So, for the moment, I've been writing a bunch of series of short fiction that has pretty much...
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acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
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So, for the moment, I've been writing a bunch of series of short fiction that has pretty much taken up my life. I like writing it more than fanfic because I can make my OWN characters instead of having to wonder "Hey, am I going to piss off people with this characterization" or "Will I be passionate enough to finish this story when an influx of new ideas makes me want to do other things?" So I decided to take a bunch of characters and do serialized stories with them, so that I can enjoy writing small stories with characters I like to write, and this format allows me to finish something and then start another story, all the while leaving the option of a sequel to the character, or to have them just exist as their own thing.
So- I hope you enjoy this. After this paragraph will be links to the stories as they come out, and I will be beginning the first story as soon as I feel confident that it is in a good enough space to begin being posted. I just wanted to update people who have been reading my stuff to what is going on, and I hope this is adequate.
INDEX:
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget
Up Next: SPIRIT BOY - The Last Town 'til Midnight
After That: BLASTER - Too Legit to Quit
So- I hope you enjoy this. After this paragraph will be links to the stories as they come out, and I will be beginning the first story as soon as I feel confident that it is in a good enough space to begin being posted. I just wanted to update people who have been reading my stuff to what is going on, and I hope this is adequate.
INDEX:
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget
Up Next: SPIRIT BOY - The Last Town 'til Midnight
After That: BLASTER - Too Legit to Quit
Last edited:
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 1
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Michael wandered mostly, as that was how he felt he was able to do the most good.
To be a paladin meant one had to go and defeat the beasts that plagued humanity in the days since the end of the world, and since the most reliable way for someone to get word to a paladin was through another paladin or the Church's messenger service (which was distinctly anti-paladin), there was a good chance that a good map and a schedule would manage to keep people informed of where the local solution was.
So, it was by this tactic, that Lord Duncan, one of the leaders of a fief that held the town of Grigget, managed to contact Michael.
Michael had stopped in a township that knew him, and had been saved by him, Downriver. He had stopped for a few days to recuperate after a particularly nasty scratch had looked to be on the road to infection, and he sought out the nearest doctor with a kind inclination to his order, and Downriver had been close enough.
He was composing letters, responses to missives and records of his fulfillment of duty, all to be sent to his superiors back at the Barrier of Man, when the messenger had arrived, a young girl.
"Are you the paladin?" She asked him, and he looked up from the table he had been borrowing in a local pub. She was definitely younger than the usual ones, short and awkward in a way that made him think she couldn't be any older than 12, but his duty was not judgement.
"I am Michael, of the Warriors of Man." He said, in his usual response. When asked if you were a paladin, the Warriors of Man drilled into your head that you must answer truthfully. 'Even thugs and murderers fear the beasts, Michael', a phrase he heard echo through his head. "What do you request?" He asked, and she pulled out a piece of paper, folded twice and sealed with what looked like beeswax.
"A Warrior of Man must help those who request it, correct?" Asked the girl, and Michael nodded as he looked over the paper. It was from Duncan, who requested the service of Michael for the people of Grigget, a few days walk from where he sat.
"If they are willing to accept the Oath of Man." Michael added as he finished the note. It was a simple request, to kill the beasts harassing a town before something more came of it. Simple enough.
The Oath of Man was a core tenet of the Warriors of Man. If one expects the help of the paladins, they must swear the oath, and fulfil its duties, or forsake themselves from ever gaining the assistance of another paladin.
"We accept." She says. "How quickly can you move?"
The Oath essentially was this- if a paladin saved you, you sent one to join their ranks. If the paladin fell, you sent one to join their ranks.
"I'll be ready to leave within the hour. Wait at the gates. Do you have a horse?"
"No, I ran here."
"That's fine. I set a fast pace, so keep up." He said, and began to test what he could bear on his wound. It was just a scratch on his torso, but if it opened up, Michael would be very inconvenienced. The girl left, and he began to dress, a heavy shirt and trousers, leather boots and gloves, a metal chestpiece and helmet, and then he departed. He was currently using a handy little shield and sword he had found after his last weapon had shattered on the head of a particularly nasty beast, and he kept his silver knife hidden on his person, as he usually did.
Most paladins had a crest of some sort, and Michael was no different. Upon his shield, chestpiece, and helmet, was a thin and small black cross, each made with the same black oil that poured out of the veins of most creatures linked with the portal to the other place where the beasts hailed from.
Some called it hell. He had his doubts.
It was a short while before he joined the girl.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Michael of Wellen." He said. "Some call me Michael Blackcross."
"You don't see many paladins use the cross as a symbol."
"No, it isn't common." He gestured to the road. "Lead the way."
To be a paladin meant one had to go and defeat the beasts that plagued humanity in the days since the end of the world, and since the most reliable way for someone to get word to a paladin was through another paladin or the Church's messenger service (which was distinctly anti-paladin), there was a good chance that a good map and a schedule would manage to keep people informed of where the local solution was.
So, it was by this tactic, that Lord Duncan, one of the leaders of a fief that held the town of Grigget, managed to contact Michael.
Michael had stopped in a township that knew him, and had been saved by him, Downriver. He had stopped for a few days to recuperate after a particularly nasty scratch had looked to be on the road to infection, and he sought out the nearest doctor with a kind inclination to his order, and Downriver had been close enough.
He was composing letters, responses to missives and records of his fulfillment of duty, all to be sent to his superiors back at the Barrier of Man, when the messenger had arrived, a young girl.
"Are you the paladin?" She asked him, and he looked up from the table he had been borrowing in a local pub. She was definitely younger than the usual ones, short and awkward in a way that made him think she couldn't be any older than 12, but his duty was not judgement.
"I am Michael, of the Warriors of Man." He said, in his usual response. When asked if you were a paladin, the Warriors of Man drilled into your head that you must answer truthfully. 'Even thugs and murderers fear the beasts, Michael', a phrase he heard echo through his head. "What do you request?" He asked, and she pulled out a piece of paper, folded twice and sealed with what looked like beeswax.
"A Warrior of Man must help those who request it, correct?" Asked the girl, and Michael nodded as he looked over the paper. It was from Duncan, who requested the service of Michael for the people of Grigget, a few days walk from where he sat.
"If they are willing to accept the Oath of Man." Michael added as he finished the note. It was a simple request, to kill the beasts harassing a town before something more came of it. Simple enough.
The Oath of Man was a core tenet of the Warriors of Man. If one expects the help of the paladins, they must swear the oath, and fulfil its duties, or forsake themselves from ever gaining the assistance of another paladin.
"We accept." She says. "How quickly can you move?"
The Oath essentially was this- if a paladin saved you, you sent one to join their ranks. If the paladin fell, you sent one to join their ranks.
"I'll be ready to leave within the hour. Wait at the gates. Do you have a horse?"
"No, I ran here."
