Light shone in to the chapel in great blankets, covering everything it touched, illuminating all within. The chapel was grand and ornate. Statues of various archbishops and eminent figures lined the walls. Above them, enormous windows told ancient stories with pictures made with chromatic colors and hues stained in to the glass. The ceilings were high, reaching towards the heavens. Towards God - and God reached back; back with light so bright it seemed that angels frolicked and played around the building.
Mass had ended a short time before and the great hall was vacant of all but one. A lone priestess kneeled before a statue, whispering hymns in a beautiful, melodic voice. She was shorter than most, but it wasn’t an unattractive feature. A silvery robe covered her like a wispy veil, fluttering at the slightest movement, giving her a picturesque and natural aesthetic. An aesthetic that was only exacerbated by her youth. Her face was soft, with smoothly contoured features. Her brown hair, falling just below her ears, reflected pockets of gold as the bright sun gracefully danced around her. She was a lighthearted child at heart. Always happy. Always with a smile on her face. She cared for others, and not just because she was a priestess. She had a heart. A heart that outshone even the most dazzling of the suns beams.
Her quiet lamentation ended, and she rose. She looked up, moving her gaze to the eyes of the statue before her. It was the tallest one. It was a statue of the Savior, a savior who had never come. Yet. She always believed he would come. She was told he would since the beginning of her childhood. For as long as she could remember she had heard the stories of the Savior who would come and bring light to a city of darkness and all would be well again. She was a realist, but she liked to believe that one day everything would be okay.
The far door, the single entrance to the chapel from the castle grounds, opened. Not in a grand fashion; the doors were opened in a subtle way that one would use when trying not to draw attention. She knew who it would be, and her face brightened at the thought - The Crusader.
The Crusader was a great man. A man much like the heroes of the Romantic and quixotic stories who would venture forth and rescue princesses and combat dragons and other forms of generic evil. The Crusader was as skilled in arms as he was devout. He was a priest. He was a warrior. But he wasn't torn between the two worlds; instead he was an amalgamation of both; employing righteousness in battle and conviction in worship. He bore gold plate armor. Walking down the aisle, he was like a majestic sun, treading with pride and light. On his back, a great mace ornamented with the sigils and crosses of their religion. It had seen few battles, but it was young, as was he, and it was no less intimidating than a bloodied axe. He, too, believed in the coming of the Savior.
But beneath the battle armor, beneath the macho exterior was a gentle man. A man who knew how to love. A man who knew how to give love and receive it. A man of kindness, of caring and of compassion. He used violence only when completely unavoidable. Formidable, yet gentle; he was a lover and a fighter; and she loved him for that. He smiled at the Priestess. It was a smile that spoke vows and promises. A smile which was worth more than treasures and wealth. It was a smile which would guarantee her happiness. It was love.
As he approached, she couldn’t help but be magnetized to him. She leapt in to his arms. Even through the steel, the Priestess could feel the warmth of his heart, the gentle touch of his hands on her back, the loving embrace he held her in. She looked up and saw the warm, caring smile on his face and she smiled back. After a few moments they loosened their embrace, if only to look at each other.
“You know you could die” the Priestess said sarcastically.
“I could die. Yes. Or, we could do something great. You and I both know that if this really is him, we could bring salvation to this city.”
“I understand. Salvation cannot come without cost. We cannot afford to be selfish.”
The Crusader gave her a nod, acknowledging her wisdom. “I shall leave soon. The King’s…” he paused. “…trial…should be ending in a few minutes. I’ll have to intercept the guards before they reach his cell. I have not the key, so I cannot allow them to lock him there.”
“What shall you do with the bodies?”
“Well, someone has to fill the cell” She giggled a little. “I just hope this works.”
“Just don’t get caught by the hundreds of soldiers and you’ll be fine.”
“You know the trouble maker I was. If I get caught, it’ll be the first time” She pulled him in, savoring one last embrace.
“Then I guess I need not tell you ‘good luck’”
“I don’t need luck. I’ve got skill”
“And a big mace”
“It does help”
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Chapter 2
The halls were long and cold. The stone that lined the walls was damp and usurped the heat from one’s body as he passed leaving nothing but a cold, empty shell; barren of hope and happiness and all that made one human. The torches, which provided the only illumination, were few and far between, shrouding most in darkness; a malicious darkness. One that ate at you – ate at your soul. It fed not to curiosity. It was fodder for nightmares. Nightmares that became living within these halls. Nightmares that would swallow one whole in to the maw of evil and death.
The Savior walked calmly with a silent resolve, shackled by two men next to him. The men bore armor and had hoods pulled over their heads, covering their faces in the same shadow which existed everywhere in these walls. The savior walked: a beacon of light through the tenebrious darkness that was all around him. He knew not of his future, but he knew what he had to do. The king wouldn’t stop him. No one would stop him. The people would be granted their God. The people would be freed. The people would be granted their liberties and rights. This darkness that stood would not keep him from this. No. These obstacles were ethereal and evanescent. His sword of light would cut through them, just as it would cut through the King. Nothing was going to stop him.
