RuneScape Forum Archive | Fall From Grace

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"There is...nothing simple...about this path ahead of you, Raphael... Every word, every decision, every action you make...will require...a firm stance...and a steady hand... The world will...try to bend you...break you...and steer you onto...its path... It may be...difficult...perhaps even impossible...to stand against it, but...you must remain...steadfast. Even as the world...screams at you...you must keep walking...down this path... Not my path...not Daevarro's path...not your mother's path...not your father's path...not the world's path...not the 'right' path...but your own path, the...correct path...for that is your duty... to the world..."

"...You're right," Raphael was firmly convinced, clenching his fist. "I won't ever stop walking down this road. I will free the humans and tear down this malignant system of things, even if it earns me the contempt of the Solasúians."

Telvern heard the strength and conviction in his sister's son's voice, unable to defend against the subtle hint of pride from filling his broken body. With how weak as even the muscles in his face felt, Telvern closed his eyes and overcame his limitations. His blood-covered lips shakily rose, emanating a frail, yet delightful smile. Raphael was frankly surprised, having never truly seen a genuine smile appear upon his uncle's face.

Yet this smile and the strenuous effort required to push it out was then quickly, effortlessly squandered. Telvern's merciless ailment grabbed hold of him again, forcing him once more into a devastating fit of coughing. This barrage was somehow even more turbulent than the previous, quite the bold statement to be made, given the last assault's incredibly violent nature. In utter discomfort, Telvern tightly curled up over on his side, grasping his hands around his mouth and his chest.
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02-Nov-2017 19:15:28

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The concern for his uncle quickly broke Raphael's knees, sending him onto the ground upon them. His eyes beamed worriedly upon Telvern, reaching his arms to Telvern as if to pick him up. "That's enough talking," Raphael believed. "We need to get you help."

Despite Raphael's honest efforts to help him, Telvern quickly rejected any attempt to lift him. Raphael reluctantly yielded, staring woefully upon his uncle as he continued on in his uncontrollable coughing spell. Just as the last, it seemed to drag on for an eternity, forcing Telvern to cough until his chest felt crushed and his lungs were set on fire.

Yet sooner-or-later the time came, and Telvern was granted emancipation from his riotous imprisonment. He rolled back over onto his back, his blood-drenched right hand laying limp at his side. His left hand remained pressed into his chest, and still firmly secured in its fingers was that most treasured item.

Raphael had no intention to pry upon its meaning, preferring to keep his eyes locked upon Telvern. And a horrific image that was, beholding the exerted, deathly image of his uncle. Raphael remained upon his knees as Telvern's brown eyes fell back into the sky, drained of all compassion and life remaining. The sound of his swallow, wheezing breath even more troubling than before, his lungs straining just to gain even a smallest amount of oxygen.

"I've...done...everything...that...I can," Telvern breathlessly uttered, then gazing upon Raphael without turning his head. "I...did what I...believed was...right, and I...lost everything... Learn from...my mistakes, Raphael... Think nothing...of 'right' and 'wrong'... Do everything...that you can to...to protect...what's important, what's...precious to you..."

"Stop talking like you're going anywhere," Raphael angrily demanded. "Father put you beside him as his advisor, and I'll be damned if I don't do the same thing!"
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02-Nov-2017 19:16:40

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"Jeanne and I...we lived together here...upon this very street... This is where...we met...where we...fell in love...where...she died...and where I...died... I just want...to return home...to her...like I used to..."

"...Stop it."

"Please..."

"I said stop it, dammit! I'm not killing you, Telvern, and you're not dying here! The only reason I got to this point was because I took your advice. And once I become king, I'm going to need it more than ever!"

"...I can't," the crackle in Telvern's voice startled Raphael, instantly taking him aback. Such a state of shock was even further enhanced, for the silver-haired heir noted as emotion in the form of water began to fill Telvern's eyes as he pleaded for death. "Please, Raphael... I...miss her...so much... I j-just want...I just want t-to...to return home...to her... Please..."

