Always Leave a Mark Behind

Always Leave a Mark Behind

Postby Zorana » Mon Apr 14, 2003 8:22 am

The walk back to his office was a long one, longer still by what he knew he walked towards. Towards his last night, his last morning, in that very office. The guards moved easily, to let him pass, and Kilborn trailed silently behind him.

He stared over the office, once he opened his door. The large mahogany desk.. the carved, high-backed, and elegant chair. The painting, hung over the fireplace. It was.. home. He inhaled, slowly, and walked to his desk, to sink down behind it's impressive wooden bulk. He nodded to Kilborn, who moved to put the tea kettle over the fire.

He reached for his quill, and a sheet of parchment.

---

Phlynn Marion Johnford is pronounced guilty of involuntary manslaughter. He has served his sentence, and has been summarily freed the morning of this Fourteenth day of April.

By my hand,

Gareth Rayin Taliaferro

---

He sealed the declaration with a stamp of indigo ink, and covered it carefully with the silver imprint of the emblem of the Order of Straka. One last motion made, before he walked away from this place, before he handed in his tunic. Well... two motions. He sighed heavily. It sat, uncomfortably in his stomach, these last actions he made. But they were no worse than the myriad of other freedoms he had granted over the course of his Captainship.

He blotted his quill, and reached for a new piece of parchment.

---

The Lady Alexi Rose is to be placed under arrest for crimes against the town of Myrken Wood. Bring her to the new Captain for questioning.

By my hand, this Fourteenth day of April,

Gareth Rayin Taliaferro

---

He handed that particular piece of parchment to Lieutenant Kilborn, in exhange for the teacup offered to him. "Have that copied, and post it in the necessary locations."

Kilborn nodded, and went to do as he was bid. He stopped in the doorway, to add a simple... "Farewell.. Captain."
Did you ever wonder what happens when there's dirt on the "Bat Signal?" It wouldn't even look like a bat anymore. Maybe they'd accidentally summon a superhero named "Misshapen Blob Man." I bet he weighs 900 lbs. and comes in the "Misshapen Blobmobile." And the cops go, "Aaah! Clean the lens!" And his theme could be the Batman song at about 10 R.P.M.

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To the Governor

Postby Zorana » Mon Apr 14, 2003 8:35 am

Gareth Rayin Taliaferro, Prince of New Dauntless and Viscount of Malandra, to the Honorable Gad Phuri, Governor of Myrken Wood and presiding Justiciar:

Greetings.


I am intruiged, and slightly surprised, by the Council's decision in relation to the Order of Straka. After the Council's rise at having a former Captain of the New Dauntless armies - for that was all I was - as the Captain of their Guard, you have brought in a former Captain of Thessilane's.

I admit to being a trace confused by your policies.


I have written two orders, as Captain. Those sealed, I must now offer to you my complete resignation. You have elected your new Captain, and there is war, and famine that have need of my attention.


Perhaps we may speak upon my return, of the relationships between our two countries.


By my hand, this fourteenth day of April,

Gareth Rayin Taliaferro


---


It was rude, the letter. He looked down at it, in displeasure, and internally battled in sending it at all. But he -was- confused. What better was promoting an officer of Thessilane, compared to promoting an officer of New Dauntless? When Rayin himself had come here, there had been no threat of his becoming Prince.

If his opinion of Burel was any less, then he might resent the Myrken Council's favor of Thessilane over New Dauntless. He shook his head, and folded the parchment, sealing it with a blob of indigo wax.


Perhaps it would have sat less awkwardly if the council's motives weren't so obvious. At three meetings, at least, he had raised the issue of Captain, bringing both Duvall and Kilborn with him. It would have been an easy decision, and yet the Governor had so very obviously not made it.

And then, Kanashia... who he had not even -met-, who had not joined the Order, although he had obviously been here for some time. Aspirations to go from nothing to Captain rested uneasily on his shoulders. Perhaps if the Council had even spoken to the two officers...

He shook his head, and stood.

To have the letter sent.
Did you ever wonder what happens when there's dirt on the "Bat Signal?" It wouldn't even look like a bat anymore. Maybe they'd accidentally summon a superhero named "Misshapen Blob Man." I bet he weighs 900 lbs. and comes in the "Misshapen Blobmobile." And the cops go, "Aaah! Clean the lens!" And his theme could be the Batman song at about 10 R.P.M.

Shameless Art Promotion Starts Here.
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Exuent Taliaferro

Postby Zorana » Mon Apr 14, 2003 8:37 am

He flexed his hand, then the arm, and glanced down at the shirt of fine linen and the elegant doublet of burgundy and gold brocade. He grimaced. "I look like a bird of paradise," he murmered, quietly, tugging the edges of the jerkin into place. He straightened, and glanced out the window at the guardsmen practicing their afternoon routines. He smiled, briefly, and turned away from the glass, to survey the empty room.

There was the desk, with a single, elaborately carved, high backed chair. The Captain's chair. Two other chairs, simpler, their cushioned seats not so plush, rested on the desk's other side. The limestone mantlepiece, simply carved, was empty, and spotless. The painting of a galloping stallion that had once hung just above the fireplace was gone. There were no bookshelves, no tables, no cushioned fireside chairs. The desk was naked - not a single speck of dust or splotch of ink. He gripped the arm of the highbacked chair, the sable suede of his gloves creaking against the wood, his grip far too hard. He cleared his throat faintly, as if embarassed. There was no one to hear him.