"That's fine. I set a fast pace, so keep up." He said, and began to test what he could bear on his wound. It was just a scratch on his torso, but if it opened up, Michael would be very inconvenienced. The girl left, and he began to dress, a heavy shirt and trousers, leather boots and gloves, a metal chestpiece and helmet, and then he departed. He was currently using a handy little shield and sword he had found after his last weapon had shattered on the head of a particularly nasty beast, and he kept his silver knife hidden on his person, as he usually did.
Most paladins had a crest of some sort, and Michael was no different. Upon his shield, chestpiece, and helmet, was a thin and small black cross, each made with the same black oil that poured out of the veins of most creatures linked with the portal to the other place where the beasts hailed from.
Some called it hell. He had his doubts.
It was a short while before he joined the girl.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"Michael of Wellen." He said. "Some call me Michael Blackcross."
"You don't see many paladins use the cross as a symbol."
"No, it isn't common." He gestured to the road. "Lead the way."
- Location
- Somewhere on the flat earth
It's interesting, I'll watch this.
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Thanks, I appreciate the continued support.
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 2
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
It took a day at a grueling pace to get to the outskirts of Grigget.
"Tell me what you've seen." Asked Michael.
"It was the corpses." She said. "The demons raised them. They started by killing the guards and the Ferricks."
"How many of the beasts?" He asked.
"All the people-"
"The demons, then, if that's clearer. How many demons?"
"I never saw them. Ger did, though." She said.
"Who is Ger?" He asked.
"My brother." She replied. "I can take you to where the people are hiding."
"Do it." He said, and they walked into the town.
The two of them walked now, Michael had raised a hand to slow her. If you alerted the Non-Men to your presence, they could overwhelm you, and he had no way to smash them apart without a blunt instrument. Michael grimaced, thinking of the sword. It was fine, but unsuited for this mission.
The town was quiet, no bleats of animals or sounds of life, which was a good sign that the town was infested with non-men, the reanimated servants of the beasts. Michael followed quietly behind the girl, allowing her to set the pace, which was quick and quiet. He had slung his shield off his back before he walked into the village, and his sword hung at his side, ready to be drawn.
The girl veered off into one of the buildings, one of the larger ones, and opened a door.
"In here." She whispered. He nodded, and walked into the building. Once she sealed the door, she allowed herself to speak.
"We should be fine. We keep the doors proofed." She said. "This is my home. My family will have left a letter for me if they aren't here."
"Why a letter?" Asked Michael.
"The demons can't read. I can. We can change where we hide so they can't find us, and my mother will write on the cupboard doors to tell me where they all are." She said.
Michael took a seat and removed his clothes to wrap his wound.
"We'll stay for a moment so I can recuperate. That plan of your people seems like it will hold against the minor creatures of death. None of them spoke?" He asked, and she shook her head. "Good. I'd prefer not to fight a greater-beast."
"Too tough for you?" She asked, with a bit of venom.
"No, this just seemed simple. I prefer simple." Michael said. If a weapon being a weaker match for the type of creature than he wanted was his only problem, he was in for at least a relatively painless job. "I encounter too much that isn't very simple."
"Aren't you a paladin? A noble hero?"
"Do I look noble to you?" He asked, and she shook her head again. "Well, if you've heard of the oath, you can understand what that entails, right?"
"What?" She asked him.
"Any fool can be a paladin. I have seen many in my time." Michael said as he redressed his wound. "Any paladin will die to save a human, but that death is rarely noble."
"But the paladins save people!" She protested. The girl was an idealist, Michael thought as the realization dawned upon him.
"So do the crusaders. So do a great number of people." He looked over her, and wondered her name for the first time. She hadn't offered it, and he hadn't asked. "What's your name, girl?"
"Patricia Verda." She said. "The crusaders don't help people, Blackcross. They take all the foolish men swayed by glory from places like these, places they need to protect, and leave them in the hands of great sods like yourself."
"Have I offended?" Michael asked, as he put his shirt back on. His brown hair and beard hadn't been washed in a while, so he took out a cloth and wet it from the house-spigot. "I do apologize if I have."
"You besmirch paladins!" Patricia said.
"But I am one." Michael replied. "I know the inner-workings of my sect better than most. Tell me, did you want to take the oath's duty?"
"It's far nobler if I go than if we send the old beggar we scrounged up."
"All men are able to turn the wheel." Michael recited from the code. "The infirmed and elderly have their place in the order."
"Are you quite done with your soother?" She asked, and Michael put the cloth in a pouch on his belt. He had been dawdling for a moment, and being called on it irked him.
"Any food in here?" He asked.
Another facet of the oath was that any paladin was to be fed and watered and given shelter by those he protected.
"Some salted pork and feick." She said. "I didn't have a chance to check the garden."
"Would you?" Michael asked. "I could use something besides meat."
She disappeared deeper into the house, and Michael sighed in frustration. The wound was being agitated. Non-Men weren't necessarily harmful, they were as fragile as a corpse could be. The problem was from the dark magic the beasts used to reanimate them. It could taint anything, and and open wound was a small risk he disliked having.
The girl reappeared with several tubers and some carrots. Michael began to eat the salted meats and the carrots, electing to not to try and cook anything.
"Where are the people?" He asked, and she began to draw a crude map on some parchment.
"They're here." She pointed to a blob close to the center. "This storage building is very defendable, and there aren't many people here who can hold a weapon well enough to fell one of the corpses."
"So they're all just sitting there?"
"Lots of axes, food, walls as strong as any."
"Is it a cold storage?" Asked Michael, and Patricia shrugged.
"I've never been in there. The farm was the place we usually retreated to, but it fell first."
"Let's get ready to go, eat some food, and we'll go as soon as you finish." Michael said as he stood up to put his shirt and armor on. "We need to see how many non-men we're dealing with."
"How will us visiting the people hiding help with that?"
"We'll find out who's missing, and then we count that."
"Tell me what you've seen." Asked Michael.
"It was the corpses." She said. "The demons raised them. They started by killing the guards and the Ferricks."
"How many of the beasts?" He asked.
"All the people-"
"The demons, then, if that's clearer. How many demons?"
"I never saw them. Ger did, though." She said.
"Who is Ger?" He asked.
"My brother." She replied. "I can take you to where the people are hiding."
"Do it." He said, and they walked into the town.
The two of them walked now, Michael had raised a hand to slow her. If you alerted the Non-Men to your presence, they could overwhelm you, and he had no way to smash them apart without a blunt instrument. Michael grimaced, thinking of the sword. It was fine, but unsuited for this mission.
The town was quiet, no bleats of animals or sounds of life, which was a good sign that the town was infested with non-men, the reanimated servants of the beasts. Michael followed quietly behind the girl, allowing her to set the pace, which was quick and quiet. He had slung his shield off his back before he walked into the village, and his sword hung at his side, ready to be drawn.
The girl veered off into one of the buildings, one of the larger ones, and opened a door.
"In here." She whispered. He nodded, and walked into the building. Once she sealed the door, she allowed herself to speak.
"We should be fine. We keep the doors proofed." She said. "This is my home. My family will have left a letter for me if they aren't here."
"Why a letter?" Asked Michael.
"The demons can't read. I can. We can change where we hide so they can't find us, and my mother will write on the cupboard doors to tell me where they all are." She said.