"Tck!" Raphael clicked his tongue in frustration, swiftly turning away from Telvern as to not be influenced by his frank display of emotion. The physically, mentally, emotionally debilitated Telvern Thaddeus laid there in sorrowful silence, too weak to simply commit the act himself. He grew ashamed of himself, of his weakness, forced to affix this albatross squarely upon his only nephew.

Raphael contemplated deeply to himself, easily stumbling upon revelations of Telvern's motives. Yes, every act to this point, from his plan of attack, to his choosing to battle alone, to his summoning of that massive beast, to here and now, it was all meant to conclude with his death. The logical, emotional genius methodically, morbidly plotted out his own demise. Yet, as his own words would suggest, something went wrong, and so here he laid. Unfortunately, albeit barely so, he was still alive...

This was perhaps the first test of exactly what they just spoke about. What was the difference between what is 'right' and what is 'necessary'? What makes something 'right'? And what makes something 'necessary'?

...Was it right to kill Telvern? Was it necessary?
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02-Nov-2017 19:18:14

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Raphael wrestled around with his conscience, gritting his teeth in utter frustration. Yes, to see someone struggle and to help them through was the 'right' thing to do. But to see someone struggle and make them help themself up, that was the 'necessary' thing to do. After all, in this world, it is necessary for a soul to be strong enough to be independent, to have the strength to pick themselves up off of the ground.

Yet, seeing Telvern's case, he had not the strength to lift himself up out of his despair. He had lingered in there for over five years, and he so deeply considered his suicide that he had actually woven it into his plans. He, of all people, should realize the lack of reasoning behind such an act. Yet the logical genius went ahead with his plan, bearing not the strength to tear himself away from his grief, nor the heart to accept the assistance of others to help pull him out of it.

In essence, Telvern had completely accepted his death, this end of his life, his existence...

Raphael closed his eyes, loosening his teeth as his heart grew heavy like it became lead. No, in his heart, to witness this suffering before him without any way of soothing it was saddening, frustrating. Indeed, the gravity of Telvern's burdens chained him to this world, his physical ailments, his mental suffering, his emotional anguish. All of these things completely broke a broken man, even to the point where he begged for death to relieve him from this hell.

There was only one way Raphael can solve this, one way to lift this burden upon both himself and Telvern. To free Telvern from his damnation, and to free himself from his guilt, there was only one option... Grievously, Raphael shuffled his glowing purple eyes to his left. And there, laying right beside him, was Telvern's dagger, a stiff-bladed weapon without a cross-guard. Raphael placed down the Arbandor for a moment, swapping it for the dagger.
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02-Nov-2017 19:19:29

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The fingers of his left hand regretfully embraced the dagger's cold grip, firmly yet hesitantly just like his intentions. Raphael peered back upon his uncle, knowing that this was what he wanted all along. This shattered soul laying afore him, this was the true Telvern Thaddeus. He wasn't the scheming, suspicious, distrusting, conniving genius Raphael knew. He was a grief-stricken husband, an afflicted father-never-to-be, a man with nothing left to live for.

Indeed, the only purpose for his existence was to secure Raphael's position upon the throne, and with that objective complete, there was no reason to hold back this tidal wave of bane anymore. The waters of his misery swept him away, consumed him, pulled him in this excruciating undertow, drowning him without taking his life...

Realizing that he was the only one capable of freeing him from this terrible rip current, the silver-haired Raphael fluidly lifted the dagger off of the ground. It felt both as light as it should be and as heavy as a ton, his motion of lifting it up made his arm want to turn to stone.

No, Raphael did not desire to take the life of his grievous uncle. But in his heart, he couldn't imagine the anguish which Telvern had suffered. A suffering so immense that it left him crestfallen, a pain so severe that putting his life to an end was the only way to alleviate it. There was no healing to mend this wound, for it was no mere hole in his heart. He simply had no heart anymore, ripped out of him, stolen away...

