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 To all those I've loved,

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MorpheusDavol
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Subject Post 1PostSubject: To all those I've loved,   To all those I've loved, EmptySun Feb 17, 2019 11:16 am


KING OF VASTIME




DESMOND HAYDEN


To all those I've loved, 6EdIfMt


It was a quiet night in the kingdom of Vastime, something of a mystery for the nation. Vastime was constantly active, ever changing and growing, yet at this midnight hour all seemed too quiet at the desk of His Majesty. A single glass of whiskey was on the table, a habit he picked up during his rulership, which was illuminated by the candlelight. The soft chime of Vastime was heard through the wind, city lights in the distanced buzzed idly. In three days the world would drastically change, and with it perhaps Hayden himself.

Of course there was the chance he would never see a world without war. Thus the king had to take steps so that he may enter into war without a heavy heart. Some men sought physical pleasure, others turned into quiet reclusiveness. But for Hayden, his skin seemed to tingle- his hairs standing on their ends as his soul spoke to him. The king of Vastime had to write some personal letters, perhaps to address the years of feelings he had amassed. Unbiased, untainted by obligation or the perception of others. A private collection, perhaps to be sent upon his death. But even now as he stood at the desk, ink stained hands gripping a pen and paper, he took a shaky breath before taking a sip of whiskey— and began the first letter.

This letter, my dearest, Abalia, will not be given to you unless I am to meet my mortal termination. I hope that this letter will perhaps somehow allow my heavy soul to be lightened, to begin a hopefully peaceful rebirth unfettered by things which plague my soul.

I was never a man of words in life, preferring to seek to prove myself through raw merit alone. That perhaps by being the most ambitious man, the most dedicated to his craft, that I would find purpose in this world. A life dedicated to the service of the betterment of others. I think you understood this well, and in doing so you became an object of my affections. I am only saddened that I never took the steps to affirm those desires, that despite my station I could've proved that one does not need to choose between duty and love. But I do not wish to focus on the what-ifs of my relatively long life.

Instead I wish to convey something to you, I wish to convey all that which I was too cowardly to tell you. And leave you with parting words only you may understand.

Men oft write of the sun or stars of their existence, believing that a person could be the thing which brought radiance to it. I cannot claim the same thing. Instead, I assert a new narrative. No, for when I think of you, Abalia, I thought of something else entirely— that you are not simply a light in my life. I find you to be divine in nature, no matter the difference in our power. I shall always look upon you as a mere mortal looks upon the face of divinity. A beauty so powerful, so beyond my understanding, that I can do nothing but weep in the thought of a world without you. One which, by design, would be a lesser one without you.

I have spent a lifetime cultivating the world I reside, and in a few deft words you revealed to be a universe. You created the stars which illuminated my night, you placed the sun which brought me warmth in my darkest hour. They swayed your hands with divinity; and I became enthralled with you. For what can a mortal man do when faced with object beauty?

But it was never the beauty of your body which did this to me, but the wit of your mind. You, she who has no physical might, was able to do something most could never achieve. You brought prosperity to the weak, you redeemed the broken, and you united forces which some would dare impossible. You are truly the most brilliant woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and you will go down as the one who guided a foolish king back to the light. I feel anguish leaving you in this world, with a mess I can only hope the foundation we laid is enough to see it to the end. But now I must impart upon you my last bit of advice:

The world will be around when we are gone, it will outlive us when we are gone. As the scripture of old said: “Everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree And no one shall make them afraid.” They’ll be safe in the nation we’ve made. So take the time to think of your friends, your family and those you value. Find in your heart to make the room for them as you do our the people, life deserves to be lived. And I would weep tears from my warm oblivion if you were to travel the same life I've lived; devoid of the a concept of love. Take a break, live life and remember that you too are a Vastimian; and Vastimians live to experience passion.

Adieu to the best of women. Hold the flame of life close and do not let it fade.

With deepest gratitude,

D.H.


