THE DEATH OF LORD ARTIRIUS PENDRAGON
As told by Kiilii Zaltana
It had been a pleasant afternoon—the weather had been kind, with a slight cool breeze; the birds were chirping; and Kiilii had learned how to make gold rings with the few ingots she had made. There had been a few clouds in the distance, but there was no need for concern. It hadn’t rained for a few weeks.
Putting her tools back into her depot, she dusted off her hands and began walking to the tavern, in her usual slow, unhurried pace. She thought of Searavae, wondering when she’d next meet her to trade for a few handles she needed. Her mind next drifted to Aurica and what they might talk about when they met. It had been a long time, after all… As she neared the bridge spanning the river running through the middle of town, her thoughts quickly flashed to the lord Artirius Pendragon, and the battle from the other day with the stone golems outside Eliza’s shop. She gave an involuntary shudder at this; large battles always seemed to turn her legs to jelly, freezing her to the spot, unable to help. Not like her daggers would do much against the monsters, anyway. Almost as though reading her thoughts, what looked like a wisp of smoke floated by, curiously in the shape of Artirius. She wondered if he was okay, as the expression on the face of the quasi-lord was one of anguish.
As she entered the tavern, she was greeted by both Thomas Greenbottom, a halfling merchant, and his friend (one who she had heard called “Merri” once). She gave her usual slight bow and smile.
“What happened to Lord Artirius... ?” Merri shrugged. “I saw his... spirit... float by. Did you three get into a fight or something?” Kiilii smirked at this thought, as nearly nobody was a match for the warrior as far as single combat went.
Shrugging again, Merri replied “I heard there were some rock golems again, at the south gate...”
Kiilii gave another shudder. The unearthly screams of these would-be demons always made her blood run cold. Nodding to the two, she tactfully made her way to the roof of the tavern, as it was the best way to keep an eye out for any approaching trouble without getting in its way. It wasn’t long before she heard familiar voices downstairs, those of Artirius and of his attendant and fellow warrior, Ogerawa.
Heading back into the stairwell, a frightening sight met her eyes. Ogerawa was half-leading, half-carrying a bloody, bruised, dirty Artirius toward the fireplace.
“Are you okay, m’lord?” she inquired, quite concerned for her friend.
His answer was preceded by a coughing fit, in which a bit of blood came up as well. “Aye... I will... will be fine...”
“Are you sure? You don't look so good.” He was having a hard time even breathing, and Ogerawa was tired and injured as well.
Turning to Kiilii, Ogerawa asked if she could take care of him for a bit. Nodding, she helped him remove his armor piece by piece, careful not to cause him any more pain than she could. As she wiped some of the blood from his mouth and chin, he looked down to a deep wound in his side, seemingly caused by a spear or something of the like. Noting his face scrunched in pain, she tried to be a little humorous about the whole situation.
“Those halflings can be great fighters, no?”
Artirius could only shake his head, wincing and groaning as he did so. “It was… skeletons…” He grunted slightly as another of the fighting party, a certain Kalaq Bladefall, helped her get the injured lord to his feet, and out the door.
Kiilii paled a bit. “Skeletons?” By this time, they had made it outside to the stream running peacefully next to the tavern, near the outside tables. Artirius managed to splash some water on his clothing and skin, watching the cleansing of the old blood negated by the flowing of new.
Turning to Kalaq, Artirius moaned, “Kalaq... get a dagger... and start a fire...put the dagger in the fire and bring it to me when it is nice and warm.”
Kalaq shook his head, and replied, “Come, we must get you to the hospital... your wounds.”
Artirius held up a hand to interrupt, stating weakly, “I won't make it to the hospital... too long of a walk. This water helps… a needle and thread also, please.”
Nodding slightly, Kalaq went back into the building to fetch the things Artirius had requested. He lay on the bank, most of his body in the water except the large puncture on his side. He hissed in pain as the blood poured into the water. As he coughed, more blood came from his mouth. His head seemed to be drooping a little. Kiilii approached slowly, unsure if she could do anything to help as he looked up at her, fear showing in his eyes for the first time since anyone on this isle has known him. Kiilii paled even further at the sight of a seemingly invincible warrior in such fear.