Raphael placed the tip of his newly-acquired dagger upon Telvern's chest, putting it to the space just above where his heart would be. The perfect location to perform a coup de grâce, a mercy strike to quickly alleviate Telvern's suffering. Raphael watched as the ailing eyes of his uncle closed shut, ready for the release he so long sought after.
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02-Nov-2017 19:20:59

Jul

2020

Serene End

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To depart this world which he so resented, this damned world which took everything from him, it was the end his hollow heart had waited for for an eternity. The sky reflected off of the steel of the dagger as Raphael held it against the mournful Telvern's chest, its orange vivid and empty like a most beautiful abyss. This was the perfect time, the perfect place, for him to die...

Having made the choice, albeit reluctantly, Raphael steadily, remorsefully placed the palm of his right hand atop the pommel of the dagger. His body adjusted, getting into the proper position to push the dagger inwards. And despite what his mind told him, rejecting this action, his heart believed it the correct course to take. Indeed, he steadfastly believed that no man should agonize like this.

Raphael dolefully closed his eyes, accepting but rejecting this action he was to take. He declined this act, yet the sweet relief upon Telvern's face, upon his presence, urged him on. And so, as the dying light of the sun washed over them, the silver-haired heir captured his courage, his determination, to see this through. He exhaled deeply, driving himself and his hand forward, intent on breaking these shackles of grief upon Telvern. Yes, Telvern was a slave and Raphael was his liberator. The dagger was his hammer, bestowing emancipation unto this slave of his own suffering...

The End of Chapter 33,
Next Chapter,
Epilogue

Thank you for reading! I appreciate it. ^_^

~Serene End

Phew... That was close! But we made it! Anyway, it's finally here, this chapter a little less than half a year in the making. Again, I do want to apologize for the delay. I will state that the Epilogue shouldn't be too far behind this one (if I can even squeeze it in!) But yeah, I do hope it was worth the wait. Hopefully you enjoyed it. And again, thank you so much for waiting. I appreciate it, as always!
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02-Nov-2017 19:26:50 - Last edited on 02-Nov-2017 19:28:04 by Serene End

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Epilogue

The moon's faint silver light billowed, flowing with delicacy and gracious frailty. Its brilliant presence uncontested by cloud nor building, wondrously infiltrating this room ensnared by the cunning darkness. A room of glorious familiarity, with barely a lantern of eternal sunfly to keep it alit. And at its heart resided two figures sitting beside a table, one with a quill, the other with a crown.

Yes, these walls were particularly familiar to he who wore the crown. As the figure with the quill was swept away in tantalizing inspiration, excitedly writing down upon one of many sheets of papyrus, he who wore the crown took a deep gander upon his surrounding. These walls resonated with every memory his mind could produce: conversations, laughter, precious happenings, and unforgettable loss. Indeed, this very place was the root of many beginnings...

"All right," the one with the quill spoke out, removing the crown-bearer's eyes from his surroundings. His purple eyes relocated the eager quill-holder, finding him to be an older human with short, salt and pepper-colored hair. He wore clothing fit only for nobility, with striking floral patterns all throughout its entirety. And his face rose then with an unfaltering smile, seemingly oblivious to the crown-bearer's burdened expression. "So after you slew the False King Balor, you fulfilled Telvern's wish and gave him his peace."

"Yes," the crown-bearer regrettably confirmed, unable to share in the writer's enthusiasm.

"That must have been difficult, killing your uncle, the only family you had left. But I must confess, my lord, that your actions confuse me... He betrayed you, and his treasonous acts nearly cost you everything. Anyone in your position would have left him to his suffering, and rightfully so, given his crimes. Yet, you chose to spare him and grant him his release..."
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16-Nov-2017 21:43:51

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The writer prepared his quill, gently dipping it into the nearby bottle of ink. "...Would you care to clarify your reasoning?" He proceeded to request, putting his quill upon a fresh sheet of papyrus. "I'm certain our readers would relish the chance to grow closer to understanding their hero."

"...I'm no hero," the crown-bearer swiftly denied this label, stern and somber-toned.