The man would place his pen down taking a hard breath, emerald eyes floating to the window. In a few deft hand motions he would have the letter in an envelope. Writing her name on it he would stare at it a moment, the only comfort he had was the soft gentle noise of wind chimes. Placing it safely within his desk drawer he would pull a new sheet out.

He had more work to do.


Coding Altered From: [THEFROST]'s


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Last edited by MorpheusDavol on Tue Feb 19, 2019 11:55 am; edited 2 times in total
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Subject Post 2PostSubject: Re: To all those I've loved,   To all those I've loved, EmptySun Feb 17, 2019 7:01 pm


KING OF VASTIME




DESMOND HAYDEN


To all those I've loved, 6EdIfMt


The moonlight which seemed to invade the room caused him to take pause for a moment. Emerald eyes seemed to focus on the cityscape of Vastime for a moment. The dull lights of the city seemed all that heavier after he had finished Abalia's letter. Such strong feelings, mixed feelings all conveyed without fear of thought. Some part of him wished for a swift demise if only to know that he'd be safe in his grave once she heard the contents; that his final gift to her would be that knowledge. That his final wish would spur her to do what he did not. That was his duty to her. His callous hand placing the pen down if only to grab the glass of whiskey taking a sip, before setting upon his work again.

This may be the last time he stained his hands with ink, for the next time they became stained it may be with blood. Perhaps his own or the blood of his enemies, but who knew. But for the moment, those thoughts would be pushed away as he let out a warm sigh looking at the blank piece of paper. He knew who this one was for, and he knew they would never read it. Even when his immortal vassal ceased to live, this letter would simply be symbolically touching. That perhaps, one day, the letter would bring peace to himself.

Yes, the only regret he had currently was he could not tell her these next words to her face.

To the woman who will always be the best of mothers, and the best of wives. Bedelia, she who brought me into this world, she who raised me, and she who I owe everything.

It has been so many years since I have spoken to you mother, that I feel like recounting the four hundred years I've spent remaking the clan is rendered moot. When I was a young man I had everything I sought now, but I did not realize it. I am eternally in pain, and eternally mourning your departure from the earth, that in my haste to be a man that I neglected those who needed me most. I wish I could cry for you, my heart, to hold you once as you did me when I was a babe. But I find my tears have long dried up, and that instead I can only tell you what now weighs on my heart and in doing so you forgive your baby boy.

I sit on the remains of the Macto clan having rebuilt it into something so grand that it threatens to bring the world into a new era. That I have established a legacy that is worthy of you and father, of our entire clan. But I find that the weight of this burden is crippling, as if I have stones around my neck with each passing year threatening to throw me into the ocean. I wonder sometimes is this what the sages felt all those years ago, knowing that they stood on the precipice of life. But then I recall you, and in my haste to establish that legacy I neglected your wishes for me.

You never wanted me to be a soldier, you never wanted me to make a legacy for the clan. You wished for my happiness, that I would grow old with my kids. That I would find a wife who loved me, as you loved my father. That I would prove to be a good and decent man. And as I stand upon my kingdom of iron and blood I realize I have failed you. I can only express that if you were still with me, that I will be able to make amends— to hug you as I once did. To feel the warmth of your smile, and to remember that there is a life beyond war.

I find solace, however, in that being this king, that by subjecting myself to this loneliness, I have prevented this from occurring to other children. I never wish for another child to be orphaned as I was, that perhaps in taking this path I have brought more good than harm in the end. I must accredit you however, for even though I may have been alone in person all these years— the memory of your radiance and the lullabies you sang to me have kept me good. All that I hope to have achieved, all that I am that is good— I dedicate to you my angel of a mother.

As I write these letters; I wish for you to know, wherever you may be, that I did find friendship. That even upon this path, I found love. I found ambition. I found hope, in the face of darkness. I want you to know that your death did not spur me on a path of vengeance, that your son lived a good life. And I hope to perhaps see your angelic face once my immortality has come to an end, and I am safe within the cradle of the grave.

