@DimitriKurkov

2 weeks ago

As he faced down the Bloody Baron, Gregory, son of a lowly woodcutter, roared with all of his grief and rage as he plunged his blade down, ending the disgusting cries for mercy and forgiveness the monster was squealing. For a long time after, the only sound that could be heard from the Charnel Mansion, the Baron's former keep, was the laborious breaths of a dying man. Gregory, adorned in a tattered suit of armour, once gleamed so brightly as he first laid eyes on it and once stained with the blood of it's previous owner, the Baron's head Guard before he put it on himself, crumbled to his knees as the strength and spite that drove him forward all this time finally petered out. He lost count of the many cuts and bruises all over his body. By the holy Trees, he even lost count of how many arrows were sticking out of him. The magic imbued in the amour, the miraculous healing that enabled him to persevered through all the torments, winked out as it too failed to keep up with all he had endured. One man, with nothing left to loose, against the monster in human skins that took everything away from him and everyone he had ever loved. A shame a tale like that will most likely dies with him. "Not of such, o courageous warrior." The voice fluttered through his mind like the soft wind that grazes the meadow, bringing with it the smell of freshly cut wood and tree sap. The voice reminded him of a time so long ago, a happier time, a simpler time. Even then, he could only managed the strength to lift his head towards the sound of the voice, and see a small child standing by the doorway of the Throne room he was in, even if "child" was the right word to describe something cloaked by the stary night sky and bored the twin moonlights in its gaze. "Rare indeed to find one such as thee. Able to bare mine gaze with not succumbing to madness." The "child" tilted its head in curiosity, which finally pulled a chuckle out of his dried and hoarse throat. "What more can madness takes from me that grieve and wrath had not already?" He hoarsed out, barely able to keep his words from being mushed by the blood slowly filling his mouth. "One tends to forget how limited the mind of mortals is. Though, one supposes thee cannot truly know what thee holds dear until it is no more, no?" The being before him mused as it moved closer to him, laying a strangely comforting hand on his scarred cheek. In that moment, Gregory can see in it's eyes the soft glow of the twin moons, just like how he remembered gazing at them in his childhood laying in the freshly grazed meadow. "Has the night finally come for me then?" He finally muttered, his eyes watering, not from the fear of the end, but from the closeness of his release. The being before him chuckled in amusement at his eagerness. "It is clear, no? Mortals tends to not thrive with arrows and sword litters their body." It's gaze softened ever so likely, though Gregory was not certain how he knew. "A rest is long overdue, Gregory. Justice has been delivered and the toll of Rage has been paid in full. It is time." He slowly close his eyes, the weights of guilt and sorrows hounding him all this time slowly slipped out and for the first time since the moment he first witnessed the Baron butchering his village more than fifty years ago, Gregory, son of a lowly woodcutter, sole survivor of the Massacre of Verdant Vale, slayer of Calvin the fallen Solaris Paladin, liberator of the Mordian's mining slaves, protector of the Everfall forest, defender of the Holy Order of the Eternal Night, friend of High King Elerion and now, slayer of the Bloody Baron Gustavo Belinkov, finally feel peace. The Being, hands still holding his cheek, gathered the unshed tears in his eyes, mixing its own in and spread it across the night sky. "MAY YOUR DEEDS NEVER BE FORGOTTEN. MAY YOUR BRAVERY NEVER FADE. MAY YOUR LEGACY LIVES ON." That night, a new constellation was born. 72 stars, 72 great deeds that Gregory achieved, blazed in the night sky forevermore. The Pope of the Solaris Church paused in his sermon and sighed. The freed slaves of Mordia paused in building their Village to mourn the lost of their Hero. The forest of Everfall shed their leaves for Winter for the only time in their existence. The Holy Order of the Eternal Nigh, no matter station, halted their task and saluted the Defender one last time. High King Elerion grieved his friend in solitude amongst his now liberated Kingdom. That night, the world grieved.

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