The eager writer was all but ready to start putting the crown-bearer's words to ink, yet he awkwardly paused upon hearing that solemn declaration. "No?" The writer perplexedly uttered. "You are of humble, lowly origins, but you never allowed that to deter you from achieving your goals. Then, when all seemed to be working out for you, the main antagonist of your story came and jealously cast you away. In one fleeting moment you lost everything, falling from the grace you worked so mightily to ascend to. Yet, just as all hope for you seemed to fade, you would rise. You became the leader of the downtrodden, the hope of the hopeless. And together, you overcame your shortcomings and downfalls to defeat the villain."

The writer drew closer to the crown-bearer, who sat on the opposite side of him. He leaned forward, and in a whisper, he continued on and commented, "I mean no disrespect, my lord, but that is the most conventional hero story known to mankind."

The crown-bearer deeply exhaled, watching the eager writer beginning to make use of that fresh ink upon his quill. He jotted down some notes on the side, then turned back onto the crown-bearer at its conclusion. "So, now that you've given Telvern his end, what happened next?" The writer inquired curiously, dipping his quill in ink once more. "You said that you told Calvin that you knew where to find Lucia, right? Is that where you headed off to next?"

"Yes," the purple-eyed crown-bearer answered.

"And then what?"
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16-Nov-2017 21:44:21

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The crown-bearer's voice froze, getting caught between his regret and lament. Instead of giving the writer his immediate answer, he turned his purple eyes outwards. They grew heavily affixed upon the outside world, upon that silver light breathing life into this room's thick darkness. The vividly dark blue sky cloudless and magnificent, its starlight shimmering without hindrance. And the majestic silver moon a perfect circle, emanating a light so bright that it was like the sun at night.

The writer's eagerness fled him in this moment, becoming concerned and bemused as he noted the king's diversion. The crown-bearer had just realized something, that this night was exactly like that night all of those years ago. She stood at the gateway into his memories, their clash echoed throughout his mind. Every word they spoke, every strike their swords took, even the sound of the wind as it swirled and shifted around them.

"...It's getting late," the crown-bearer stated, then turning back to the writer. "We'll continue this tomorrow."

The writer looked outside, surprised to see how high the moon had ascended in the night sky. "Ah, I suppose it is," he concurred, getting out from his chair and then bowing. "Well, my lord, it's been a pleasure. I look forward to finishing this up with you at your earliest convenience."

"Good night, Rickard."

"Good night to you as well, my lord," the eager writer named Rickard bid his due, bowing his head once more to the crown-bearer before departing. Rickard stepped away from his king, opening the door to leave this place for the night. But before his disappearance, he looked back. His ordinary brown eyes beheld the sight of his king, mournfully fixated upon the night sky. He watched as the crown-bearer approached a window, calmly folding his hands behind his back just like his father before him.
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16-Nov-2017 21:45:04

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The crown-bearer's ears caught the confirmation of the writer's departure, the door closing shut behind him. His body language immediately grew burdened, gazing out this window like it were the door into everything. His right palm planted flat upon it, hearing it as it shattered into pieces. Yet the glass remained whole, for the sounds he heard were all just a trick of his mind.

As he could hear and see the happenings of that day, the shattering of glass, the rain tapping against the window, the crown-bearer's eyes fell forward. His purple eyes finding him before the faint reflection of himself upon this window, this looking glass of fate. Given the day-long discussion of his past self, he almost expected to see him standing before him...

Yet there have been many years between then and now, and that was proven true just merely based on the current image of himself. He was no longer the leader of the downtrodden and lowly. He was the king of a glorious nation, and the hallowed regalia upon his head physically represented such transition. He was no longer the youthful leader he once was, his face a no better place to note such change.

Indeed, his age had surely begun to show itself. From crow's feet and laugh-lines, to a thick, but well-kempt beard, to even the style of his long, silver hair, his appearance had matured quite significantly since those days. But as he examined his face, questioning if it had truly been so long since then, his lustrous purple eyes fell down and located that one sight of everything he had been through.

The reminder of all of his struggles, of all of his sacrifices, of all of his loss, was right under his nose. Yes, that permanent disfigurement, that wound across his throat which killed him, created by the very person whom his voice froze to speak of. The world around him became bathed in the deep orange glow of the flames, the crown-bearer still able to feel the sweltering heat against his skin.
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16-Nov-2017 21:45:56

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