confusion as his voice evoked disbelief, desperate to try and understand his father's mind, "I...I don't think he expected to ever die, He. Though he would live on, reborn as a raven in communion with the Emperors of old." The Reverend thought awhile in silence, beckoning Rodolphe to walk with him, "He starved to death in his penance. We came here to check on him, and he was dead already. Do you understand?" As the paid exited the tower, the now-Rodolphe II nodded his head, glancing across the bay to Machellon Castle as he eyes grew dry once more.
The Tower of Lady Adelaide, Vieux-Provence, Hinterlandia, September 13th, 226 AC.
The bells tolled in the center of Vieux-Provence, summoning the citizens of the Raven Capital to worship on the murky late-September morning. To the west of the Hinterlandish chapel, Castle Machellon rested with eerie silence by the coast, the waves sloshing up against the rocky base of Lady Adelaide Tower, the westernmost section of the complex fortress. It wasn't connected to the castle, and was built upon a small island of rocky land a short boat ride from Machellon's shore. The tower came to be known as such after Lady Adelaide Ravenstad; known as "The Virgin Raven", Adelaide's piety was paramount and fabled throughout the dynasty, and stands as a symbol of Unionist fervor in the Hinterlands. The tower's intention used to be a crude lighthouse, the fire at the top would be lit to guide Hinterlandish trade ships into the dangerous Gallow's Bay, which hugged Vieux-Provence's coast. The story went, that the piety of the Virgin Raven would guide good Unionist men safely to harbour, but now, the tower stands as a run-down relic. It was only natural this was the chosen place of prayer for Revain Rodolphe I "The Confessor". Inside the topmost room of the tower, the holiest of Ravenstad rulers was knelt in prayer before the statue of Justinian I, muttering words inaudible, though nobody was there to listen in the Revain's solitude.
His appearance was grizzly and almost monstrous. He'd been in secluded penance for a month now, on his fasting diet of bread and water, what little fat on his body having withered away. The starved and bony man looked thirty years his senior, one would think he was in his sixties, rather than his late thirties. The Confessor's nails were grown to multiple inches long, with dirt caked at their base. His hair was long, matted, and unbrushed, it having faded from ginger to a blend of ash and orange, leaving him to look sickly. His stink of his unwashed self permeated around the cluttered tower room, which was riddled with loose papers, book of religion, and Unionist symbols alike. As his chant-like muttering continued with outstretched arms and shut eyes, a knock rapped on the door of the room with impatience.
With only the courtesy of a knock on the door, the Revain's namesake son entered the room, letting the room breathe for even that short of second, sucking the stench from the tower and rousing the Revain to his feet, a rising made awkward by his weak state of being. Rodolphe shuffled over to his son in his sack cloth robe, going to wrap him into a kind, and smelly, hug, much to the other Rodolphe's displeasure. Allowing his father that short moment, the son pried the Revain from him, his young eyes looking over the yellow, sunken ones of the father. "It's been a month. You must rouse yourself from this seclusion and return to rule, father. The Elder Council has run rampant in your absence, and someone must bring the realm back under cont--." The heir was cut short at that, Rodolphe only smiling and looking around the tower in pious awe, "My son, my son! Do you feel it? The Spirit's embrace, Justinian has touched my soul this morning, I can sense it in my bones, my son." It was as if the Revain didn't even hear, nevertheless acknowledge, the words of his son. The heir slowly followed his father as the Revain shuffled along the floor, his overgrown toenails scratching against the floorboards every so often as the son spoke, "Father. You must listen, everyone is concerned of you. The country needs a lea--." Once again, he was interrupted, the skeleton-like elder man turning around to grasp his son's arms, "I cannot leave. Everwatch calls me, our ancestors call to me and beg my ears to listen. Each moment I am closer to the Spirit, and I cannot abandon him when I am so close to the answer I seek."
Silence overtook the two Ravenstads, only the distant sound of bells, and waves smashing against the rocks so far beneath them, being heard. The son eyed his father, observing him with complete misunderstanding. His thoughts ran wild, "Is he truly mad? Must /I/ act?", it didn't take long for thoughts of sinful treason to manifest themselves, the same words the Elder Council had been whispering to him, urging the young heir to act. He took a final act of hope, speaking more desperately to his father, who had begun wandering about the room, muttering prayers to himself, "You are the first Revain since Charles IV to rule for more than a few short years. We have stability, please, you must not force his family into chaos." The confused father looked to his son with sunken, tired eyes, though seemed strangely alight with life despite it all, "Nonsense! I'm just finding my way to my forties next March. I am in close communion with the Spirit, this dynasty will be the better for it. There is no risk of any instability…" The elder Ravenstad trailed off, having been reminded of his current prayer to the Emperor, and continued on with renewed fervor, reaching down to pick up a book which the son could make out to be a cookbook. "Father. What is that book about?" Revain Rodolphe looked alight with life at that, perking up as he walked quickly to his son, flipping open the book with wild eyes, "Look, look! My son don't you see it? These words, they speak to us. Not a more important book exists in our library, truly…" The heir looked stern, masking his inner feelings of heartbreak. He's gone mad, he must have, the son thought how his father must not even think this is real. Likely some vision, perhaps.
With shaky hands, though dutiful in his purpose, the son moved to his pocket, retrieving a small vial of liquid from the castle alchemist. His throat felt like sandpaper, dry words choking his very being as he tried to get them out, "..Father. Reverend Julius thought this drink might be of use to you in your religious quest." Rodolphe beamed with happiness, moving to his son to wrap his bony fingers around the vial, "Ah! Ah! Perfect, perfect. This will assist us, surely. Justinian's grace is upon us, I can feel it!" The heir could only muster a solemn nod as he watched his father down the whole vial, tears beginning to stream down his cheek slowly. Revain Rodolphe looked to his son with confusion and pride, cupping his cheek in utter ignorance, "My son...No tears. This is a happy day….A happy…" He looked confused then, trailing off as he begun to collapse, the son catching him as the pair lowered to the floor. The heir cradled his withered father as the life began to leave him, the crazed eyes of Rodolphe the Confessor flickering around wildly every moment with confusion as he spoke quietly, "I-I feel it...Everwatch, holy communion...It must be upon me, yes? Yes?" The son could only nod, tears dripping onto his father's forehead as he rocked the elder Revain back and forth.
The deed was done soon enough, and the father was dead. As the son Rodolphe left the room and shut the door behind him, he was shaking in disbelief, wondering if what just happened was real. He felt a hand on his shoulder after, causing him to turn around with sudden defensiveness, before only seeing his uncle, Reverend Julius, his father's brother. The Reverend hushed Rodolphe, shaking his head, "Speak not of it, nephew. It had to be done, and the Elder Council is thankful for it...Did he expect it? Was there trouble?" Rodolphe shook his head, glancing down in confusion as his voice evoked disbelief, desperate to try and understand his father's mind, "I...I don't think he expected to ever die, He. Though he would live on, reborn as a raven in communion with the Emperors of old." The Reverend thought awhile in silence, beckoning Rodolphe to walk with him, "He starved to death in his penance. We came here to check on him, and he was dead already. Do you understand?" As the paid exited the tower, the now-Rodolphe II nodded his head, glancing across the bay to Machellon Castle as he eyes grew dry once more.
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