Michael took a seat and removed his clothes to wrap his wound.
"We'll stay for a moment so I can recuperate. That plan of your people seems like it will hold against the minor creatures of death. None of them spoke?" He asked, and she shook her head. "Good. I'd prefer not to fight a greater-beast."
"Too tough for you?" She asked, with a bit of venom.
"No, this just seemed simple. I prefer simple." Michael said. If a weapon being a weaker match for the type of creature than he wanted was his only problem, he was in for at least a relatively painless job. "I encounter too much that isn't very simple."
"Aren't you a paladin? A noble hero?"
"Do I look noble to you?" He asked, and she shook her head again. "Well, if you've heard of the oath, you can understand what that entails, right?"
"What?" She asked him.
"Any fool can be a paladin. I have seen many in my time." Michael said as he redressed his wound. "Any paladin will die to save a human, but that death is rarely noble."
"But the paladins save people!" She protested. The girl was an idealist, Michael thought as the realization dawned upon him.
"So do the crusaders. So do a great number of people." He looked over her, and wondered her name for the first time. She hadn't offered it, and he hadn't asked. "What's your name, girl?"
"Patricia Verda." She said. "The crusaders don't help people, Blackcross. They take all the foolish men swayed by glory from places like these, places they need to protect, and leave them in the hands of great sods like yourself."
"Have I offended?" Michael asked, as he put his shirt back on. His brown hair and beard hadn't been washed in a while, so he took out a cloth and wet it from the house-spigot. "I do apologize if I have."
"You besmirch paladins!" Patricia said.
"But I am one." Michael replied. "I know the inner-workings of my sect better than most. Tell me, did you want to take the oath's duty?"
"It's far nobler if I go than if we send the old beggar we scrounged up."
"All men are able to turn the wheel." Michael recited from the code. "The infirmed and elderly have their place in the order."
"Are you quite done with your soother?" She asked, and Michael put the cloth in a pouch on his belt. He had been dawdling for a moment, and being called on it irked him.
"Any food in here?" He asked.
Another facet of the oath was that any paladin was to be fed and watered and given shelter by those he protected.
"Some salted pork and feick." She said. "I didn't have a chance to check the garden."
"Would you?" Michael asked. "I could use something besides meat."
She disappeared deeper into the house, and Michael sighed in frustration. The wound was being agitated. Non-Men weren't necessarily harmful, they were as fragile as a corpse could be. The problem was from the dark magic the beasts used to reanimate them. It could taint anything, and and open wound was a small risk he disliked having.
The girl reappeared with several tubers and some carrots. Michael began to eat the salted meats and the carrots, electing to not to try and cook anything.
"Where are the people?" He asked, and she began to draw a crude map on some parchment.
"They're here." She pointed to a blob close to the center. "This storage building is very defendable, and there aren't many people here who can hold a weapon well enough to fell one of the corpses."
"So they're all just sitting there?"
"Lots of axes, food, walls as strong as any."
"Is it a cold storage?" Asked Michael, and Patricia shrugged.
"I've never been in there. The farm was the place we usually retreated to, but it fell first."
"Let's get ready to go, eat some food, and we'll go as soon as you finish." Michael said as he stood up to put his shirt and armor on. "We need to see how many non-men we're dealing with."
"How will us visiting the people hiding help with that?"
"We'll find out who's missing, and then we count that."
- Location
- Somewhere on the flat earth
First time I read about this method, I think its because it would only work in small communities that everybody know each other and most zombie stories are set in the modern era were this is impossible.
I'm intrigued by the demons. Are they human necromancers or actual demons from hell, or maybe something like dark elves?
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
It depends on who you ask, really. The more powerful religious organizations insist upon the beasts being known as demons. The paladins think that they aren't as a policy, but several privately believe in them being demons. Then there are the fringe groups, which won't be seen in this installment of the story, but hoo boy, they have some kooky beliefs.
Basically, the only thing that is TRULY known is that wherever they came from is not of this world.
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 3
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Michael had joined the Warriors of Man as a young boy, and had seen the horrors and depravities of the beasts that plagued the lands for almost all his life. He was used to the lifestyle of a member of the Warriors.
To be a paladin, which was the common name for a member of the order, one had to believe two things of varying importance. One was that all things, no matter how monstrous, could be killed. The second was that no man could be more important than all men.
These concepts served the ideals of the paladins, but weren't the easiest things to digest for a person, which is why Michael felt no malice towards the girl who was glaring at him as he walked through the town.
He felt no malice, but there was a hearty amount of annoyance.
For everything he did to complete his duty, which was admittedly not an easy task, she had a criticism. Which isn't to say she wasn't inaccurate. The work Michael did was often seen as dehumanizing and wrong, but that was the nature of his work.
Feick, the meat of the beasts, was an invention by the paladins out of necessity. One of the many ideas that the paladins propagated to keep people alive, but were seen as horrific.
It was one of the core tenets of the Warriors of Man that what everyone referred to as "demons" were not demonic, but just creatures beyond the understanding of humans. If they weren't human, then the meat, the blood, the bone, all of these things just became a tool to survive, and the paladins saw all tools as needed.
This ideology led to a lot of justification, and there were numbers of paladins that did their job while still fearing the wrath of God that the "demons" wrought upon the world.
Michael had several issues with these ways of thinking, but there were times and places for arguments, and the girl was beginning to get noisy.
"— that ALL people have lived and died in order—"
"Shut up. If you are not quiet, you will lead your dead friends right to us." Michael said in an angry whisper.
At this, the idealism lost to the realism, and she began to quietly point the directions to him. It wouldn't take much longer for them to get there.
He understood the girl's idealism. He had been witness to hundreds of men arriving at the training grounds for the paladins with her exact attitude.
"The Paladins are heroes!" Was the warcry of these sorts, but it had always seemed like a plain denial of reality. The paladins were just as much men as any other, save for one or two special skillsets. It was ludicrous the pedestal that people put those who knew how to gut the beast upon. When the time of knights and war was happening, did the people hoist them onto high pillars? Michael wasn't as knowledgeable about history as he should've been.
He was lucky, at least, that this idealistic girl hadn't met The Libertine or worse, Abo the Skull. They would be more demoralizing to her worldview than someone who was grim and rude.
Eventually, the two of them reached the building.
"We need to circle the area once to see if they're watching." He said.
"Who?"
"Think of the bodies as bees. The bees go out and get the honey, and they take it back to the queen."
"So, we're searching for—"
"We're searching for the queen. Now, before we meet up with your people, is when it is time to discover the intelligence of the creature. I need you to hide, and take this." Michael presented the dagger. "If a non-man attacks you, put that between its eyes."
"Will that kill it?" She asked.
"It's already dead, girl." Michael said. "But it won't get up twice, if that's what you meant."
Michael crept through the surrounding area. It would be quick and quiet, two loops— one to see the area, and the second to check whether he missed anything on the first one. To his credit, he was thorough. Michael's work ethic was dedicated. He would not let anything that needed to be done left unfinished, and he made his way around the area with a swiftness that one could say was sloppy.