Speaking softly, Artirius turned to Kiilii. “It seems like... this may be the end... for this old man...” He continued to cough more blood and even wheeze a little as well.
Ogerawa was preparing a fire nearby as Kiilii spoke softly. “Don't say that, m'lord...”
He shook his head again. “Everyone must... move on... I must be.... about dry.... by now...” Kiilii continued to cleanse the blood from him as best she could, as Kalaq made the suggestion of carrying him to the hospital. Once again, Artirius refused. “No, don't move me. If I die, I want it to be outside, not in some bed.” Kiilii found her face wet with tears at the outright mention of death, and tried unsuccessfully to hide them.
“Everything will be alright, m'lord...” she whispered, afraid that her very word might carry him away. He coughed more blood into the water, looking up and staring into the sky. Kiilii Zaltana's voice was breaking. “You'll see. You'll pull out of this.”
He tried to speak again. “Tell them... arrowhead... anything...” Kiilii turned and screamed at the top of her lungs for them to hurry. Coughing again, he reached up and wiped a single tear from her eye. She feebly attempted a smile. “Do not worry for me,” he spoke, taking a single branch from the nearby fire, “but go inside. Now.” She shook her head, refusing. Whispering furiously, he demanded, “Inside. Now. And close the door. Do it!”
Kalaq returned with the needle and thread in time to guide a shaking Kiilii to the door of the tavern, closing it behind her as he turned back to his leader. Kiilii dashed to the window as she saw Kalaq hold out a piece of leather, and Artirius take it in his teeth. Pressing the red-hot branch to the wound, he let forth a scream so loud that Kiilii fainted, falling to the floor with a thud just beneath the window.
The Death of Lord Artirius Pendragon
Moderator: Gamemasters
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Kiilii Zaltana
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Mar 01, 2007 7:31 am
- Location: Halfway between the gutter and the stars
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Kiilii Zaltana
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Mar 01, 2007 7:31 am
- Location: Halfway between the gutter and the stars
Coming to her senses, she found herself seated at the bar, another elfess (one she knew to be Kaila) and Oger looking at her concernedly. Finding her face wet with tears, she suddenly remembered. “Is… is he alright?”
A voice spoke to her from a short distance away, near the fireplace. “I am fine, for now.” Helping her to her feet, Oger guided her to a large, soft chair next to the now-bandaged Artirius. Looking over to them, he smiled softly. “Oger, if I ever do that again… just kill me.” In a fit of rage and relief, Kiilii assured him that she would do it herself.
Artirius shifted slightly in his seat, hissing in pain. He then gazed into the fire, as though reading something in the burning embers. Softly, Kiilii spoke. “M’lord, I have never seen you in such a state.”
He shook his head, still staring into the fire. “I have never been so close to death... I saw the portal opening before my eyes for the trip.” Kiilii looked down at the floor, unsure of what to say as he continued. “I know what to expect but... never so close... not myself…” He looked to his sword, now clean. “Is that what all those men...” His voice trailed off as he gazed into the fire once more.
Suddenly, as though with a new-found strength, he stood, casting away his armor and weapons. Kiilii looked up in confusion, both at the metal objects making a good deal of noise on the stone floor and the resolute expression Arti now wore. “No more… never.” He then turned to the door, and limped out of it as every eye in the room watched him leave. Kiilii arose and followed at a slow pace, keeping her distance from Artirius, but an eye on him all the same.
He walked out to the bridge, holding the only piece of armor he kept, and sat down. He stared into the empty shell of the helmet, speaking quietly, as though to a spirit. Kiilii gave a small flinch when he flung it downward into the muddy water near the edge of the stream. He stood, walking northward towards the depot, leaving the helm behind.
As he disappeared around the corner, Kiilii bent down and picked up the abandoned helmet, cleaning a bit of blood from it that still clung to its visor. Could it possibly be true? Had the finest warrior in the city (in her eyes, anyway) given up his life of fighting?
She turned it over in her hands, looking at every dent, every burn, every scrape that it had, as all battle armor has. Every one had been an attempt at ending his life, ending the Pendragon legacy, one spanning three hundred years. Every scar upon the helmet was a mark of honor, more so than the tastefully ornate engraving around the edges. For nobility, though many are born into it, is truly earned in the defense of one’s people, in protecting the lives of those they mean to rule. Leadership and respect are not easily given; they are earned.