The two men – nameless, faceless, shadowy beings – lead him into a much larger and grander chamber. There, upon a tall throne sat the King, embroidered in the treachery and corruption which he was infamous for. He sat amongst countless treasures and wealth from the people that he stolen from, but he hid all this well. He let not his citizens see what he had done to them. The façade that he retained was one of a much humbler being; one that left the common man unaware of his secretive inner life. He was ringed by sentries and centurions, much burlier and well-armed, if possible, than the two who lead the Savior by chains.
Windows lined the walls and the ceiling of the King’s throne room, but no light entered here. The King was a being of darkness; of shadow; of corruption, woe and misery; of torment. No. No light entered here. Only the darkness and blackness that made his heart existed here. It didn’t simply sit idly by either. It coagulated in to a thick, undulating, choking substance that covered one like oil. It forced itself in to one’s being, penetrating every part of one’s self, and the King stood at the epicenter of this maelstrom of evil. His eyes moved on to the Savior’s, ordering the attack of the dark storm that whirled around him. The King was prepared to beat down his mind and soul before he would finally do away with his body. He was going to leave him with nothing. For anyone who came between the King and his absolute order would be exterminated. Exterminated absolutely.
The two did battle for a moment; the King’s omnipresent darkness clashing with the Savior’s unwavering beacon of light. The tension was almost palpable, if the shadows weren’t so overwhelming. The guards, with spears at the ready, were prepared to impale the Savior if he was to make a single move, but he remained steadfast, against both the King’s assault and the guards’ intimidation. The King rose, seeing the futility of the stalemate. His booming voice echoed and amplified itself within his chamber.
“You, Savior, are charged with the corruption of the populace of my city. This constitutes a capital offense. To that end, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading – public beheading.” A cocky smile crawled over the King’s face as he spat the words from his mouth. The Savior made not a movement; recognized not that the King had even said anything. He simply continued to stare upon his visage. To acknowledge the King had made any sort of threat on his life would be to grant him the satisfaction of his death. So the Savior did nothing. The King’s smug grin turned to a frown.
“Return this filth to its cage. He will receive no dinner tonight.” The grunts bowed to their ruler before turning to face, again, the hall. They tugged at the Savior’s chains. He reluctantly tore his gaze from the King, not wanting to relent his silent torrent of accusations and channeled hate which roared fiercely in the absence of spoken word. The three started back in to the shadows. It was to be another night in the dungeon – the last night.
The Savior walked calmly with a silent resolve, shackled by two men next to him. The men bore armor and had hoods pulled over their heads, covering their faces in the same shadow which existed everywhere in these walls. The savior walked: a beacon of light through the tenebrious darkness that was all around him. He knew not of his future, but he knew what he had to do. The king wouldn’t stop him. No one would stop him. The people would be granted their God. The people would be freed. The people would be granted their liberties and rights. This darkness that stood would not keep him from this. No. These obstacles were ethereal and evanescent. His sword of light would cut through them, just as it would cut through the King. Nothing was going to stop him.
The two men – nameless, faceless, shadowy beings – lead him into a much larger and grander chamber. There, upon a tall throne sat the King, embroidered in the treachery and corruption which he was infamous for. He sat amongst countless treasures and wealth from the people that he stolen from, but he hid all this well. He let not his citizens see what he had done to them. The façade that he retained was one of a much humbler being; one that left the common man unaware of his secretive inner life. He was ringed by sentries and centurions, much burlier and well-armed, if possible, than the two who lead the Savior by chains.
Windows lined the walls and the ceiling of the King’s throne room, but no light entered here. The King was a being of darkness; of shadow; of corruption, woe and misery; of torment. No. No light entered here. Only the darkness and blackness that made his heart existed here. It didn’t simply sit idly by either. It coagulated in to a thick, undulating, choking substance that covered one like oil. It forced itself in to one’s being, penetrating every part of one’s self, and the King stood at the epicenter of this maelstrom of evil. His eyes moved on to the Savior’s, ordering the attack of the dark storm that whirled around him. The King was prepared to beat down his mind and soul before he would finally do away with his body. He was going to leave him with nothing. For anyone who came between the King and his absolute order would be exterminated. Exterminated absolutely.
The two did battle for a moment; the King’s omnipresent darkness clashing with the Savior’s unwavering beacon of light. The tension was almost palpable, if the shadows weren’t so overwhelming. The guards, with spears at the ready, were prepared to impale the Savior if he was to make a single move, but he remained steadfast, against both the King’s assault and the guards’ intimidation. The King rose, seeing the futility of the stalemate. His booming voice echoed and amplified itself within his chamber.
“You, Savior, are charged with the corruption of the populace of my city. This constitutes a capital offense. To that end, I hereby sentence you to death by beheading – public beheading.” A cocky smile crawled over the King’s face as he spat the words from his mouth. The Savior made not a movement; recognized not that the King had even said anything. He simply continued to stare upon his visage. To acknowledge the King had made any sort of threat on his life would be to grant him the satisfaction of his death. So the Savior did nothing. The King’s smug grin turned to a frown.