To Michael's eye, speed was not a factor. He could see things and process what he had seen very quickly. He had a gift for archery, and his eyes were only seeming to get stronger. A lot of the more experienced paladins theorized that being exposed to so much of the miasma of the beasts would give a man extra strength, but it was widely discouraged to try and expose yourself to it on purpose. Michael's eyes were good, but he didn't think they were beastial blessings. The ideas you heard from the veterans as they drank around a table were part-insane, part-brilliant, but all pretty out-there.
He occasionally wished he hadn't been born in this world, as he felt he could have made a lot of money using these eyes for something that didn't involve killing monsters. Maybe observing the finances of a nobleman, spending days counting gold coins and not running swords through inhuman creatures that raised corpses from the dead. He finished his first pass through and looked back to see if he could spot the girl.
To his pleasure, it seemed like she had listened and made herself scarce. If she was smart enough to listen to him, even if she disliked him, then she may be smart enough to survive. He remembered her saying her intention to go and join the paladins, and he gave it some serious thought.
The first thing he had needed to learn was how to listen to orders and be quiet, so there was some definite potential there.
They just both had to make it through this alive.
To be a paladin, which was the common name for a member of the order, one had to believe two things of varying importance. One was that all things, no matter how monstrous, could be killed. The second was that no man could be more important than all men.
These concepts served the ideals of the paladins, but weren't the easiest things to digest for a person, which is why Michael felt no malice towards the girl who was glaring at him as he walked through the town.
He felt no malice, but there was a hearty amount of annoyance.
For everything he did to complete his duty, which was admittedly not an easy task, she had a criticism. Which isn't to say she wasn't inaccurate. The work Michael did was often seen as dehumanizing and wrong, but that was the nature of his work.
Feick, the meat of the beasts, was an invention by the paladins out of necessity. One of the many ideas that the paladins propagated to keep people alive, but were seen as horrific.
It was one of the core tenets of the Warriors of Man that what everyone referred to as "demons" were not demonic, but just creatures beyond the understanding of humans. If they weren't human, then the meat, the blood, the bone, all of these things just became a tool to survive, and the paladins saw all tools as needed.
This ideology led to a lot of justification, and there were numbers of paladins that did their job while still fearing the wrath of God that the "demons" wrought upon the world.
Michael had several issues with these ways of thinking, but there were times and places for arguments, and the girl was beginning to get noisy.
"— that ALL people have lived and died in order—"
"Shut up. If you are not quiet, you will lead your dead friends right to us." Michael said in an angry whisper.
At this, the idealism lost to the realism, and she began to quietly point the directions to him. It wouldn't take much longer for them to get there.
He understood the girl's idealism. He had been witness to hundreds of men arriving at the training grounds for the paladins with her exact attitude.
"The Paladins are heroes!" Was the warcry of these sorts, but it had always seemed like a plain denial of reality. The paladins were just as much men as any other, save for one or two special skillsets. It was ludicrous the pedestal that people put those who knew how to gut the beast upon. When the time of knights and war was happening, did the people hoist them onto high pillars? Michael wasn't as knowledgeable about history as he should've been.
He was lucky, at least, that this idealistic girl hadn't met The Libertine or worse, Abo the Skull. They would be more demoralizing to her worldview than someone who was grim and rude.
Eventually, the two of them reached the building.
"We need to circle the area once to see if they're watching." He said.
"Who?"
"Think of the bodies as bees. The bees go out and get the honey, and they take it back to the queen."
"So, we're searching for—"
"We're searching for the queen. Now, before we meet up with your people, is when it is time to discover the intelligence of the creature. I need you to hide, and take this." Michael presented the dagger. "If a non-man attacks you, put that between its eyes."
"Will that kill it?" She asked.
"It's already dead, girl." Michael said. "But it won't get up twice, if that's what you meant."
Michael crept through the surrounding area. It would be quick and quiet, two loops— one to see the area, and the second to check whether he missed anything on the first one. To his credit, he was thorough. Michael's work ethic was dedicated. He would not let anything that needed to be done left unfinished, and he made his way around the area with a swiftness that one could say was sloppy.
To Michael's eye, speed was not a factor. He could see things and process what he had seen very quickly. He had a gift for archery, and his eyes were only seeming to get stronger. A lot of the more experienced paladins theorized that being exposed to so much of the miasma of the beasts would give a man extra strength, but it was widely discouraged to try and expose yourself to it on purpose. Michael's eyes were good, but he didn't think they were beastial blessings. The ideas you heard from the veterans as they drank around a table were part-insane, part-brilliant, but all pretty out-there.
He occasionally wished he hadn't been born in this world, as he felt he could have made a lot of money using these eyes for something that didn't involve killing monsters. Maybe observing the finances of a nobleman, spending days counting gold coins and not running swords through inhuman creatures that raised corpses from the dead. He finished his first pass through and looked back to see if he could spot the girl.
To his pleasure, it seemed like she had listened and made herself scarce. If she was smart enough to listen to him, even if she disliked him, then she may be smart enough to survive. He remembered her saying her intention to go and join the paladins, and he gave it some serious thought.
The first thing he had needed to learn was how to listen to orders and be quiet, so there was some definite potential there.
They just both had to make it through this alive.
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 4
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
There was one that wandered into the area. A non-man, the death oil leaking from its mouth and eyes, with furs wrapped all around him. No weapons, probably a trapper caught unawares, and probably one of the first of the slain.
He ran up to it and slashed down over its head, cleaving the head in two. This technique would be inefficient for everyone of the bodies he met, but this was likely only one. He quickly gathered the oil into a flask and took out his flint.
The easiest way to deal with these things was fire, as the oil was significantly easier to light and burn than any tinder. The term the researchers used was "accelerant", as it burned quickly, engulfing something in flames, but it would burn so quickly and intensely that before you knew it, a raging inferno had popped up.
The body was a great bait, and a great trap. Michael took the flask and poured the oil in a line to behind cover with a vantage, and hid. Either it was a mindless drone, and the beast was lesser, or it would attract other non-men to its location and the beast was of a greater class. Either way he had to wait there for another half-hour. He hoped it would be boring and that the girl knew enough to stay put. Waiting to light a line of a dead man's tainted blood was going to be nerve-wracking enough without having to worry if there was a stupid girl trying to act heroic.
If she was going to take the Oath, it would probably mean he'd have to escort her to a stronghold for training, which meant that he'd be out of rotation for a while. The area he patrolled was generally far enough away from any of the breaches the beasts emerged from that there were fewer of these incidents, and the local Lord was able to hold his own with his small army of soldiers, but it was nice to have a schedule again.
Michael had been working here to take a break from the life of a stronghold paladin, being sent in droves to take out the most pressing threats that were brought to their doors— and with the added risks that came from tangling with the strongest and most monstrous of the beasts...
He was reminiscing too much. All of this philosophical nonsense was distracting him. He would finish this and then bring the oather to a stronghold. The end, and now he needed to watch.
