So thy entire regiment wast struck down in colde bloode by the Noble Blade of His Majesty? Ha! Serves them right for going against The Crowne!
Ne’ertheless, whilst the Royal Guard will soon hunt thee down and put thee to the sword, if thou art still on the loose as thy regiment’s sole survivor then here beeth the best types of weather in which to lament the loss of thy comrades-in-arms.
Driving rain. There beeth nary a thing more solemn than a cold driving rain in which to ponder thy blasphemous decision to taketh up arms against The King.
A thickly brume. Thy somber thoughts canst get lost in a dreary fog in the same way the lives of all thy rebellious companions were lost on the fields of battle.
A morning sun. Oh, the sorrow! How canst the wretched sun shine upon thee at a moment like this?! It laughs in thy face and cares not for the death of traitors!
Bliſtering heat. Lo! The heat ſuffocates thy lungs the way thy treasonous compatriots were ſuffocated ‘neath the hooves of His Majesty’s steeds!
Volcanic eruption. Let the lava and ash take thee to thy fiery death. ‘Tis not technically a type of weather, but ’tis surely what thou deserves!
Long live The King! Huzzah!