Kiilii did not notice Kalaq’s approach until he finally spoke to her. “Is he alright?” Kiilii shook her head in uncertainty, as Artirius now reappeared in old, worn work clothing, looking more like a commoner than the nobleman he was, a faraway look in his eye. Still walking painfully, but with new purpose, he went past them and into the tavern once more.
Stopping at the door, Kiilii looked on as he addressed the patrons, with more authority in his voice than ever before. “Be it known now—I have given up the life of battle. No more blood shall be spilled by these hands.” Despite the people’s reactions of shock and bewilderment, he continued, looking resolved on the matter, his eyes showing a new deeper side to them, as though he has had an awakening. “I have walked the path of death... only to return again. I cannot bring that upon another living person. Ever again.”
He walked over to Oger, pulling him aside. The two began to talk in low voices, and the other patrons decided it was best for them to go in peace. Kiilii remained at the door, watching as Artirius handed over every last weapon, shield, and armor that he owned. She glanced down to the helmet in her hand, then back up as Artirius left the room, still limping, still guarding his side.
Only Oger was left as she finally walked in. “What happened out there on the battlefield today?” she asked as Oger began gathering up the things his commander had left on the counter.
"Well, we were having fun with the skeletons in the forest, but the last one triggered a trap, and I guess there were too many for us to handle.” Kiilii shook her head, looking to the floor as he went on. “Taliss was surrounded by several skeletons and he was knocked out not long after that, even though he tried to escape. Arti was hit somewhat hard. He wasn't doing anything while the skeletons kept on hitting him until he was knocked out also.”
Their gaze shifted as an elf ran up to the door, his breath heavy and labored. “Please help… are you two good at fighting?” As Kiilii shook her head, Oger glanced over to the other doorway as Artirius walked in.
At that moment, an unearthly scream came from behind the elf. Running inside, he was followed by the largest stone golem that any of them had ever seen. As is started destroying the tavern, Kiilii made a dash for the door as Oger drew his sword and tossed an axe to Artirius. “Academy, now!” yelled Artirius.
Kiilii didn’t even see the table flying through the air, nor when it hit her and knocked her unconscious.
A voice spoke to her from a short distance away, near the fireplace. “I am fine, for now.” Helping her to her feet, Oger guided her to a large, soft chair next to the now-bandaged Artirius. Looking over to them, he smiled softly. “Oger, if I ever do that again… just kill me.” In a fit of rage and relief, Kiilii assured him that she would do it herself.
Artirius shifted slightly in his seat, hissing in pain. He then gazed into the fire, as though reading something in the burning embers. Softly, Kiilii spoke. “M’lord, I have never seen you in such a state.”
He shook his head, still staring into the fire. “I have never been so close to death... I saw the portal opening before my eyes for the trip.” Kiilii looked down at the floor, unsure of what to say as he continued. “I know what to expect but... never so close... not myself…” He looked to his sword, now clean. “Is that what all those men...” His voice trailed off as he gazed into the fire once more.
Suddenly, as though with a new-found strength, he stood, casting away his armor and weapons. Kiilii looked up in confusion, both at the metal objects making a good deal of noise on the stone floor and the resolute expression Arti now wore. “No more… never.” He then turned to the door, and limped out of it as every eye in the room watched him leave. Kiilii arose and followed at a slow pace, keeping her distance from Artirius, but an eye on him all the same.
He walked out to the bridge, holding the only piece of armor he kept, and sat down. He stared into the empty shell of the helmet, speaking quietly, as though to a spirit. Kiilii gave a small flinch when he flung it downward into the muddy water near the edge of the stream. He stood, walking northward towards the depot, leaving the helm behind.
As he disappeared around the corner, Kiilii bent down and picked up the abandoned helmet, cleaning a bit of blood from it that still clung to its visor. Could it possibly be true? Had the finest warrior in the city (in her eyes, anyway) given up his life of fighting?