So he watched. Michael watched, ignoring the sweat trickling down his face under his helmet, ignoring the sickly-sweet smell of decaying fruit that the oil of death was known for, and quietly waited. All the paladins went through testing to be able to judge increments of time without any visuals, and Michael was decent at it. He sat and waited, and ignored the formings of a cramp, and then when a half-hour passed, he slinked through the village to where he'd left the girl.
"Are you sure we're fine?" She whispered as she appeared. He hadn't seen her, which was something he commended her for— not admitting he wasn't looking for her at all, of course, and they went into the storage.
"We're either fine, or fucked beyond a hope." He said.
"Oh." She mumbled. He felt a little bad at her muted tone.She was a girl, and he was a man, and he was treating her as if she was at fault for being naive and full of hope.
"I'm sorry for my behavior." He said to her. "I know I need to work on it." She looked up at him, and she looked a little pink in the cheeks, but she hadn't cried.
"Why are you that way?" She asked. "Mean."
"I do this very often." He said.
"Save people?" She asked, and he almost grinned at that. Sure, save people, get an oather, the people forget you helped them and resent you having taken food, water, and shelter as well as a member of their people.
"Yes, saving people is extremely hard work." He said.
"Well, if it were easy, anyone would do it." She said. "My mom says that a lot."
"I don't know if your mother and I agree on that point."
"My mother is a very intelligent woman. She can read the bigger books."
"So can I." Remarked Michael with a smile.
They walked into the surrounding courtyard of the storage building, using a small gap in the fence that was designed to filter in non-men.
"Smart design." Michael remarked. The fence didn't meet up in one space, instead the two walls met by spiraling into a guided path.
"My mother found it in a big book." Patricia said.
The walked down the path until they reached a gate. On either side were small rings of metal, and a pair of spears were hovering in one each of the rings on either end of the gate.
"This is smart too. The metal circlets make it so you can hold a polearm from safety."Before Patricia could respond, the spears dropped to the ground, the points landing in the grass and creating divots in the dirt.
"We're armed!" A high voice yelped from beyond the gate. "State your business, and be warned there are non-men on the loose."
"It's Patricia, I brought the paladin!" The girl yelled.
"Patricia?" The voice asked before the polearms raised out of the way of the door as it swung open to reveal the mightiest warriors of Grigget. A diplomatic looking man, a boy, and an old shepherd.
"Master Paladin— This is Mayor Crow, Owen, and Old Harold."
"Hello!" Said Owen, the boy.
"Pleased to meetcha." Said the shepherd.
"You've come to help us?" Asked the mayor, and Michael was surprised the voice belonged to the mayor.
"I've come to offer the Oath." Michael said, the customary first greeting of a paladin.
"Oh thank goodness." The mayor sobbed. "Oh thank goodness!"
He ran up to it and slashed down over its head, cleaving the head in two. This technique would be inefficient for everyone of the bodies he met, but this was likely only one. He quickly gathered the oil into a flask and took out his flint.
The easiest way to deal with these things was fire, as the oil was significantly easier to light and burn than any tinder. The term the researchers used was "accelerant", as it burned quickly, engulfing something in flames, but it would burn so quickly and intensely that before you knew it, a raging inferno had popped up.
The body was a great bait, and a great trap. Michael took the flask and poured the oil in a line to behind cover with a vantage, and hid. Either it was a mindless drone, and the beast was lesser, or it would attract other non-men to its location and the beast was of a greater class. Either way he had to wait there for another half-hour. He hoped it would be boring and that the girl knew enough to stay put. Waiting to light a line of a dead man's tainted blood was going to be nerve-wracking enough without having to worry if there was a stupid girl trying to act heroic.
If she was going to take the Oath, it would probably mean he'd have to escort her to a stronghold for training, which meant that he'd be out of rotation for a while. The area he patrolled was generally far enough away from any of the breaches the beasts emerged from that there were fewer of these incidents, and the local Lord was able to hold his own with his small army of soldiers, but it was nice to have a schedule again.
Michael had been working here to take a break from the life of a stronghold paladin, being sent in droves to take out the most pressing threats that were brought to their doors— and with the added risks that came from tangling with the strongest and most monstrous of the beasts...
He was reminiscing too much. All of this philosophical nonsense was distracting him. He would finish this and then bring the oather to a stronghold. The end, and now he needed to watch.
So he watched. Michael watched, ignoring the sweat trickling down his face under his helmet, ignoring the sickly-sweet smell of decaying fruit that the oil of death was known for, and quietly waited. All the paladins went through testing to be able to judge increments of time without any visuals, and Michael was decent at it. He sat and waited, and ignored the formings of a cramp, and then when a half-hour passed, he slinked through the village to where he'd left the girl.
"Are you sure we're fine?" She whispered as she appeared. He hadn't seen her, which was something he commended her for— not admitting he wasn't looking for her at all, of course, and they went into the storage.
"We're either fine, or fucked beyond a hope." He said.
"Oh." She mumbled. He felt a little bad at her muted tone.She was a girl, and he was a man, and he was treating her as if she was at fault for being naive and full of hope.
"I'm sorry for my behavior." He said to her. "I know I need to work on it." She looked up at him, and she looked a little pink in the cheeks, but she hadn't cried.
"Why are you that way?" She asked. "Mean."
"I do this very often." He said.
"Save people?" She asked, and he almost grinned at that. Sure, save people, get an oather, the people forget you helped them and resent you having taken food, water, and shelter as well as a member of their people.
"Yes, saving people is extremely hard work." He said.
"Well, if it were easy, anyone would do it." She said. "My mom says that a lot."
"I don't know if your mother and I agree on that point."
"My mother is a very intelligent woman. She can read the bigger books."
"So can I." Remarked Michael with a smile.
They walked into the surrounding courtyard of the storage building, using a small gap in the fence that was designed to filter in non-men.
"Smart design." Michael remarked. The fence didn't meet up in one space, instead the two walls met by spiraling into a guided path.
"My mother found it in a big book." Patricia said.
The walked down the path until they reached a gate. On either side were small rings of metal, and a pair of spears were hovering in one each of the rings on either end of the gate.
"This is smart too. The metal circlets make it so you can hold a polearm from safety."Before Patricia could respond, the spears dropped to the ground, the points landing in the grass and creating divots in the dirt.
"We're armed!" A high voice yelped from beyond the gate. "State your business, and be warned there are non-men on the loose."
"It's Patricia, I brought the paladin!" The girl yelled.
"Patricia?" The voice asked before the polearms raised out of the way of the door as it swung open to reveal the mightiest warriors of Grigget. A diplomatic looking man, a boy, and an old shepherd.
"Master Paladin— This is Mayor Crow, Owen, and Old Harold."
"Hello!" Said Owen, the boy.
"Pleased to meetcha." Said the shepherd.
"You've come to help us?" Asked the mayor, and Michael was surprised the voice belonged to the mayor.
"I've come to offer the Oath." Michael said, the customary first greeting of a paladin.
"Oh thank goodness." The mayor sobbed. "Oh thank goodness!"
- Location
- Somewhere on the flat earth
Could you explain this better?