To the best of mothers and women, dedicated to Bedelia, she who taught me the feeling of love.

With the deepest admiration; your son,

Desmond


The man would slowly place the pen down, his eyes closing hiding emerald irises. He would remain with his callous hand against the wood, simply breathing as a moisture seemed to dab at his eye. That as he finished the letter, a shaky breath was exhaled as he addressed repressed emotions. With care he did not know he had, he would fold the letter placing it into its envelope— simply writing ‘mother’ on it with as much grace as he could muster. Instead of placing it away, however, he would set it at the edge of his desk, propped up on a picture stand. His ink smudged fingers wiping at his eye wordlessly.

With a sip of whiskey, he would remove the next sheet. He was not done, not yet.

Coding Altered From: [THEFROST]'s



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To all those I've loved, JfH75kA
To all those I've loved, H8Tyk70


Last edited by MorpheusDavol on Tue Feb 19, 2019 11:55 am; edited 1 time in total
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Subject Post 3PostSubject: Re: To all those I've loved,   To all those I've loved, EmptyMon Feb 18, 2019 11:55 pm


KING OF VASTIME




DESMOND HAYDEN


To all those I've loved, 6EdIfMt



The night seemed endless for the man, that locked in his office he would be able to find some peace among the ink blotches and candlelight. But the man engrossed in his private sanctum would sink into his chair, hand tiring from the endless writing. Two letters had been produced and with each letter scribbled he felt some type of relief within his being. That maybe he was finding that peace he sought, that perhaps by facing these emotions long overdue he could enter into this conflict without remorse. But as these thoughts sought to invade his mind, they were forced to make room for something else. The face of a man Hayden had not seen for years, one who taught him how to be a man.

It was through this man that he learned a man was not made from the first time he laid with a woman, nor was he made from the first time he took another life. No; this figure taught him how to be a man by being uncompromising in his values and beliefs. It was through this man who demanded respect by mere presence did Hayden find the resolve and power to see his ambitions brought to fruition. The hardened face of his father came to his mind, but behind that hard face was two hazel eyes which spoke volumes in their gentleness. A man who wore his heart on his sleeve, that it was never about the destination but the scars you accrue through it.

It was in that moment he felt a burst of resolve, as if a dam of emotion seemed to hit him. Callous fingers resumed their work, writing quickly with no end in sight as he wielded this pen like a sword carving his will into existence.

To the old man who taught me what it meant to be strong, my father, Erasmus. He who took me under his wing, who taught me how to believe and have faith. He who I am so much modeled after, he who gave up his dreams so that I may have had mine.

Dad, it's been a while since I've last spoke to you. Four hundred years in fact, but yet I still remember that smooth baritone of your voice like it was yesterday. I recall the softness in your eyes despite the hard life you lived, the smile lines which laced your face when you spoke of my achievements. I think about you often, and sometimes I even think I see you on the streets of Vastime walking among the people, but then I remember you have long since passed.

I long to sit with you again father, to have a smoke with you and talk about life. To ask for your wisdom as I face trials which I could never have accounted for. I still remember our last goodbye, the pride in your eyes as your baby son set upon the world with ambition in his eyes and pride in his heart. The parting words you gave me, the way your eyes seemed to squint every time I mentioned moving to America, the way you laughed with such joy. I think about how you gave up all your dreams to support us, how my dreams became yours. How much I've just wanted to hear you tell me you are proud of me—


His hand would quiver as he gripped the pen tightly before slamming it onto the table next to the table, his teeth clenched as he brought his hands to his eyes. Hayden felt a rush of emotions as tears began to assault his eyes, rubbing at them furiously as his breathing seemed to catch. It was too much at the moment, as he opened old wounds never properly healed. The memory of his mother and father, the childish want to hold them once more and to hear them comfort him. The King simply couldn't keep writing as it stood, his body shaking with profound pain.

