Post by eridani on Apr 29, 2009 10:27:42 GMT
Cathedral in the Dark
The cathedral lay under a blanket of silence, though it was not a silence born of prayer or respect. Rather, the air held a charged quality, as though at any moment a storm would break over the pews and marbled columns. The vast hall was empty save for a trio standing near the altar. Every movement they made echoed throughout the vaulted chamber, adding to the tense, eerie environment.
They were an odd group; a priest, a woman knight, and a young lady of obvious noble birth. The girl - Olivia Stryfe by name, princess by birth - stood before the altar in prayer, her head bowed before the painted statue of Saint Aelric himself. She was beautiful in a sort of tragic way, with long, golden blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. There was a natural pout to her lips, and beneath the surface, subtle graces hinted at a more womanly beauty yet to come.
Beside her stood her honor guard and trusted confidant Lady Adrianna Oakes, Knight of the Sword. The tall, willowy woman was young, with a pretty face that hid a promise to remain ever-youthful. Her auburn hair was long, and despite her girlish looks, her green eyes were serious and firm.
Adrianna and Olivia could not have contrasted more starkly than they did in their manner of dress. While Olivia wore a soft gown of pink silk, Adrianna wore silver armor, trimmed in gold leaf and covered by a sky blue cloak and tabard. Olivia's golden hair was tied back in a waist length braid, while the Lady Oakes wore her hair loose about her shoulders, held out of her face by a ribbon the color of a robin's egg. From Adrianna's belt hung a plain, unadorned longsword. From Olivia's hung an ornate cross.
But if the two women were a stark contrast, then Father Simon, Bishop of Saint Aelric's Cathedral, was positively obtuse. Where his companions were tall and thin, Father Simon was short and portly. He was by no means pretty or beautiful, but rather old and time-worn. He dressed in the simple robes of a member of the Order of Inquisitors, but whatever fire one must possess to claim membership in that, the most feared branch of the church, had long since been extinguished in the old man. All that remained was the vaguely caring, gentle manner of old priests the world over.
"God save us, thy sinful children of Engaia...", Olivia's whispered prayer rang out in the silent church, breaking the peace that enshrouded them all. She did not want to leave the Cathedral, least of all now. It was not that she would miss the cold stone walls or that she was fearful of the world outside it's comforting cloisters. Rather, she had come to realize that if she left now, her name would become irrevocably associated with the war that was even then building up across the kingdom. She did not want her name attached to such a brutal thing, even if only as loosely as "The first battles of the war were fought after the princess Olivia left the sanctuary of St. Aelric's Cathedral."
Adrianna fidgeted uncomfortably, trying her best to remain patient. She was uncomfortable in the church, and held little faith in gods. Like most soldiers, she had a hard enough time believing in the benevolence of her fellow man, much less some distant, ineffable creator. After several moments passed with out any sound save for the prayers of the princess, the lady knight shook her head irritably, turning her back and stepping away from the altar.
Olivia smiled slightly despite her worries. Adrianna was a serious woman, who hid her beauty and her fears behind a mask of rigid duty and honor. In all the time the two had known each other - a period no shorter than ten years - she had never once seen the lady knight smile. But Adrianna was a loyal bodyguard and a fine soldier, and Olivia was glad to have such a person in her confidence. Her smile faded quickly however, as thoughts of bloody war flooded back to the fore-front of her mind.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, she barely heard the heavy, wooden doors slam open, bringing with them the winds and a few fallen leaves, yellowed with age. Adrianna made note of the two boys who stumbled in, glancing at her ward before striding forth to meet them.
The pair of them were obviously mercenaries, and not very well paid by the looks of them. Their armor was thin, beaten and hard-used. The traveling cloaks they wore were road-stained and thread-bare, as were the scraps of uniform still visible beneath the layers of dust and grime. The first of the pair could barely contain his excitement, his dark eyes glittering with poorly concealed glee. First assignment, Adrianna reasoned. They were often eager until their blades tasted flesh.
His companion, however, was anything but excited. He seemed to radiate gloom, his boyish face passive, his brown eyes blurry and unfocused as he stared off into space. He had a certain set to his features, a certain lean to his stance, that suggested he had nothing to fear from anyone, not even death. The lady knight chose to reserve judgment on this one, lest he prove a surprise.
Choosing the eager youth, she turned a disapproving stare in his direction, her voice dripping venom as she demanded, "And who, precisely, are you?"