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 5
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
They were a colorful bunch. Michael's first impression of the mayor was that he wasn't quite sure of his job.
"Mayor?" He said, offering a hand. "I didn't know this town had a mayor."
"It doesn't." The mayor said as he shook Michael's hand. "It's a nickname they give me. I bring the concerns of our small town to the lord of the area. I'm actually a merchant."
"Is this your storehouse?" Michael asked.
"Mine and others."
"Good, then you can give me a real meal before I go off and kill those beasts. Do you have any weapons here?"
The situation wasn't terrible. Michael hadn't demanded a feast, and they hadn't given him one. Just a simple meal, bread, salted fish, beer.
Then they showed him a selection of…
Swords.
"I'll be fine with my own. Any maces, flails, hammers?" He asked, satiated but feeling a pit in his stomach. This would be tedious and dangerous.
"None here. This is all merchandise for conventional protection and sale. No one buys flails in bulk anymore after the fall of Clayton." The mayor shrugged at Michael. "Can I offer you better armor than that?" He gestured to the hard leathers of Michael's equipment. It was scarce on metal, but it would do better than the plate and mail being offered. Too much weight would restrict Michael's ability to kill the damned risen corpses.
"I'll be fine with my own armor. Would any home in the city have a hammer or the like?"
"It is on the opposite side of the town from where the creatures were first seen." Said the shepherd.
"We haven't dared scout, and Patricia was the only one we thought would be fast enough to get to you." Owen said.
"How many of you are missing?" Michael asked.
"I'd say around 10." One offered.
"No, more than 10. 15 or 20, I'd say." Said another.
"How many live here?" Michael asked.
"128. We're not too big." Said the Mayor.
"How many made it in here?" Michael asked.
"I can check-" Owen said, "if you need someone to."
"Go." Michael said, as the boy ran away. "So when he gets back, I'll see if I need the hammer, and then I'll make my preparations. It'll be dealt with today, or failing that, tomorrow."
"I doubt it'll take long." Said the Shepherd. "We aren't a large community, and I know who was claimed by the demons."`
Then they waited. It wasn't in Michael to blather on about himself. He was simply here to fight, to die for these people if necessary. His helmet was lying on the table he was resting at. The small black cross that adorned the area his forehead would be was almost like a brand-
It was not many a paladin who took the cross for a symbol.
The boy returned quickly.
"My count was at 103, counting everyone here." He said. "But there ain't no way of telling that they're the non-men. I don't know."
"So potentially 24." Michael said. "Including the one I killed on the way here, and one of the lesser beasts. I suppose I'll be fine without the hammer." It was just another soother, after all. He didn't need to waste more time to just get a weapon he knew he didn't NEED.
"You expect to take on that many with just a sword?"
"And my knife, if someone would return it." Michael said. The girl hadn't let go of it the whole time they'd been there. "Any of you feel like accompanying me?" He asked the men.
"I was a soldier before I retired to this life." Said the shepherd. "I can assist you."
"You said your name was Harold?" Asked Michael, and Harold nodded. "Arm yourself. I need a witness, but not a partner. You'll probably not be needed."
"If I can be of any help, that would be good."
"We'll be going as soon as you're ready."
Michael waited by the entrance, sword sheathed, knife sheathed, and flask empty, and felt a bit of calm. He knew the facts now. A group of twenty-odd non-men, a beast, and a sword. These facts would lead him to victory. He knew what he had to do, he only had to slay these things. Simple enough.
"Blackcross." He heard over his shoulder. It was the girl, Patricia. "I'd like to help."
"Stay here. Don't come." Michael said. "Listen to my words, girl, and you'll live."
"I'm ready to fight!" She said.
"Really?" Michael asked. "What should I use to kill the beasts? What kind of beast are we killing?"
"You need witnesses? I can at least see what is going to happen." She said.
"Can you?" Michael asked. "Where is your family?"
"They're within the basements." She said.
"Every relative who lives here?" He asked.
"Not…" She said. "I'm sure they're-"
"No, you have to assume they're a non-man. That you'll need to see me kill someone you love, who broke bread with you. What I do is ugly and cruel and dirty, and it doesn't get easier for me to do, and it's horrific to watch. I will most likely be burning these people from the inside out to stop them from hurting anyone else, do you comprehend that? That the people of your town will be burning in front of you?"
"So-" she said. "You use fire?"
"Yes. Fire works well. Answer the questions."
"Do you feel anything when you kill them? Guilt?" She asked.
"Yes, occasionally, but for the most part, no." He said. "To be a paladin is to harden your heart, to kill the things that no one else would foolishly volunteer to kill. If you think us noble heroes, just know we stick knives through the eyes of families."
"Does that disqualify you from being a hero?" She asked.
The two looked at each other. Michael figured the last, cruelest lesson available to him would suffice.
"Fine, girl." He said. "Come along and witness my work."
"Do you mean it?" She said, with hope in her voice. Michael pitied this hope, and felt the pain of sorrow in his throat. He felt ready to cry, but he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't cry, at least not here.
How many times would he see these sorts, and how many times would he have to teach them the lesson of wisdom he was about to impart? This felt like too many.
"Yes, I mean it. Arm yourself if you so desire, and meet me here. I will wait for the shepherd, but not you."
"Yes, sir!" She said with glee, and ran off.
This would be a dark day.
"Mayor?" He said, offering a hand. "I didn't know this town had a mayor."
"It doesn't." The mayor said as he shook Michael's hand. "It's a nickname they give me. I bring the concerns of our small town to the lord of the area. I'm actually a merchant."
"Is this your storehouse?" Michael asked.
"Mine and others."
"Good, then you can give me a real meal before I go off and kill those beasts. Do you have any weapons here?"
The situation wasn't terrible. Michael hadn't demanded a feast, and they hadn't given him one. Just a simple meal, bread, salted fish, beer.
Then they showed him a selection of…
Swords.
"I'll be fine with my own. Any maces, flails, hammers?" He asked, satiated but feeling a pit in his stomach. This would be tedious and dangerous.
"None here. This is all merchandise for conventional protection and sale. No one buys flails in bulk anymore after the fall of Clayton." The mayor shrugged at Michael. "Can I offer you better armor than that?" He gestured to the hard leathers of Michael's equipment. It was scarce on metal, but it would do better than the plate and mail being offered. Too much weight would restrict Michael's ability to kill the damned risen corpses.
"I'll be fine with my own armor. Would any home in the city have a hammer or the like?"
"It is on the opposite side of the town from where the creatures were first seen." Said the shepherd.
"We haven't dared scout, and Patricia was the only one we thought would be fast enough to get to you." Owen said.
"How many of you are missing?" Michael asked.
"I'd say around 10." One offered.
"No, more than 10. 15 or 20, I'd say." Said another.
"How many live here?" Michael asked.
"128. We're not too big." Said the Mayor.
"How many made it in here?" Michael asked.
"I can check-" Owen said, "if you need someone to."
"Go." Michael said, as the boy ran away. "So when he gets back, I'll see if I need the hammer, and then I'll make my preparations. It'll be dealt with today, or failing that, tomorrow."
