|
Post by wanzer on Sept 29, 2009 22:08:53 GMT -4
Love and Hate
The belt cracks again, it hurts, but it’s a familiar hurt. One full of care and concern. Each pop reminds him that his parents don’t want him to get hurt. He concedes to this fact and lets the agony burn, while his heart grows strong. He couldn’t imagine a day that went by, with out the love of his parents.
It was happening again, his father had, had a bit too much to drink. The belt was coming out of its loops, Fear shakes the young man to his roots. That belt meant hate, he knew it all too well now. It struck his back, that familiar sting rang through out, it reminded him of being bit by a snake. It was full of hate and envy. Perhaps his father was tried of crawling on his belly? He didn’t know, but the stench was there. The air was heavy with the smell of hate and beer.
|
|
|
Post by wanzer on Sept 29, 2009 22:09:37 GMT -4
Crossroads of Fate
He ran. He ran as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him, through the dark halls of San Miguel; that retched Church to the elder Gods of Massacre, Gongor and Norji. Santiago being only seven had no business entering into this holy place of his civilization, The Chaotic Dead, a cult dedicated to the worship of the numerous dark Gods of their home world, Majour. The dark hall way stretched out further ahead of him. Its numerous pathways and candle lights glowing blue revealing the tainted Gothic architecture with numerous visages of demons and the so called ‘heroes’ of the cult. His mind having been so desensitized by the cults foul practices had long over come this places horrors and found it a comforting sight. Just out of the corner of his eye, he saw the large central pillar of San Miguel and took hurt in watching the black stone forever pour forth its red light; while Mandalion lead the other more fervent cultists in prayer around it. His pace slowed as he passed this knowing he was nearing his father’s place amongst the people. The cold, dull tiles seemed to break underneath his light feet. He was instilled with a sense of falling as he knocked on the large oak door, which was impossibly tall seeming to extend past the ceiling hidden as it was by the veil of darkness. Wheezing from his long run, his hand moved forward to knock and before his hand even touched the door it was pushed open by a gust of wind outside. Santiago took a step back. His father was inside, but not the way he wanted to see. Even his culture, murder was a blasphemy and his father had been murdered. Sobbing he looked at his father’s tall form and around his office filled with numerous books and study desks. He gasped at the peaceful look on his father’s face as he looked around at his back and retrieved the blade stuck in his father skull. His murder had been committed by someone who knew their vile practices. He could tell from the various runes carved into the back of his neck and even by the murder weapon, a small double sized knife with the name of their order written in tongues along the edges. He wept for his father, before finally the Dijor, the keepers of the sacred sites heard his wails and ran inside.
“Santiago! How many times must we tell you….Oh my…..Sorte Mijor cay Soval”
A dijor named Martax said; it was a invoking of their greatest God Soval and could roughly be translated into “My dear God save us all.” Santiago’s tears ran down his face as the Dijors swept him up and lead him away back outside to question what he had seen. Santiago wouldn’t speak to them for another ten minutes and had to have each word coaxed out of him.
“I was coming to see my father to warn him of the Christain invasion! They are a two days ride from here…oh papa….”
Santiago muttered before looking to the west tears streaming down his face as dawn’s eye looked up over the horizon. Miles away coming from that same sun rise, leading an army of twenty thousand zealots was Lazarus de Salvador, the renowned slayer of pagans. A top his mighty warhorse moving across the plains he was an awe inspiring sight. He and his men swept across these plains like a fire, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.
“Master Lazarus!”
A voice called out from the ranks. Lazarus turned to meet the call his grey eyes scanning the soldiers for the voice’s owner. Finally pinpointing it, he ushered the scout over to him. He was a young man probably no older than fourteen and barely any strength to wield his weapon. All of his features had been hidden by the clunky suit of armor that he wore and left him teetering from side to side with every movement he made.
“Hail Scout, what be thy name and how can I aid you on this the Lord’s day which we strike fear into the pagan hearts!?”
“Sire, the forward advance party was spotted last night. They say a child from the cult of the Chaotic Dead fled from them before they could capture him.”
“Imbeciles! I want them all flogged when we return to camp tomorrow! Tell the men to double our speed and to prepare the Greek fire!”
Lazarus spat down onto the ground ignoring the young man as he left him. Grumbling to himself, he cursed his own God.
“God, your will shall be undone this day!”
Grabbing the reins he forced his stead on faster. His men soon following behind as he wanted to reach the cult’s outlaying homes by sunset and any man not there would find himself in a world of torment. The flat grasslands stretched on out of the sight of his eyes till after two hours of hard riding; they finally entered into a forest region where his advance squad had made their blunder though they were already long gone. Slowing his men, he eyed the pagan town with mild interest as he waved to his archers, who ignited their bows with a quick crack of flint and tender. Holding his hand up he waited, then shoved it down unleashing the torrent down upon the pagans who were busy preparing for battle. They had no idea it would be this soon. Death cries filled the air as houses burned and men were cut down in an instant. The Crusaders rushed from house to house brutally killing the cultists with no remorse. Only those who were in San Miguel were safe as head priest, Mandalion began a woeful chant and so did the other priests. They were rebuked quickly but soon the meaning of their chant became clear. The deities of San Miguel rose from their dark depths and struck out toward the Crusaders while both Lazarus and Santiago stared in horror; both wanting the same thing and both willing to risk it all to get it. Santiago wanted revenge for his father’s death as he saw the blood on Mandalion’s hand and Lazarus wanted to murder the malicious summoner who had ended the lives of his men.
|
|