The boy snapped to attention so fast, he almost fell backward. "Red Tupper, ma'am. The quiet one is called Regal, no surname to account for. We're mercenaries, ma'am." He then swept into a low, dramatic bow, probably meant to impress the dour knight.
"Fine. Now, what are you doing here?" She snapped, obviously not impressed.
This time it was Regal who spoke up, cutting off the more lively boy's no doubt longer explanation. "We are here to escort the princess to Stoneholt Castle.", he said in an off-hand manner.
Adrianna, far from mollified by this news, colored almost immediately. "So it seems Duke Edwin thinks little enough of my knights that he would send such poor mercenaries to replace us!"
Red snorted loudly, openly amused. With a broad grin, he explained, "Who said anything about replacing you? We're backup, provided by Lord Edwin of Gallione. He sent us to assist you, not remove you."
"How can I trust you? If you are who you say you are, then surely you have some proof." She paused, scanning each boys face. Thrusting out her hand, she demanded of them, "Show it to me."
Red snorted again, clearly not stirred by her continued abruptness. "You'll be needing to ask our boss about that, ma'am. He'll be the one with our paper's and the duke's mark."
"Go fetch him, then." she flashed.
"I don't think he'll be taking to kindly to our leaving, ma'am. We're given orders, you see, and we follow them as best as any. Neither Regal nor I will be going off to fetch anybody until he sees fit to come himself, as it pleases you, my lady."
Adrianna glared at the boy called Regal, as though daring him to defy her as well. Far from mollified, the almost serene youth simply leaned back against the pew he stood beside, dropping one hand carelessly to the hilt of his sword. The lady knight was taken aback by the boldness of this boy. It was long ago declared a sin for any but the nobility to bear arms in a holy site. So a mercenary and a sinner, a man without fear of retribution, be it divine or martial? What other irregularities might be hidden just beneath his withdrawn demeanor?
"Who are you? Why do you bear steel in a place of worship?" she asked of him.
His eyes turned slowly, no less deliberate for their dormancy, and settled on her own. "I don't know. Why is it that you carry steel in such a place, if it is such an offense?"
"I am noble. It is my right to wear my sword where I please."
"So, god is more trusting of those born to money than those born without?" Regal mulled this over silently, turning his gaze back to the far wall. "I suppose I carry my sword here because it is my right... one I have earned, not one given me by others' graces."
Adrianna colored again, her cheeks burning at the insult as if he had slapped her himself. "It is also my right to punish you for your effrontery. You claim you have earned graces above your station? It is the fate of the common man to serve, not to lead!"
Regal's lips curled up slightly, the first real sign of life to emerge from the boy. "Punish away. Fate has little enough to fear from me, and less still if I am dead."
"So you do not fear death?"
"Death is the fate of all men. It is the future. What say have I if that future is tomorrow or two years hence? As best I know, Fate is not inclined to ask my opinion." He spat that last as though each word were venom.
Adrianna opened her mouth to ask another question of him, but before the words could tumble from her lips, the hush was broken by the booming thunder of the twin doors being slammed back upon their frames. In the rush of wind and cold, dead leaves stood a tall, dark figure, framed by the light of a heavy, blood red moon. At least twice the age of the boy mercenaries and more than a head taller than both, the wild, white-haired silhouette stood against the wind for just a short moment. In the space of a breath, he had crossed the ancient threshold and bore down on the three oddly matched warriors.
"Commander! What has happened?" Red snapped to attention, quite nearly tripping over his own cloak in the effort.
The aged mercenary lowered the broken form of a young girl to the stone floor, brushing her matted hair from her face as he did. "Those soldiers following us were less than amicable, you damned fool boy. You insisted on leaving us in such a rush to have your moment of glory playing messenger boy, and the sentry at the gate paid the price for your ineptitude."
As Adrianna knelt down to feel for her soldier's pulse, Olivia and Simon roused themselves to see what was amiss. The girl was dead, Adrianna knew as much from the vicious wound in her abdomen, though she could not but hope the girl would yet survive. She was a new recruit, just recently knighted, and eager enough in her duties. Though barely old enough to know the touch of a man, she had already known the cold bite of death. She struggled to speak, but the words would not come forth.
Regal stood behind the lady knight, studying her intently. All her fire was faded, gone from her hard frame and stern eyes. At that moment, she looked more house-maid than warrior. He knew she struggled with herself to say the words that need must be said. He could see the tears waging silent war beneath the eyes of the hard woman, though her face was hidden from him. He did not know the words to the grave song of a knight, but these he did, and he sang them into the silence.