"I doubt it'll take long." Said the Shepherd. "We aren't a large community, and I know who was claimed by the demons."`
Then they waited. It wasn't in Michael to blather on about himself. He was simply here to fight, to die for these people if necessary. His helmet was lying on the table he was resting at. The small black cross that adorned the area his forehead would be was almost like a brand-
It was not many a paladin who took the cross for a symbol.
The boy returned quickly.
"My count was at 103, counting everyone here." He said. "But there ain't no way of telling that they're the non-men. I don't know."
"So potentially 24." Michael said. "Including the one I killed on the way here, and one of the lesser beasts. I suppose I'll be fine without the hammer." It was just another soother, after all. He didn't need to waste more time to just get a weapon he knew he didn't NEED.
"You expect to take on that many with just a sword?"
"And my knife, if someone would return it." Michael said. The girl hadn't let go of it the whole time they'd been there. "Any of you feel like accompanying me?" He asked the men.
"I was a soldier before I retired to this life." Said the shepherd. "I can assist you."
"You said your name was Harold?" Asked Michael, and Harold nodded. "Arm yourself. I need a witness, but not a partner. You'll probably not be needed."
"If I can be of any help, that would be good."
"We'll be going as soon as you're ready."
Michael waited by the entrance, sword sheathed, knife sheathed, and flask empty, and felt a bit of calm. He knew the facts now. A group of twenty-odd non-men, a beast, and a sword. These facts would lead him to victory. He knew what he had to do, he only had to slay these things. Simple enough.
"Blackcross." He heard over his shoulder. It was the girl, Patricia. "I'd like to help."
"Stay here. Don't come." Michael said. "Listen to my words, girl, and you'll live."
"I'm ready to fight!" She said.
"Really?" Michael asked. "What should I use to kill the beasts? What kind of beast are we killing?"
"You need witnesses? I can at least see what is going to happen." She said.
"Can you?" Michael asked. "Where is your family?"
"They're within the basements." She said.
"Every relative who lives here?" He asked.
"Not…" She said. "I'm sure they're-"
"No, you have to assume they're a non-man. That you'll need to see me kill someone you love, who broke bread with you. What I do is ugly and cruel and dirty, and it doesn't get easier for me to do, and it's horrific to watch. I will most likely be burning these people from the inside out to stop them from hurting anyone else, do you comprehend that? That the people of your town will be burning in front of you?"
"So-" she said. "You use fire?"
"Yes. Fire works well. Answer the questions."
"Do you feel anything when you kill them? Guilt?" She asked.
"Yes, occasionally, but for the most part, no." He said. "To be a paladin is to harden your heart, to kill the things that no one else would foolishly volunteer to kill. If you think us noble heroes, just know we stick knives through the eyes of families."
"Does that disqualify you from being a hero?" She asked.
The two looked at each other. Michael figured the last, cruelest lesson available to him would suffice.
"Fine, girl." He said. "Come along and witness my work."
"Do you mean it?" She said, with hope in her voice. Michael pitied this hope, and felt the pain of sorrow in his throat. He felt ready to cry, but he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't cry, at least not here.
How many times would he see these sorts, and how many times would he have to teach them the lesson of wisdom he was about to impart? This felt like too many.
"Yes, I mean it. Arm yourself if you so desire, and meet me here. I will wait for the shepherd, but not you."
"Yes, sir!" She said with glee, and ran off.
This would be a dark day.
Last edited:
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
We're close to wrapping up the first story! It feels very exciting. I've been working on the next two for a while, and I already have a bit of a second installment planned out for this, but we'll see. I have other ideas kicking around, which may expand into short stories themselves.
MICHAEL BLACKCROSS - The Tale of Grigget, Part 6
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
The first thing the trio needed to figure out was if the beast had moved from where they had first sighted the non-men. This was unlikely, if the beast was of little intelligence.
The three hurried along. Harold was slower than Michael, but he was from an older age. If he was truly a soldier and had lived for this long, it was likely more of a testament to skill than luck. Unskilled soldiers never lasted when fighting the beasts.
The time had come though. The first of the non-men shambled towards them and let out a guttural cry. Michael drew his sword and readied his shield but before he could do anything, Harold had cleaved through two at once with a large claymore.
"My God!" Michael exclaimed. "That was incredible!"
"I'll be the one joining you, Paladin." Harold said. "I should be dusting out the cobwebs." He was brandishing the weapon that was nearly as long as he was with ease, but there was stiffness in his movements. It looked like he was trying to break in a pair of boots, albeit with a lethality Michael hadn't expected.
"This is the tribute?" Michael asked Patricia. "This is the 'old beggar' you spoke of?"
"Old beggar?" Harold asked with confusion.
"I may have exaggerated his standing." Patricia said.
"Old beggar!" Yelled Harold. "I am Sir Harold the Mighty. Once I was the bane of all that crossed me! You call me an old beggar? The disrespect of youth is staggering."
"A crusader?" Asked Michael.
"Aye. Master of a whole army once."
"Not this story again." Patricia mumbled, and then with a jolt of energy, she pointed to a trio of non-men walking towards them. "Look!"
"Henry!" Harold said. "No, it can't be!"
One of the non-men had a set of armor on, not older than 18 or 20. His eyes were red, and glowing, and his face was slack and expressionless. Michael's eyes narrowed.
"Henry!" Patricia yelled, as the man pointed to them, and sent the others to attack them. She looked devastated, and tears were streaming down her face.
"Not him." Harold muttered. "Please." He had a solemn grimace, eyes shut tightly. Michael realized he wasn't going to get the same amazing feat of strength this time, and strode forward.
The first one was dressed much like the first non-man Michael had encountered, furs covering him. Michael drove his sword through the chest, and then out. His sword was black now, the same as his sigil, it almost absorbed light, as there was no reflection of the dwindling sun in the sky.
A quick downward stroke cut through the fur hat and skull of the husk and it fell lifelessly to the ground. The second, a pretty young maiden with straw colored hair, recieved a blow to the side of the head, which splattered the black liquid onto nearby trees. Michael then sheathed his sword and took out his tinderbox.
"Henry!" Patricia yelled, darting off into the woods. Michael cursed his idiocy, but Harold grabbed her and held her to him.
"You two had better explain what just happened." Michael said as he approached the sobbing lump that had fallen to the ground. He was angry, this always seemed to happen to him.
"He's my son." Harold said. "My only son."
Michael pinched his brow in frustration.
"Why was he wearing armor?"
"He left to crusade!" Patricia yelped. "He was…" She began to sob again.
"He was a hero to the children." Harold choked out. "When he left to join the Crusade, he came back a different man."
Of course, Michael thought. There were a generation of young men who only grew up with the stories of heroic crusaders and paladins from the Dawn of Peace, when humanity began to take back the world from the beasts. When you heard the heroics, you often were spared the horrors, and reality spared no horrors.
"They ruined him. He wasn't Henry anymore after that." Patricia said. "Everytime he would come home, we'd try to get him to act like himself and he'd just get this look of sadness."
