- Jun 8, 2020
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THE LAST STALLIONS
The Myrfeld twins preparing for their final battle.
The Myrfeld twins stood around the ruins of Ordheim, looking around idly as they came to the realisation there was very little left for them. They had achieved most of what they aimed to do, loyal servants to both their Father and house, as well as to the Undead King Valrond. Many things within their life had been sacrificed, but it was for the greater good. Surely? They had been high ranking officers of the Holmish military through their Fathers Marshaldom, and the beginning of Oswalds. It was because of this martial prowess, a trait of the Myrfeldi lineage, that both were being groomed to be elevated to the prestigious position of Marshal, a role which either would have been content, and accomplished enough, to fulfill. Yet, a single phrase bought all of this crashing to the ground.
A small, simple phrase. Yet life as they knew it, would come crashing down as a result. They had been exposed to what they truly were. Soldiers of the great one - wraiths. They’d briefly adopted the identities of Solomon, and Jethro. They’d regained their titles under these identities, and lived with them for a small period of time, until Leofric gave up and just started showing up to Westholm again, and Reynald had walked his own path.
However, as they stood in the Ruins of Ordheim, they contemplated their lives.
“This life, it tires me brother. We cannot go on like this. Undying, whilst our brother and father rest easily. It must end.”
A death befitting of a warrior, that was the least they deserved. Their family, excluding them, had all died in various ways. It was only right that they be reunited with their ancestors, they had been gone for too long.
They approached the city of Westholm, challenging the masses to a duel, one that was to be to the death. What followed was a massacre; Reynald fell first, an arrow knocking him clean off his horse. Dazed and his vision obscured, he skirmished with one of the opposing cavalry. He was successful in felling his horse, yet he could do no more than exchange light blows unto the man. Leofric followed suit moments after, a second arrow knocked him clean from his horse. They both turned and made attempts to fight, exchanging light blows to the cavalry that encircled them. The horde of Holmish steel-clad soldiers rushed towards the men. It was too late for them. A multitude of silver blades struck the Myrfeldi twins. Reynald, having fallen to his knees, gazed over at his brother, life escaping his eyes.
He uttered, his last breath escaping him. Reynald lay dead in the mud, but some say that a small shadow-like entity could have been seen escaping the body of Leofric, moments before his body seized up.
“For Liberty we Ride.”
This was a motto that the twins took to the grave, having fought to the death for freedom from their state, and from this life.