As the last notes of the song died away, Regal looked from one to the next, noting the tears unshed in Adrianna's eyes and those flowing freely down the cheeks of the princess, the stoic approval of the old priest, and the ever-unreadable expression of his commander. He faced them for as long as he could bear, but it was not long before the young mercenary turned from them and resumed his casual disinterest.
If any were stunned by the quiet boy's musical outburst, it went unsaid, as all eyes save his turned back to regard the girl. It was Adrianna who next broke the silence, asking of the dark armored figure, "How did this happen?"
"She was run through on a Szordrian blade, obviously." he offered disinterestedly.
"Is that the truth or what you would like me to believe?" she hissed, the edge back in her voice.
"Oh, no, Lady Oakes, correct you are! I ran her through with my own sword and carried her bleeding carcass all the way up that damned mountain of steps just to through you off my rampaging, blood-splattered trail. Once again, my dear girl, you've got it in one!"
"I would hardly put it past you, Gharion Claus! I've seen your brand of carnage before, and it's far from what I'd call a gentleman's bearing!"
Gharion sneered through his short, closely cropped beard, "Oh, no, my lady, it's far from the gentle way your father Woltar would slaughter whole villages just for harboring a single deserter. More of your 'fine upbringing' I suppose? Well, then you'd best clap me in irons, as I seem to be out of sorts with the genteel manner."
"Don't patronize me, or it won't be irons you find yourself in, but a very shallow grave!"
"Draw your sword in a church, wench, and see how long you can keep your post as guard to the princess then. Oh, but I assure you that if you still wish to try, I will personally petition for the post. I'll take good care of her for you."
Barely able to contain the rage boiling up inside her, she turned from the heavily armored mercenary and stomped a few feet away. She had little time left, she knew, before more of Szordria's men came to seize the princess. In addition, with the loss of the second girl she was without support. Her options were simple. Either accept the help of a man she despised and a boy she scarcely understood, or brave the dangers alone. Though she loathed the prospect of accepting the Black Butcher's help, she had little choice it seemed. "Father Simon...", she began.
The portly father interrupted her, already answering her unspoken request, "I will make certain the girl is buried properly, lady Oakes. You just concern yourself with the safety of our princess."
"And Gharion..."
The burly, black armored figure laughed softly, "Oh, I'm not going to need buried. I'm going with you."
"Get your horses ready, we leave in a matter of minutes." she replied, ignoring his jibe. Gharion nodded briefly, turning on his heel as he signaled his soldiers to follow.
"Oh, and Gharion?"
"Yes, my Lady?"
"Cross me again, and they will not find enough of you to bury."
The booming sound of Gharion Claus, the Black Butcherer, echoed through the church as he strode off into the crimson moonlight, a silent shadow and mischievous imp at his heels.
The cathedral lay under a blanket of silence, though it was not a silence born of prayer or respect. Rather, the air held a charged quality, as though at any moment a storm would break over the pews and marbled columns. The vast hall was empty save for a trio standing near the altar. Every movement they made echoed throughout the vaulted chamber, adding to the tense, eerie environment.
They were an odd group; a priest, a woman knight, and a young lady of obvious noble birth. The girl - Olivia Stryfe by name, princess by birth - stood before the altar in prayer, her head bowed before the painted statue of Saint Aelric himself. She was beautiful in a sort of tragic way, with long, golden blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. There was a natural pout to her lips, and beneath the surface, subtle graces hinted at a more womanly beauty yet to come.
Beside her stood her honor guard and trusted confidant Lady Adrianna Oakes, Knight of the Sword. The tall, willowy woman was young, with a pretty face that hid a promise to remain ever-youthful. Her auburn hair was long, and despite her girlish looks, her green eyes were serious and firm.
Adrianna and Olivia could not have contrasted more starkly than they did in their manner of dress. While Olivia wore a soft gown of pink silk, Adrianna wore silver armor, trimmed in gold leaf and covered by a sky blue cloak and tabard. Olivia's golden hair was tied back in a waist length braid, while the Lady Oakes wore her hair loose about her shoulders, held out of her face by a ribbon the color of a robin's egg. From Adrianna's belt hung a plain, unadorned longsword. From Olivia's hung an ornate cross.
