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Snippet #2578978

located in Tibera, a part of The Price of Blood, one of the many universes on RPG.

Tibera

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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Dismounted now, Ronan watched the mournful Renly. It was difficult to stop from breaking out into a gleeful smile, difficult to maintain a face full of grief and mourning. Instead, Ronan settle for an expression of nothingness as if he had been broken by Ulfric's death. He hear another voice as he and Renly approached the corpse. Simon, he noted, hearing one of his younger cousin stammer and struggle for words to explain the situation. Ronan had not intended for either of the other men to follow him, but it certainly seem to be negatively affecting him. In fact, perhaps it would simply better his situation.

He wiped crocodile tears from his eyes as he stepped towards the fallen ward of his father. Renly would be his ward now, wouldn't he? A smart boy, most certainly, but he was too clever at times, and though Ronan himself had never been a stupid man, he couldn't help but be concerned that perhaps the young ward might prove to be more of a challenge than an asset. He was king now, however. Should the boy turn out to be too much of a burden, he would be cast out.

Simon's stammered question brought him to his senses once more. Ronan wiped the blood on his face as he wiped once more at tears he was still struggling to summon. The blood wiped across his face too, giving him the appearance of one of the ancient chieftains in modern Ostwall. He took a moment to gather a shuddering breath. "He wished to carry on our hunt by foot," he began softly. "I didn't...he didn't even..." Ronan gave himself a moment, lip beginning to quiver as he began to force himself to think of truly sad moments. Celia dying. Corianna dying. Genevieve dying. Freya dying. He wept wholeheartedly.

"T-the boar...he came up from...behind," Ronan started, the sobs truly causing his lower lip to quiver like a babe. In that moment, perhaps he would look weak, but in the long run, he would prove that he was not. He would make certain of that. "He hardly had time to react...and I tried to pull the v-vile thing from him, b-but...the damage had been d-done."

He slowly turned his attention back to Renly then, feebly and hopelessly attempting to staunch the bleeding with his hands. The front of the boy was drenched in the blood that had once coursed through Ulfric's body. Renly was making him look emotionless, fake...weak. Before he knew what he was doing, Ronan rushed forward and gripped the teenager by his shoulder. The sudden move would, most likely, catch Renly off guard and send him falling on to his back. "He is dead, damn it! Your sniveling won't bring him back!" Ronan cried as an ominous wind blew through the trees. Even through the treetops, it was easy to see that the storm was returning. Unlike his new ward, however, Ronan saw little symbolism in it. "We need to...his body must move." He spoke coldly, and the facade dissolved as a few raindrops pattered against his head.

Ronan wrapped his arms around Ulfric's chest and hefted his body upwards, hoping one of the others would seize his legs. When he tried to place the corpse over his own horse, the black stallion grew restless. He turned then to look at Ulfric's dun mare, who, when he draped the body across her back, accepted the burden knowingly, as if she could tell that she was weighed down for the last time by the man who had once ridden her into battle so many years ago.

One of Ronan's gloved hands seized the reins of the mare, and the other gathered up his stallion's reins as the sad procession made their way back towards the tents of the other nobles. As they walked past, some nobles who must have heard the cry from Ronan began to emerge from the woods, and they gasped or whispered amongst themselves, unable to process what they were seeing. Those from Ostwall began to weep or gaze after their king blankly. Those from the other kingdoms simply refused to believe in the death of Ulfric Bjornson, a man that the song writers claimed to be immortal. Occasionally, they stopped for Ronan to readjust the body as needed, but otherwise, the party went uninterrupted. Not by sound, nor movement, for a somber mood had fallen over what had once been a joyous occasion.