"You two should leave then." Michael had seen this before. It could have been multiple reasons, but somehow, this Henry character was possessed by some beast, likely minor. It had basic cognition, but not recognition- the man hadn't reacted to seeing his father or his friend, and so, there was likely nothing left to save.
"How can I?" The former crusader said. "It's my son."
"Have you ever seen something like that?"
"I know what has happened. I'm his father." Harold said, still holding the girl in his arms. "I must see it through."
"We have to save him!" Patricia said. "We have to!"
"There is no saving him, young one." Harold said. "Henry is dead."
"What?" She said. Her tears made the skin around her eyes red and raw, and she would stop every few moments to paw at them with the sleeves of her rough tunic. "He was just there!"
"He likely died a while ago." Michael said, softer than he had spoken in the brief time they had known him. The old man looked down to the ground, and likely began to pray. "Did he hate you two?"
"No. He and I never quarreled over what was important." Harold said.
"We were best friends." Patricia said.
"Well, if he saw you and he didn't look horrified, he is already dead." Michael said. "I need to press on." He walked away, leaving the two of them alone. Patricia was about to go after the Paladin to stop him, but Harold held her firm. Michael quickly disappeared into the brush after Henry.
"How do you know?!" She shouted. "How?!"
"He knows the same way I do. I only answered his question to make it crystal clear what happened."
"Why is it clear?" She asked. "I don't understand."
"When someone is taken over by those demons, their eyes are red."
"So? He's just possessed."
"When they're possessed, they still control their faces, their mouths, but there's an exception."
"What's the exception?"
"When they've died. Henry died, and then one of the vile creatures took him and made him attack his home."
"So what's the paladin going to do?" She asked, and Harold stood up then, finally letting her go.
"He's going to destroy the beast and save the town. He's going to destroy the body of my son."
The three hurried along. Harold was slower than Michael, but he was from an older age. If he was truly a soldier and had lived for this long, it was likely more of a testament to skill than luck. Unskilled soldiers never lasted when fighting the beasts.
The time had come though. The first of the non-men shambled towards them and let out a guttural cry. Michael drew his sword and readied his shield but before he could do anything, Harold had cleaved through two at once with a large claymore.
"My God!" Michael exclaimed. "That was incredible!"
"I'll be the one joining you, Paladin." Harold said. "I should be dusting out the cobwebs." He was brandishing the weapon that was nearly as long as he was with ease, but there was stiffness in his movements. It looked like he was trying to break in a pair of boots, albeit with a lethality Michael hadn't expected.
"This is the tribute?" Michael asked Patricia. "This is the 'old beggar' you spoke of?"
"Old beggar?" Harold asked with confusion.
"I may have exaggerated his standing." Patricia said.
"Old beggar!" Yelled Harold. "I am Sir Harold the Mighty. Once I was the bane of all that crossed me! You call me an old beggar? The disrespect of youth is staggering."
"A crusader?" Asked Michael.
"Aye. Master of a whole army once."
"Not this story again." Patricia mumbled, and then with a jolt of energy, she pointed to a trio of non-men walking towards them. "Look!"
"Henry!" Harold said. "No, it can't be!"
One of the non-men had a set of armor on, not older than 18 or 20. His eyes were red, and glowing, and his face was slack and expressionless. Michael's eyes narrowed.
"Henry!" Patricia yelled, as the man pointed to them, and sent the others to attack them. She looked devastated, and tears were streaming down her face.
"Not him." Harold muttered. "Please." He had a solemn grimace, eyes shut tightly. Michael realized he wasn't going to get the same amazing feat of strength this time, and strode forward.
The first one was dressed much like the first non-man Michael had encountered, furs covering him. Michael drove his sword through the chest, and then out. His sword was black now, the same as his sigil, it almost absorbed light, as there was no reflection of the dwindling sun in the sky.
A quick downward stroke cut through the fur hat and skull of the husk and it fell lifelessly to the ground. The second, a pretty young maiden with straw colored hair, recieved a blow to the side of the head, which splattered the black liquid onto nearby trees. Michael then sheathed his sword and took out his tinderbox.
"Henry!" Patricia yelled, darting off into the woods. Michael cursed his idiocy, but Harold grabbed her and held her to him.
"You two had better explain what just happened." Michael said as he approached the sobbing lump that had fallen to the ground. He was angry, this always seemed to happen to him.
"He's my son." Harold said. "My only son."
Michael pinched his brow in frustration.
"Why was he wearing armor?"
"He left to crusade!" Patricia yelped. "He was…" She began to sob again.
"He was a hero to the children." Harold choked out. "When he left to join the Crusade, he came back a different man."
Of course, Michael thought. There were a generation of young men who only grew up with the stories of heroic crusaders and paladins from the Dawn of Peace, when humanity began to take back the world from the beasts. When you heard the heroics, you often were spared the horrors, and reality spared no horrors.
"They ruined him. He wasn't Henry anymore after that." Patricia said. "Everytime he would come home, we'd try to get him to act like himself and he'd just get this look of sadness."
"You two should leave then." Michael had seen this before. It could have been multiple reasons, but somehow, this Henry character was possessed by some beast, likely minor. It had basic cognition, but not recognition- the man hadn't reacted to seeing his father or his friend, and so, there was likely nothing left to save.
"How can I?" The former crusader said. "It's my son."
"Have you ever seen something like that?"
"I know what has happened. I'm his father." Harold said, still holding the girl in his arms. "I must see it through."
"We have to save him!" Patricia said. "We have to!"
"There is no saving him, young one." Harold said. "Henry is dead."
"What?" She said. Her tears made the skin around her eyes red and raw, and she would stop every few moments to paw at them with the sleeves of her rough tunic. "He was just there!"
"He likely died a while ago." Michael said, softer than he had spoken in the brief time they had known him. The old man looked down to the ground, and likely began to pray. "Did he hate you two?"
"No. He and I never quarreled over what was important." Harold said.
"We were best friends." Patricia said.
"Well, if he saw you and he didn't look horrified, he is already dead." Michael said. "I need to press on." He walked away, leaving the two of them alone. Patricia was about to go after the Paladin to stop him, but Harold held her firm. Michael quickly disappeared into the brush after Henry.
"How do you know?!" She shouted. "How?!"
"He knows the same way I do. I only answered his question to make it crystal clear what happened."
"Why is it clear?" She asked. "I don't understand."
"When someone is taken over by those demons, their eyes are red."
"So? He's just possessed."
"When they're possessed, they still control their faces, their mouths, but there's an exception."
"What's the exception?"
"When they've died. Henry died, and then one of the vile creatures took him and made him attack his home."
"So what's the paladin going to do?" She asked, and Harold stood up then, finally letting her go.
"He's going to destroy the beast and save the town. He's going to destroy the body of my son."
- Location
- Somewhere on the flat earth
You went a bit cliche with having it being his son that was possessed.
acidlime
workers of the world unite
- Location
- Maine
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I kind of wanted it to be cliche to illustrate that this is devastating for these two but for Michael it's commonplace.