But if the two women were a stark contrast, then Father Simon, Bishop of Saint Aelric's Cathedral, was positively obtuse. Where his companions were tall and thin, Father Simon was short and portly. He was by no means pretty or beautiful, but rather old and time-worn. He dressed in the simple robes of a member of the Order of Inquisitors, but whatever fire one must possess to claim membership in that, the most feared branch of the church, had long since been extinguished in the old man. All that remained was the vaguely caring, gentle manner of old priests the world over.
"God save us, thy sinful children of Engaia...", Olivia's whispered prayer rang out in the silent church, breaking the peace that enshrouded them all. She did not want to leave the Cathedral, least of all now. It was not that she would miss the cold stone walls or that she was fearful of the world outside it's comforting cloisters. Rather, she had come to realize that if she left now, her name would become irrevocably associated with the war that was even then building up across the kingdom. She did not want her name attached to such a brutal thing, even if only as loosely as "The first battles of the war were fought after the princess Olivia left the sanctuary of St. Aelric's Cathedral."
Adrianna fidgeted uncomfortably, trying her best to remain patient. She was uncomfortable in the church, and held little faith in gods. Like most soldiers, she had a hard enough time believing in the benevolence of her fellow man, much less some distant, ineffable creator. After several moments passed with out any sound save for the prayers of the princess, the lady knight shook her head irritably, turning her back and stepping away from the altar.
Olivia smiled slightly despite her worries. Adrianna was a serious woman, who hid her beauty and her fears behind a mask of rigid duty and honor. In all the time the two had known each other - a period no shorter than ten years - she had never once seen the lady knight smile. But Adrianna was a loyal bodyguard and a fine soldier, and Olivia was glad to have such a person in her confidence. Her smile faded quickly however, as thoughts of bloody war flooded back to the fore-front of her mind.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, she barely heard the heavy, wooden doors slam open, bringing with them the winds and a few fallen leaves, yellowed with age. Adrianna made note of the two boys who stumbled in, glancing at her ward before striding forth to meet them.
The pair of them were obviously mercenaries, and not very well paid by the looks of them. Their armor was thin, beaten and hard-used. The traveling cloaks they wore were road-stained and thread-bare, as were the scraps of uniform still visible beneath the layers of dust and grime. The first of the pair could barely contain his excitement, his dark eyes glittering with poorly concealed glee. First assignment, Adrianna reasoned. They were often eager until their blades tasted flesh.
His companion, however, was anything but excited. He seemed to radiate gloom, his boyish face passive, his brown eyes blurry and unfocused as he stared off into space. He had a certain set to his features, a certain lean to his stance, that suggested he had nothing to fear from anyone, not even death. The lady knight chose to reserve judgment on this one, lest he prove a surprise.
Choosing the eager youth, she turned a disapproving stare in his direction, her voice dripping venom as she demanded, "And who, precisely, are you?"
The boy snapped to attention so fast, he almost fell backward. "Red Tupper, ma'am. The quiet one is called Regal, no surname to account for. We're mercenaries, ma'am." He then swept into a low, dramatic bow, probably meant to impress the dour knight.
"Fine. Now, what are you doing here?" She snapped, obviously not impressed.
This time it was Regal who spoke up, cutting off the more lively boy's no doubt longer explanation. "We are here to escort the princess to Stoneholt Castle.", he said in an off-hand manner.
Adrianna, far from mollified by this news, colored almost immediately. "So it seems Duke Edwin thinks little enough of my knights that he would send such poor mercenaries to replace us!"
Red snorted loudly, openly amused. With a broad grin, he explained, "Who said anything about replacing you? We're backup, provided by Lord Edwin of Gallione. He sent us to assist you, not remove you."
"How can I trust you? If you are who you say you are, then surely you have some proof." She paused, scanning each boys face. Thrusting out her hand, she demanded of them, "Show it to me."
Red snorted again, clearly not stirred by her continued abruptness. "You'll be needing to ask our boss about that, ma'am. He'll be the one with our paper's and the duke's mark."
"Go fetch him, then." she flashed.
"I don't think he'll be taking to kindly to our leaving, ma'am. We're given orders, you see, and we follow them as best as any. Neither Regal nor I will be going off to fetch anybody until he sees fit to come himself, as it pleases you, my lady."
