Jordankeeper
Member
This is considered fully cannon and will mark the end to Zladimir's journey. Please do not metagame, and enjoy reading
The church bells rung slow and loud, marking the beginning of a new day.
The church bells rung slow and loud, marking the beginning of a new day.
The sun had not even begun to rise, yet Zladimir was seen within his office with two dimly lit candles as he had stacks of notes, letters and missives scattered around him. Weary eyes scanned over what seemed to be a map of the local area, riddled with writings and numbers as he seemed to study it in preperation for the conflict that was bound to happen in the coming weeks. Upon hearing the bells, the man glanced outside the window to observe the quiet region of Volgrad, as not a single soul was outside at such times. Placing the map away, he groaned upon taking to his feet as Zladimir shuffled his way outside of the office towards his bedroom, a slight limp in his walk due to previous injuries which he had never fully recovered from. The Thirty two year old's body was strong, but fatigue had clearly taken its toll on him where it was not just physical, but mental as well. His senses were dulled and his thought process waivered. Still grieving from the loss of his son, Zladimir's overall state was at an all time low.
Whilst he made his journey over to his room, the air grew cold, too cold. A sensation which he had not felt for a while overcame his body once more, fear. He knew who it was, and he prepared himself for battle once more as he unsheathed his Bonebrecher, a large polearm which he had previously used against the Bonelord's army. A Staple weapon which saw the defeat of countless undead, yet this not diminish the powerful emotion which shook up his body. As predicted, a shadowy figure manifested a few metres infront of him within the middle of the hallway. An initimidating persona, riddled with a sickly green mist holding a lance lockled eye contact with Zladimir and no words were shared between the two. The Bonelord's assassin now had failed to claim Zladimir's soul on multiple occasions, yet it had returned for another attempt. The howling of the wind outside was the only noise that was heard as the two both stood their ground. Nobody was around to aid Zladimir with such a battle, and he knew he had to deal with this alone. In the blink of an eye, the assassin lept forward with supernatural speed, bringing the tip of the lance down on the Lord of Volgrad, and despite Zladimir's tiredness, he managed to step back just in time to avoid the strike. Battle had begun, and the two clashed weapons repeatadly, with the assassin flinging the occasional necromatic spell at the man yet Zladimir had learnt how to avoid such. No wounds were received by either end, but the undead killer was relentless. For a moment, it seemed Zladimir gained the upper hand when the blunt part of his polearm made direct contact with the jaw of the assassin, a swing which would of fractured the facial structure of any mortal being. The hit surprised both of them as the conflict came to a halt for a split second, the two making eye contact once again. This, was when Zladimir lost the fight. Merely moments later, he felt a wave of terrifying energy just spawn in from behind, and as he looked over his shoulder the man's eyes widened. Hulking over the man was a giant figure, covered in plated armour from head to toe with multiple swords sticking out from its back. It itself wielding a greatsword which was the size of Zladimir itself, as it begun to slowly stomp its way over, each step causing the hallway to shake.
Whilst he made his journey over to his room, the air grew cold, too cold. A sensation which he had not felt for a while overcame his body once more, fear. He knew who it was, and he prepared himself for battle once more as he unsheathed his Bonebrecher, a large polearm which he had previously used against the Bonelord's army. A Staple weapon which saw the defeat of countless undead, yet this not diminish the powerful emotion which shook up his body. As predicted, a shadowy figure manifested a few metres infront of him within the middle of the hallway. An initimidating persona, riddled with a sickly green mist holding a lance lockled eye contact with Zladimir and no words were shared between the two. The Bonelord's assassin now had failed to claim Zladimir's soul on multiple occasions, yet it had returned for another attempt. The howling of the wind outside was the only noise that was heard as the two both stood their ground. Nobody was around to aid Zladimir with such a battle, and he knew he had to deal with this alone. In the blink of an eye, the assassin lept forward with supernatural speed, bringing the tip of the lance down on the Lord of Volgrad, and despite Zladimir's tiredness, he managed to step back just in time to avoid the strike. Battle had begun, and the two clashed weapons repeatadly, with the assassin flinging the occasional necromatic spell at the man yet Zladimir had learnt how to avoid such. No wounds were received by either end, but the undead killer was relentless. For a moment, it seemed Zladimir gained the upper hand when the blunt part of his polearm made direct contact with the jaw of the assassin, a swing which would of fractured the facial structure of any mortal being. The hit surprised both of them as the conflict came to a halt for a split second, the two making eye contact once again. This, was when Zladimir lost the fight. Merely moments later, he felt a wave of terrifying energy just spawn in from behind, and as he looked over his shoulder the man's eyes widened. Hulking over the man was a giant figure, covered in plated armour from head to toe with multiple swords sticking out from its back. It itself wielding a greatsword which was the size of Zladimir itself, as it begun to slowly stomp its way over, each step causing the hallway to shake.
The tide very quickly turned against Zladimir as he was now trapped between the two figures. No doors to which he can escape through, no windows in which he can jump out of. Only a family portrait was hung up on the wall infront of him, a picture painted of him, his wife and son holding each other tightly. The painting caught his attention for just a moment, almost bringing the man to tears as the two assassins closed in on him. He knew tonight would be the knight that the Bonelord would have claimed him, yet he was not ready to simply give up. He was the embodiment of the living's resistance against death, and he wanted to honour such until the very end. Letting out a cry of despair, the man charged down the original assassin, using his own body as a spear to tackle it to the ground in a surprising manouver. Whilst it did work, one can only consider such as suicidal. He was quickly pulled off by the hulking beast and held in the air by his neck as the metallic claws grapsed Zladimir tightly. The man struggled to breathe, and as the assassin stood up once more, he could witness the killer grasp it lance again, coating it in a green mist. The assassin looked up towards Zladimir as he witnessed the man suffocating, and without a single word, drove the lance into Zladimir's chest, the green mist crawling down the weapon and into the wound. The beast then dropped him to the ground, to which Zladimir instantly collapsed onto both his knees, unable to look anywhere else but the floor, as the pole of the assassin's lance was the only reason why he was able to stay upright. Keeping a tight hold on the pole, the assassin removed the weapon from Zladimir's chest, causing the man to collapse to the ground fully. Blood leaked out from his torso, staining the carpet. The final blow was then dealt, as the undead raised his weapon again, driving it within the Lord's chest once more, confirming his death. Zladimir's eyes rested on that same painting he saw only moments ago, to which he simply smiled weakly, taking his final breath. The beast picked up his body and slumped it over its shoulder, leaving only signs of struggle at the scene of the murder, as the two assassins then dissapeared in thin air, taking the Lord with them.
Harvestday 26, Starfall, 1549
The Death of Zladimir de Tiri, by Assassination
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