He backed away from the desk, and moved towards the doorway, trying not to gaze too long at any empty spot. Over a year, he'd sat in that chair, wrote letters with an inkwell that had sat just there and... He shook his head, and inhaled. It did little good to dwell upon regret. Still... He would miss it, the one place he'd come to feel appreciated. Turning, he reached for the door handle, and swung the door towards him. As he glanced over his shoulder, to catch one last glimpse of the room, he noticed a golden gleam. The nameplate. He sighed.

He pulled out his dagger, and stood silently for a long moment, gazing at the golden name plate, nailed into the thick wooden doorway by tiny nails. Captain Rayin Taliaferro it said, in flourishing script. He reached up, his expression resigned, and pried it loose with the point of his dagger. There was a soft echo as the forgotten nails fell to the floor. He curled his hands around the name plate, and returned the dagger to its sheathe. He ran his thumb over the engraving as he closed the door behind him.

It was not a long walk to the front door - past three doors on his left, and one other on his right. With a single left turn, he was back into the main hallway, and he walked no more than twenty feet to reach the front hall. The guardsman sitting at the desk adjusted his spectacles, and nodded gravely. "Goodbye, Captain," he said.

Rayin smiled. The fact that the guardsmen refused to stop calling him Captain... it was something, at least. Something to take with him. Something to remember. "Goodbye, Officer Kelley. Wish your wife good luck with those baskets, for me. And tell Josie I said goodbye." It was hard to say, the goodbyes. So many of them, with such things sitting on his shoulders. He smiled again, and turned away from the guardsman at the desk, who had nodded, still solemn, in reply.

He pushed out the doorway, and blinked hard as the late afternoon sunlight caught him in the eyes. Wet earth brown turned to gold, for an instant, as the sun's rays caught his irises. He blinked several more times, and let the door fall shut behind him. He could see, in the distance, several gaurds patrolling the gaol, the walls... This thing, that he had built from the bare bones of an Order.. It would live on, without him. He tried to tell himself that as he set his jaw, and walked towards the gate.

His horse, and the six remaining men from New Dauntless, were waiting for him. The gate guards nodded gravely, and each murmered their own, "Goodbye, Captain." He said farewell to each of them, and then swung onto his horse. He didn't let go of the name plate, and one corner dug into his palm.

"Where to, Your Highness?" the younger of the soldiers in azure, red, and black asked.

"Home, Williams. I am done with this place, and it's politics."
Did you ever wonder what happens when there's dirt on the "Bat Signal?" It wouldn't even look like a bat anymore. Maybe they'd accidentally summon a superhero named "Misshapen Blob Man." I bet he weighs 900 lbs. and comes in the "Misshapen Blobmobile." And the cops go, "Aaah! Clean the lens!" And his theme could be the Batman song at about 10 R.P.M.

Shameless Art Promotion Starts Here.
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One Last Goodbye

Postby Rattrap » Mon Apr 14, 2003 3:08 pm

The two corporals had waited on the edge of town, holding a rather large wooden box intended for the captain. Or, former captain. Be damned, there would just be two people they called that title from now on - although, hopefully, an instance wouldn't occur where both men shared their presence with the two corporals' own; surely, confusion would arise just to who they were referring to as 'captain'.

"Damnit, Robert, we've been waiting here for more than an hour now! Are you sure he's coming this way?"

"Ah, quiet, Thomas. O' course!"

"And how do you know, if I'm allowed to ask?"

"A little birdy told me, and no! Yer not allowed teh ask."

The bickering would stop once Taliaferro came into view - and, immediately, the two started into their own farewells.

"Ho! Captain! If we could have just one more word with yeh before yer off..."

"We couldn't help but to get you something to see you off. Something that...well, we doubt you'll ever forget us, but be damned, we want everybody else to know who you were here!"

"Yeh, so...er...ahh, well, I had some snappy things planned to say to yeh, but hell! 'S not like yeh lose yer long-time captain 'en friend."

With that, the two opened the box, revealing a particularly brilliant sword: the blade about three feet in length. A perfect, unblemished silver reflected the sunlight rather blindingly in, luckily, nobody's direction. The guard slipped off to either side, forming a rounded 'T' - rounded due to the decorative 'swirls' at the ends, punctured at each end with two rather large emeralds. The handle itself was studded with small colorful gems, placed in a manner as closely fitting to Taliaferro's hand as the two could come up with. Obviously, to keep the surprise, they hadn't ever blatantly asked for the captain's hand. A sapphire rested opposite the tip of the blade on the weapon, in even somewhat more of a splendor than the two emeralds.

On the blade, there was an engraving:

To Captain Gareth Rayin Taliaferro - Regardless of where you are, what title you have, or what you do, you will always have a place here in Myrken Wood. We enjoyed working with you, and we truly wish you luck for whatever lies ahead.

- The Order of Straka


It was all along one side the blade, left to right and up to down. Robert couldn't help himself in grinning rather broadly at the unveiling of the gift.


"Tha's from all of us, I'll have yeh know. A damned lot of us didn't eat fer a week!" The toothy grin continues, playing off the joking tone to his line.

Thomas was smiling himself, although he never quite procured the mischievous look that Robert wore whenever he was getting into something he really liked.
"I hope you'll find time to visit us every so often."

"Yeh! You need to come visit us! Lil' Sabrina can almost stand still! Almost! We're gettin' there!" Robert referred to his little five year-old daughter.

The gift was offered; inside the box as well rested an appropriately decorated sheath, and both blade and cover were surrounded by a fine, blue cloth - so as to keep them from banging about in the box, of course.
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