She turned it over in her hands, looking at every dent, every burn, every scrape that it had, as all battle armor has. Every one had been an attempt at ending his life, ending the Pendragon legacy, one spanning three hundred years. Every scar upon the helmet was a mark of honor, more so than the tastefully ornate engraving around the edges. For nobility, though many are born into it, is truly earned in the defense of one’s people, in protecting the lives of those they mean to rule. Leadership and respect are not easily given; they are earned.
Kiilii did not notice Kalaq’s approach until he finally spoke to her. “Is he alright?” Kiilii shook her head in uncertainty, as Artirius now reappeared in old, worn work clothing, looking more like a commoner than the nobleman he was, a faraway look in his eye. Still walking painfully, but with new purpose, he went past them and into the tavern once more.
Stopping at the door, Kiilii looked on as he addressed the patrons, with more authority in his voice than ever before. “Be it known now—I have given up the life of battle. No more blood shall be spilled by these hands.” Despite the people’s reactions of shock and bewilderment, he continued, looking resolved on the matter, his eyes showing a new deeper side to them, as though he has had an awakening. “I have walked the path of death... only to return again. I cannot bring that upon another living person. Ever again.”
He walked over to Oger, pulling him aside. The two began to talk in low voices, and the other patrons decided it was best for them to go in peace. Kiilii remained at the door, watching as Artirius handed over every last weapon, shield, and armor that he owned. She glanced down to the helmet in her hand, then back up as Artirius left the room, still limping, still guarding his side.
Only Oger was left as she finally walked in. “What happened out there on the battlefield today?” she asked as Oger began gathering up the things his commander had left on the counter.
"Well, we were having fun with the skeletons in the forest, but the last one triggered a trap, and I guess there were too many for us to handle.” Kiilii shook her head, looking to the floor as he went on. “Taliss was surrounded by several skeletons and he was knocked out not long after that, even though he tried to escape. Arti was hit somewhat hard. He wasn't doing anything while the skeletons kept on hitting him until he was knocked out also.”
Their gaze shifted as an elf ran up to the door, his breath heavy and labored. “Please help… are you two good at fighting?” As Kiilii shook her head, Oger glanced over to the other doorway as Artirius walked in.
At that moment, an unearthly scream came from behind the elf. Running inside, he was followed by the largest stone golem that any of them had ever seen. As is started destroying the tavern, Kiilii made a dash for the door as Oger drew his sword and tossed an axe to Artirius. “Academy, now!” yelled Artirius.
Kiilii didn’t even see the table flying through the air, nor when it hit her and knocked her unconscious.
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Kiilii Zaltana
- Posts: 55
- Joined: Thu Mar 01, 2007 7:31 am
- Location: Halfway between the gutter and the stars
When she came to, she was under the bar, her legs out in the open. Her shoulder was swollen and bleeding, and the shattered remains of a chair had fallen upon her. Rising to her feet, she looked around the tavern, taking in its devastated appearance, until she found a sight she could not believe before her eyes. Lord Artirius Pendragon had fallen in a crumpled heap, his eyes glassy and barely open, Oger merely watching over him. Artirius’ chest was moving so little it appeared as though it had stopped. His body was swollen and busted to pieces. He only had one dagger clenched in his hand, the other nothing but a handle left, the blade shattered. Even his shirt was missing, and the hole on his side reopened. His body had many other cuts and scrapes, but was mainly swollen and broken.
Kiilii rushed over to him, muttering a prayer quietly to herself, hoping against all hope that he was still alive. Taking him in her arms, she began to weep softly. “Artirius…”
The blood was draining from a couple of places on his chest, the hole in his side being the worst. His eyes roamed around, glazed, with blood seeping slowly from his tear ducts. As Kiilii brushed some of Artirius’ messed hair from his face, he spoke softly, blood flowing from his mouth as she held him close. “Bury me... in my armor... with my sword...”
“No…” Kiilii could barely speak through her tears.
“Don’t... don’t forget me…”
“Please…”
“It is the end… for my dynasty…” Kiilii Zaltana cried silently, holding him close to her even tighter, rocking back and forth. Ogerawa looked back and forth between the two, as though unsure of what to do. Lord Artirius Pendragon started speaking in a tongue the other two have not heard before and began breathing heavily.
