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Author Topic: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler  (Read 715 times)

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Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« on: January 17, 2020, 08:56:58 PM »
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Re: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« Reply #1 on: April 04, 2020, 07:12:38 PM »

Quote

Léopold Tremblay, Baron de Choisy
(720 - 773 BC)


"I need you to be strong, Marcelite. For me. For the children."

His wife swallowed audibly, offering a small and uncertain nod. She then returned to my brother and I, giving us both an anxious smile in an attempt to console us. It lasted all of ten seconds; five more seconds would pass, and my mother started to break down. Our arms curled around our mother's weeping form, embracing her but also attempting to shield her from the cold and uncaring world.

A portly man in a blue coat that marked him as a part of Chateaufaux's Gendarmerie shouted at us from down the long corridor to 'get a move on'. My brother looked over his shoulder at the voice's source, his expression one of contempt. Sensing what might follow, I hurried everyone along before my brother got to experience what the butt of a musket might feel like against his jaw.

The large wooden door slowly creaked open, revealing a throng of men and women, some immaculately-dressed in silks and others wearing more frugal attire. Some were short and others were stocky, some were tall and lanky; all, however, bore sneers and looks of disdain. Insults and jeers came from the crowd, directed at him and at us. My father did not pay them any heed, walking towards his own death with his head held high.

We were led to a small booth adjacent the public square surrounded by gendarmes. They wanted us to watch.

A small man with bushy eyebrows unfurled a scroll and began to read from it in a dull and dispassionate tone. "Léopold of House Tremblay, Baron de Choisy. Found guilty of aiding and abetting the enemies of the Serene Republic, the traitorous Covenant. Today, we are gathered to carry out his sentence... execution by guillotine."

Cheers erupted from a crowd eager for their bloodlust to be sated. I saw familiar faces that fateful day. Those who I had once thought my friends were there in the crowd, screaming out in excitement, losing any and all pretense of civility.

"Don't just stop with him, kill them all!"

"Oui! Deal with the swamp-dwellers, too!"

I looked to them for a few moments longer, and then I turned my gaze elsewhere. To some far-off point away from all the pain I felt, away from what was about to happen...

I feel guilty, even now, about not actually watching it. I only heard it. I heard the blade of the guillotine falling down, and then next, my mother's blood-curdling scream. I made the mistake of returning my gaze forward and thus saw my father's headless body and an all-too-familiar face staring back at me from within the basket it rested in. It was my turn to break down.

I wept, and I just kept on weeping as they led us all back to our cells. I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, still soaking wet, hoping that I wake up and it carries me to another place. Another time.

It is inside the Governor's Hotel. It is 775 BC.

« Last Edit: April 04, 2020, 07:14:25 PM by Better Dread than Dead »

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Re: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« Reply #2 on: April 11, 2020, 09:23:07 AM »

Quote

Marcelite Tremblay née Maillard, Baronne de Choisy
(728 - 773 BC)


Morning's light poured through the window near my bed. I wish I could simply remain in bed for longer, to just continue to shut myself off from the world outside my room; however, I felt of late that I had to at least try and go through the motions. Perhaps it was the only way things were going to get better. Perhaps it was the only way by which I might be lifted from my sorrow, short of amnesia and forgetting my father ever existed.

A moment's hesitation followed, as I thought to myself whether or not it was even worth me trying to face the day. I then thought of my mother and how much worse she was taking all of this. I had to go out there. I had to leave my room, to go out there and wear a smile, however plastered-on, and work to try and keep her spirits up.

My brother told me yesterday evening that he had intended to leave the estate and travel to Chateaufaux today. He invited me to come with. As he likely expected, I declined his offer. He simply shook his head, telling me that I couldn't spend my entire life cooped up in here. He's right, of course, and yet he needs to give me more time.

How much more time? How long? The war was over. The Maitriser took Port-a-Lucine after taking Chateaufaux; not only were we freed, but our father was posthumously pardoned. All of what was taken from us was returned, excluding the ship. Excluding my father. My brother said that "things would be getting back to normal, soon enough". I wanted to trust him.

This is not normal, though.

This is not normal.

I was still petrified by the mere thought of going back to Chateaufaux, even then. Of standing in the public square where he lost his life. Of seeing those cerulean-colored uniforms passing through on their patrols. I worried irrationally for my brother, and would probably continue to worry until he was back at the estate.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream, one unfamiliar to me, tore me from my daydreams and anxious musings over what could be into the here and now. It was coming from the baths. I rushed as fast as I could to the sound. I ran inside and what I saw stopped me cold.

My mother lay in the ornate porcelain tub, the bathwater stained a dark and murky crimson, her slightly wrinkled, wizened face frozen in an expression of defeat, hopelessness and sorrow. From her wrists slowly leaked her now snuffed-out life force. One of the maids stood there, babbling incoherently in equal parts anguish and horror in between fits of sobbing. The very sight brought me to my knees, and I simply stared. Incapable of processing what I was seeing, incapable of believing it.

The tears start to flow freely for me, and I close my eyes in an attempt to banish them.

I open my eyes. I am back in the Governor's Hotel. It is 775 BC, again. It is time to get ready for a big evening.



« Last Edit: April 11, 2020, 09:25:04 AM by Better Dread than Dead »

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Re: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« Reply #3 on: May 13, 2020, 08:21:44 AM »

Quote

Felix Charbonnier
(??? - 775 BC)


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Raoul le Marquand
(??? - 775 BC)


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Charles-Eduoard de Bauhin
(??? - 775 BC)


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Re: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« Reply #4 on: May 24, 2020, 09:47:26 AM »

Quote

Antoine Vaillant
(??? - 775 BC)


Quote

Grégoire Vaillant
(??? - 775 BC)


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Re: Raymonde Tremblay - Chronicler
« Reply #5 on: June 08, 2020, 05:58:02 PM »

Quote

Raymonde Tremblay
(754 - 775 BC)


The salty air hits my face, accompanied by a particularly harsh chill wind. I hear the waves break against the sandy shore near me as I stand on the pier's edge. I gaze out towards the sunrise with my bloodshot eyes; they carry with them a weary stare.

I spoke with him only moments before. It was clear what was needed: a leap of faith. I had to jump over the chasm and hope that I ended up on the other side.

Fear and doubt plagued my mind. My body trembled as I reached inside my coat for the oaken handle of my flintlock. I grasped it firmly, lifting it up to point it at my temple.

A moment's hesitation, of uncertainty, before resolve took hold... and then nothing.

Only oblivion.


« Last Edit: June 08, 2020, 05:59:42 PM by Better Dread than Dead »