“Return this filth to its cage. He will receive no dinner tonight.” The grunts bowed to their ruler before turning to face, again, the hall. They tugged at the Savior’s chains. He reluctantly tore his gaze from the King, not wanting to relent his silent torrent of accusations and channeled hate which roared fiercely in the absence of spoken word. The three started back in to the shadows. It was to be another night in the dungeon – the last night.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Chapter 1
"You called for me, master?"
A plain, cloaked figure strode towards the one she called master. Her white locks, covered by the hood, were trying desperately to escape from the veil. Even through the darkness her grey eyes shone like diamonds. She was fair, even beautiful, but she hid such things underneath the midnight robe flowing around her like a gentle swirling breeze.
The master didn't answer immediately. She had her back turned, playing with trinkets and rifling through tomes kept on her ancient wood table.
"Yes" she began. "I did." She turned about. Suddenly, the cloakéd one became aware of her surroundings. The smothering darkness seemed to permeate a cool light. The ceiling was high and domed. She stood in the center of a square with four massive obelisks erected in the corners. The walls were smooth and perfect, yet their faces danced in some grotesque manner. Patterns of darkness writhed around bands of light, mixing the two like poison in wine, then moving apart like oil on water.
"I must thank you. As you know, I am imprisoned within these halls; not, perhaps, by force, but by nature. Though they would line up within moments of my call, most of my agents stalk the overworld, leaving me alone in my prison. You, however; you have not. You, despite the vileness of my domain, remain at my side and for that I thank you; for even the most powerful warlocks have not immunity to the pains of loneliness."
The cloaked one slowly bowed. "I owe you my life, master."
"Which brings me to my next request. I am a puppeteer of many. I have strings stretched to every corner of this city, but one has eluded me. "She lifted her fist to the cloaked woman's eye. "The King" As soon as she muttered the words, her fingers shot apart like a trapped creature bursting from its cage. A wispy figure the underling recognized as the King's castle fortress materialized in the palm of her master's hand.
"I'm sending you the castle to work as a servant. There, you will sow the seeds of my control. The King, through, is a Goliath. His person is altogether too powerful to gain control of directly, so we must plant strings indirectly." The image in her palm was suddenly swept away in a whirlwind. "The Prince" The whirling storm subsided and, in its stead, stood a handsome young man. "He is the key to controling the King. But to acquire this key, I need him here - in my domain. Fortunatly, most of the work can be done for you. The Prince is young, ambitious, blind. All you must do is give him an inkling. Hint at my existance and he will come."
"How will I make him trust me?"
"The Prince is valiant and noble. He will protect his friends at all costs. Show him that you are among these people and he will trust you without question."
"As you wish, master"
"Speak with the Bounty Hunter. He will lead you to the castle. Good luck."
"Thank you, master"
"No. Thank you"
A plain, cloaked figure strode towards the one she called master. Her white locks, covered by the hood, were trying desperately to escape from the veil. Even through the darkness her grey eyes shone like diamonds. She was fair, even beautiful, but she hid such things underneath the midnight robe flowing around her like a gentle swirling breeze.
The master didn't answer immediately. She had her back turned, playing with trinkets and rifling through tomes kept on her ancient wood table.
"Yes" she began. "I did." She turned about. Suddenly, the cloakéd one became aware of her surroundings. The smothering darkness seemed to permeate a cool light. The ceiling was high and domed. She stood in the center of a square with four massive obelisks erected in the corners. The walls were smooth and perfect, yet their faces danced in some grotesque manner. Patterns of darkness writhed around bands of light, mixing the two like poison in wine, then moving apart like oil on water.
"I must thank you. As you know, I am imprisoned within these halls; not, perhaps, by force, but by nature. Though they would line up within moments of my call, most of my agents stalk the overworld, leaving me alone in my prison. You, however; you have not. You, despite the vileness of my domain, remain at my side and for that I thank you; for even the most powerful warlocks have not immunity to the pains of loneliness."
The cloaked one slowly bowed. "I owe you my life, master."
"Which brings me to my next request. I am a puppeteer of many. I have strings stretched to every corner of this city, but one has eluded me. "She lifted her fist to the cloaked woman's eye. "The King" As soon as she muttered the words, her fingers shot apart like a trapped creature bursting from its cage. A wispy figure the underling recognized as the King's castle fortress materialized in the palm of her master's hand.
"I'm sending you the castle to work as a servant. There, you will sow the seeds of my control. The King, through, is a Goliath. His person is altogether too powerful to gain control of directly, so we must plant strings indirectly." The image in her palm was suddenly swept away in a whirlwind. "The Prince" The whirling storm subsided and, in its stead, stood a handsome young man. "He is the key to controling the King. But to acquire this key, I need him here - in my domain. Fortunatly, most of the work can be done for you. The Prince is young, ambitious, blind. All you must do is give him an inkling. Hint at my existance and he will come."
"How will I make him trust me?"
"The Prince is valiant and noble. He will protect his friends at all costs. Show him that you are among these people and he will trust you without question."
"As you wish, master"
"Speak with the Bounty Hunter. He will lead you to the castle. Good luck."
"Thank you, master"
"No. Thank you"
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