“Artiri… no…”
Artirius stopped the strange chant and opened his eyes. They were strangely clear and alert as he looked at them both. “This is the end of my trip. I can finally rest.”
Kiilii Zaltana held him as tightly as she could with her broken shoulder. “No… she cried. “No…” she whispered. Artirius Pendragon reached up and wiped a tear from her eye, pulling her head close to his. “M... m'lord...”
“You are the only woman whom has ever wept for me...”
“Don't leave... You'll... you'll be fine...” Kiilii wiped a little of the blood that had spattered from his face onto hers. Artirius raised his head up and kissed her softly, leaving two bloody lip prints, her tears leaving streaks in them.
At that moment, the head of Lord Artirius Pendragon fell back with a soft sigh.
Kalaq had arrived sometime later, and he and Ogerawa had carried the body out of the tavern, to the nearby castle of Grey Rose. Kiilii sat near the bank of the stream, where only hours before she and Artirius were tending to his wounds. The sun was setting; a fitting metaphor for the end of a dynasty, of a warrior, and of a friend. She bent down to rinse the blood and tears from her face, and thought on Artirius’ spirit. Kaila appeared in the doorway behind her, and walked over to a tree. Resting her forehead against it, she murmured a quiet druidic prayer to the soul of Artirius.
Kiilii fell asleep that night next to the stream, listening to the soft sound of water running nearby and the crickets chirping. She dreamed of her fallen friend, one who had come to her aid many times, when she needed him most. She dreamed of him walking into the portal of the afterlife, finally leaving behind all the troubles and pain of this realm. After a life of warfare, of leading soldiers into battle, and of conquest, the soul of Lord Artirius Pendragon could now rest.
Kiilii rushed over to him, muttering a prayer quietly to herself, hoping against all hope that he was still alive. Taking him in her arms, she began to weep softly. “Artirius…”
The blood was draining from a couple of places on his chest, the hole in his side being the worst. His eyes roamed around, glazed, with blood seeping slowly from his tear ducts. As Kiilii brushed some of Artirius’ messed hair from his face, he spoke softly, blood flowing from his mouth as she held him close. “Bury me... in my armor... with my sword...”
“No…” Kiilii could barely speak through her tears.
“Don’t... don’t forget me…”
“Please…”
“It is the end… for my dynasty…” Kiilii Zaltana cried silently, holding him close to her even tighter, rocking back and forth. Ogerawa looked back and forth between the two, as though unsure of what to do. Lord Artirius Pendragon started speaking in a tongue the other two have not heard before and began breathing heavily.
“Artiri… no…”
Artirius stopped the strange chant and opened his eyes. They were strangely clear and alert as he looked at them both. “This is the end of my trip. I can finally rest.”
Kiilii Zaltana held him as tightly as she could with her broken shoulder. “No… she cried. “No…” she whispered. Artirius Pendragon reached up and wiped a tear from her eye, pulling her head close to his. “M... m'lord...”
“You are the only woman whom has ever wept for me...”
“Don't leave... You'll... you'll be fine...” Kiilii wiped a little of the blood that had spattered from his face onto hers. Artirius raised his head up and kissed her softly, leaving two bloody lip prints, her tears leaving streaks in them.
At that moment, the head of Lord Artirius Pendragon fell back with a soft sigh.
Kalaq had arrived sometime later, and he and Ogerawa had carried the body out of the tavern, to the nearby castle of Grey Rose. Kiilii sat near the bank of the stream, where only hours before she and Artirius were tending to his wounds. The sun was setting; a fitting metaphor for the end of a dynasty, of a warrior, and of a friend. She bent down to rinse the blood and tears from her face, and thought on Artirius’ spirit. Kaila appeared in the doorway behind her, and walked over to a tree. Resting her forehead against it, she murmured a quiet druidic prayer to the soul of Artirius.
Kiilii fell asleep that night next to the stream, listening to the soft sound of water running nearby and the crickets chirping. She dreamed of her fallen friend, one who had come to her aid many times, when she needed him most. She dreamed of him walking into the portal of the afterlife, finally leaving behind all the troubles and pain of this realm. After a life of warfare, of leading soldiers into battle, and of conquest, the soul of Lord Artirius Pendragon could now rest.