As he wiped at tear stained cheeks, he would smear more of the ink onto his face, the salty tears pelting the parchment. In this moment, Desmond felt emotions kept under wraps for years. He had never properly mourned the loss of his parents, of his family, and now as he wrote exposing those vulnerability he could only weep. He missed the criticisms, he missed their voices, their love and now he was left with only their memory to keep him warm. In truth, all that hatred over the years— all that rage— was just a young man who never truly overcame an event in his life. One who kept it bottled for years until now, in this moment before war, he could release it.

Thus the King wept. He wept like a newborn baby, silent tears hitting parchment for the moment. The letter would be finished later, for the King who wielded a blade of death could not even hold a pen in this moment.

Coding Altered From: [THEFROST]'s



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Subject Post 4PostSubject: Re: To all those I've loved,   To all those I've loved, EmptyWed Mar 20, 2019 11:22 pm


KING OF VASTIME




DESMOND HAYDEN


To all those I've loved, 6EdIfMt


Play Posting Music.


The silence of the night was broken by a soft sniffle, the ink stained fingers of Desmond shaking as he tried to reign himself in. There was an undeniable softness to his being, that behind the hardened exterior of a king, a warrior, there was a human side. That despite all the years he had walked the earth as an immortal, he retained some sense of who he was before all of that. And now, on this hazy night he seemed to be deciphering if this was some type of blessing or curse given by him to some unknown force. Why was he out of the countless billions that walked the earth permitted to keep his memory, to bear the sins of his past upon his breast? Perhaps that man known as Decter, the war hound of the nation, had something to this whole fate thing.

But before he could allow his mind to drift to such topics his eyes seemed to refocus on the thin parchment before him. The words detailed in the letter bore his soul to the void, that as he wrote those words he knew he would find no redress. All those wanton letters written carefully, fueled by the urge to speak soft truths to his father— a pleasure he had lost. He had become a man that would make his father proud, that had lived up to the expectations placed upon him. But there was a cost, a cost to his soul which seemed to burn his core. If there was ever a being that could determine his fate, that sought to guide him towards salvation or oblivion, perhaps this was another step in their grand plan.

How far the young soldier boy had come, to lead a nation and be regarded as one of the foremost men in the world. Yet, still a sad little boy. One that as he picked up the pen he could only finish his letter with a heavy heart.

This letter could speak a million truths to you, father, and not a single word would ease my heart. I could spend this time telling you all that I’ve accomplished, to spin stories of my achievements and dreams. But none of that would please me, for as I sit upon my chair, I can simply say one thing: I miss you.

Till we meet in a place without war, from a son to his dad.

With the utmost love and respect

Your Son,

Desmond


The ending was abrupt to some, but to the man it fit perfectly. For as much as he tried to write beautiful words to explain the knotted net of emotions he felt, none would fit more than the honest truth. Even as he laid his pen down, taking a deep breath casting verdant eyes unto the city scape once more. He simply missed the man, he missed all those that he had lost throughout the years. Sometimes he wondered that if he could go back and change it all, would he? But as he watched the rising sun over the lands he was sworn to protect he could only let out a sigh, shaking his head.

For every trial and tribulation he had faced, Desmond had come out a different man. That if he was to go back all those years and stop events, he would not end up in the current situation he was in. That all those who depended on him would be still dust in the wind, fighting against a world which did not want them. No, he could not allow that to happen. Thus, emerald eyes would close themselves. He was finished for now, each letter carefully written and placed aside.

There was the undeniable fact that Abalia deserved to read her own, and should his demise come he’d make sure it arrived to her. But, for the time being he needed time. He needed rest. Thus the king would find himself stepping away from ‘Desmond’ and back to what the world knew him as: Hayden, the King of Vastime. The sliding of a chair across wood would be heard as he arose, the ever watchful gaze of the king now on his city.
Yes, the time for Desmond was aside. For stepping into his place was the King of Vastime. And there was a war to be waged.

Coding Altered From: [THEFROST]'s




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