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Full Version: Death of a Rose
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It had been days since the bear's attack. A few had died that day, and it seemed like one more would be taken away thanks to the ursine's curse. Deep lascerations in his neck spread like a disease in his veins, a sickness that even Erzulie's master medicine could not cure. He could feel it. The fever that kept rising in his body, the fatigue that kept him from patrolling as often as he use to. Every day he moved less and less, finding it more difficult to get up and even walk around... and today, would be his last. 

A heavy eye fluttered open one last time, looking out into the vast sea beyond the rocky ledge's reach. The sound of the wake rushing against the rocky stone wall flooding his ears sounded louder than usual as the fever continued to grow. One last breath, one last view, his sight grew dark as the knight passed away peacefully this morning. Snow lightly dancing out above in a twinkling sight, the last he would see until finally - he was no more.
RIP Rose

By morning Njord had returned from Barrow Fields, empty handed in his search for Regin. His walk was stiff from Shardik’s mark on his hip, but the true pain was in his heart. He thought of dismal @Valravn sitting besides him, just the day before, and the sad dirge they sang for Raleska and Kaertok. The nights were long and cold… and now, another child had been swept away from the wives. A heavy responsibility fell on Njord’s shoulders, but the blizzard made it hard to track anything, or anyone, in the storm.

As dawn peeked through the grey clouds a rare lull in the snowfall occurred. Njord was thankful for a peaceful moment among the mayhem. Maybe Rosencrantz could help him search? The knight was of an arctic breed and surely knew how to navigate this storm better than an islander.

“Rose? RooooOOOOOsssseee! Njord called out across the cliffs. He checked a usual sleeping place… nope. Game trails? nope. Forest hideaway? nope. Stumped, Njord backtracked towards the western seaside front of Dragoncrest where he saw a familiar silhouette laying by land’s edge. “Rose I been lookin’ all over for ya,” he said, chastising the knight. “I know yer not feelin well, but I was thinkin you could give me a few pointers ta trackin’ in this sno-”

Njord stopped dread in his tracks and floundered. The knight was crusted over in a glittering glaze, frosted with new fallen snow – cold, and unmoving. “Rose?” Njord felt a lump the size of a boulder catch in his throat as his stomach twisted in disbelief (but knowing). He moved beside the paladin and regarded his peaceful expression and knew that he was truly gone. “Oh Rose,” Njord blubbered, bereft with fresh dispair.
Raleska.  Kaertok.  Regin.

She could not bear another.

Rosencrantz.

Erzulie had told her his wounds were grievous, and the likelihood he would make it slim.  Still, she hadn't accepted it, not untill she returned to find Njord quietly weeping over a body whose spirit had been lost to them.  She stopped, stricken, and the weight of another crushed her already flickering resolve.

Perhaps if she'd known his hand in Raleska's fate, she might have found the strength to harden against it.  Instead she only knew that they'd lost him again, this time for good, and that the silent moment in the woods - he and Chacal, playing - was the only one she'd ever bear witness to of it's like.  Her silent hope, that the gift that had never been hers, that had never been her son's, might one day belong to her daughter died alongside him.  Lover, guardian, father, and now nothing.  I never even got to tell her.  And now she knew that she never would.

For the first time, the tidal wave of grief crested over, and her legs folded beneath her.  She wept for them all, mindless of Njord's proximity, raw with grief and the despair of watching, one by one, the few beings she allowed her soul to tie itself to sever and depart from her forever.
regin had gone missing in it all. erzulie, buried in the work of keeping breath swelling the archangel's lungs, devoting herself to helpless repeated searches at the last edge she had found the girl's scent 
pas vou aussi
not when the young and tortured woman regin had never called mother lay at last in peace.
but it was not the missing girl she found along the sharp edge;
it was the lifeless look of rosencrantz, his once-proud form still commanding in its now silent power.
brine in the corner of her mouth. would she ever cease weeping?
erzulie went to him, touched njord's cheek softly if he would allow. she had not been able to stop this, and the failure of it weighed upon the harlot's heart. 
glancing to the eyes that had only ever held loyalty for her, erzulie tilt back her head and sank down upon her haunches alongside the fallen archangel. rosalyn close, though she could not bear to look away from him now.
"he will always be a part of sapphique."
The loss of the paladin was like shrapnel through the islander’s heart. The great white wolf was a keystone figure in their pack and a mentor to his red-tail padawan. How could they go one without his guidance? The relationships Njord had forged since joining Sapphique were bedrock strong, and bear’s attack shook them like a great earthquake – shards of broken stone in its wake.

Rosalyn found them next. The queen crumbled to the ground as if Shardik had struck her down anew. Her inconsolable cries raked at Njord’s soul, and soon he felt hot tears streaming down his own face. When was the last time he had cried like this? This unrefined despair? He wished to reach out to Rosalyn and touch her, but he felt unequipped to assuage her broken heart.

Thankfully Erzulie arrived. She was like the string attached to a kite, keeping everyone grounded – connected. A gentle touch to his cheek… a most welcome contact of comfort. He will always be a part of Sapphique, the captain reflected. Her voice was soft and gentle. Njord leaned into her for a moment and said, “Aye, he was tha’ best of us.”

Njord sighed – his breath quaky – a great release of air from his lungs. An unloading. “I will tell tha kids stories about ‘im. He was a great wolf, an’ won’t be forgotten.” Njord resolved to pass along tales of the great warrior and how he defended Sapphique. “I miss ya already, Rose,” he added, speaking to the man in the cold snow.

Edit: this is my last post!
It didn't matter who witnessed it.

The last time she'd felt loss like this, it had been Ironsea.  She'd wept then too, alone, but as time passed she found less and less reason to keep moving when forces beyond her slammed her to the ground and held her still.  There was no reason to fight; she'd fought for so long and it changed nothing.

She wouldn't stop living, or protecting the ones she loved, but she would stop giving a damn about how she appeared to a world set bitterly upon breaking them.

It helped.  Not immensely, but some part of her control was regained from the outburst, outside of the pain that would linger indefinitely.  We should bury him near the others,  she said at length, not yet rising, nor looking at them.

Just a few more moments to remain like this.  Then she would call the pack.

last for me