Rondel Keris had died with eighty-four years, by the hands of one of the only creatures in the world stronger than him, a dragon, an unknown one that had been resting for thousands of years, he had been a hero, even in his last moments, showing the world where they were.
He had been known for his hate towards orcish fey, understandably so, how he despised them more than almost anything else, but once said that he had been slightly intrigued by how they did what they did, though he still despised it, he had been interested in the reasons behind monsters, he had always searched for knowledge, for understanding.
Once, as his daughter, Liua, was still a child, with her now being fifty-eight, and a pillar of her community, he went foraging for mushrooms int he forest with her, his second home as he had called it back then, and when they found a boar, he hadn't killed it, he had simply let it continue on, because, in his words, this world needs animals to live, and monsters like me to kill it, for us to continue killing it even further.
So I am fairly sure when I say that he was a morbid realist, that, his wife was also sure about, as he said it between her tears, her laugh that was the sunshine for so many people, her jokes, having stopped for a long time after it happened, the two having known each other since they were four years old, having gotten together in their twenties, and never stopping telling their children about it, enjoying joking around with their family as anyone would do.
But Rondel had also been a jokester, Bensin, who sat at his funeral, had been able to say so as well, he remembered how he had hidden that accursed apparatus in his room after all, a room he had only been able to leave years later, after finally, the mana fuelling the device had long since ran out, though it did solve his problem of waking up too easily, something he was not happy about however.
Another time he had forced his trainees to train until the sun went down, forgetting that there was a celestial even that day, that the day that day was seven straight days, an entire week long, an even taking place every eighteen years in this place, one astronomers were never able to entirely explain, one originating form the magic of this place and the vacation of the gods running it.
His cadets had told violent stories about him and he had begun to be seen as some kind of devil amidst the great hunters protecting out country, a devil of training, but what everyone could see was that he was lenient when someone lost someone dear to them as he had lost his sister, an even that, according to him, never entirely left him behind, thinking about it at least once every week.
And that reminds me, he was always so oddly honest about some things, and so oddly dishonest about others, he always said what he was thinking, and often laughed about it with his wife, Julia, who never ended up remarrying, or with his children who said he was more like a giant plush-daddy, someone who was kind to them, but was very much against letting them be harmed, choosing violence if he ever had to defend them, but preferring to really just use his words to resolve any situation.
He had been a close friend of Egna, the greatest of our alchemists as well, enjoying her work and finding her to be exceedingly talented, though some say he had just used her to get the heart of the wyvern into elixirs, something he had jokingly referred to as his 'contribution', though we can all admit that his contribution was safety, was humour, was fun.
Truly, I have countless more things to say about him, about his friends, about his children, and I will, but I think, right now he is somewhere out there, led by the great goddess of the skies to the northern star, the star holding our greatest heroes, reuniting in the dust of creation, with his parents, and one day with his wife.
And, perhaps, if that wretched beast will truly die one day, with the cat that ended up outliving even him, one of the oldest hunters to ever die in service, almost double the age of the normal service-death, a deed recorded in the history books, alongside his very name, his deeds, and so many more things.
He was someone that turned even his greatest pain into strength, so he turned the spell he referred to as "giant's frosty arrow" to the end of his life, into his masterpiece, something even the greatest of mages struggled to truly understand, into his greatest power after his sister died trying to summon it.
That very spell was the one that even wounded the dragon, a being known for it's sturdiness amongst peers of the same rank, that pierced the body of the wyvern and turned it into materials to build weapons out of and make armor, of, both of which he wore back when he fought he dragon the most likely reason for his death, his choice in clothes.
In the end one can truly say that Rondel Keris was someone incredible, a good husband, a wonderful father, the best friend one could ask for, though Bensin would perhaps like to refute that claim, and so much more, a hero of our country, this entire world, a idol of children all around, though he never saw himself as such, and even a philanthropist who some say discovered the secret to immortality, as his cat lived to be over a hundred yeas old before finally succumbing to old age, though, some say it is still alive to this day.
Yet, even though his story was supposed to be over, his book was supposed to be closed, he was not entirely gone, because somewhere else, far, far away, in an icy place, something just happened, and someone, someone young awoke.