Adrianna glared at the boy called Regal, as though daring him to defy her as well. Far from mollified, the almost serene youth simply leaned back against the pew he stood beside, dropping one hand carelessly to the hilt of his sword. The lady knight was taken aback by the boldness of this boy. It was long ago declared a sin for any but the nobility to bear arms in a holy site. So a mercenary and a sinner, a man without fear of retribution, be it divine or martial? What other irregularities might be hidden just beneath his withdrawn demeanor?
"Who are you? Why do you bear steel in a place of worship?" she asked of him.
His eyes turned slowly, no less deliberate for their dormancy, and settled on her own. "I don't know. Why is it that you carry steel in such a place, if it is such an offense?"
"I am noble. It is my right to wear my sword where I please."
"So, god is more trusting of those born to money than those born without?" Regal mulled this over silently, turning his gaze back to the far wall. "I suppose I carry my sword here because it is my right... one I have earned, not one given me by others' graces."
Adrianna colored again, her cheeks burning at the insult as if he had slapped her himself. "It is also my right to punish you for your effrontery. You claim you have earned graces above your station? It is the fate of the common man to serve, not to lead!"
Regal's lips curled up slightly, the first real sign of life to emerge from the boy. "Punish away. Fate has little enough to fear from me, and less still if I am dead."
"So you do not fear death?"
"Death is the fate of all men. It is the future. What say have I if that future is tomorrow or two years hence? As best I know, Fate is not inclined to ask my opinion." He spat that last as though each word were venom.
Adrianna opened her mouth to ask another question of him, but before the words could tumble from her lips, the hush was broken by the booming thunder of the twin doors being slammed back upon their frames. In the rush of wind and cold, dead leaves stood a tall, dark figure, framed by the light of a heavy, blood red moon. At least twice the age of the boy mercenaries and more than a head taller than both, the wild, white-haired silhouette stood against the wind for just a short moment. In the space of a breath, he had crossed the ancient threshold and bore down on the three oddly matched warriors.
"Commander! What has happened?" Red snapped to attention, quite nearly tripping over his own cloak in the effort.
The aged mercenary lowered the broken form of a young girl to the stone floor, brushing her matted hair from her face as he did. "Those soldiers following us were less than amicable, you damned fool boy. You insisted on leaving us in such a rush to have your moment of glory playing messenger boy, and the sentry at the gate paid the price for your ineptitude."
As Adrianna knelt down to feel for her soldier's pulse, Olivia and Simon roused themselves to see what was amiss. The girl was dead, Adrianna knew as much from the vicious wound in her abdomen, though she could not but hope the girl would yet survive. She was a new recruit, just recently knighted, and eager enough in her duties. Though barely old enough to know the touch of a man, she had already known the cold bite of death. She struggled to speak, but the words would not come forth.
Regal stood behind the lady knight, studying her intently. All her fire was faded, gone from her hard frame and stern eyes. At that moment, she looked more house-maid than warrior. He knew she struggled with herself to say the words that need must be said. He could see the tears waging silent war beneath the eyes of the hard woman, though her face was hidden from him. He did not know the words to the grave song of a knight, but these he did, and he sang them into the silence.
Deadly fangs of human mind
Envisioned by children pretending
A sorrow unlike any kind
A world slowly ending
Naught compares to home I know
Though still the memory flees
The tempting beauty of fallen snow
Or warm nights like these
Legends of a tragic world
Victims of their peers desires
Melded swords, sensations hurled
Toward the light as dark grew tired
A thousand ten enlightened years
Between the grave descent
As darkness speaks of whims and fears
They force it to repent
Painted by a story blurred
The planet lies in pain
Those who died are soon referred to
As heroes wrongly slain
Sands of light from high above
The stars meander afar
I dream to observe, as they fall in love
With the world of fallen hearts
Envisioned by children pretending
A sorrow unlike any kind
A world slowly ending
Naught compares to home I know
Though still the memory flees
The tempting beauty of fallen snow
Or warm nights like these
Legends of a tragic world
Victims of their peers desires
Melded swords, sensations hurled
Toward the light as dark grew tired
A thousand ten enlightened years
Between the grave descent
As darkness speaks of whims and fears
They force it to repent
Painted by a story blurred
The planet lies in pain
Those who died are soon referred to
As heroes wrongly slain
Sands of light from high above
The stars meander afar
I dream to observe, as they fall in love
With the world of fallen hearts
As the last notes of the song died away, Regal looked from one to the next, noting the tears unshed in Adrianna's eyes and those flowing freely down the cheeks of the princess, the stoic approval of the old priest, and the ever-unreadable expression of his commander. He faced them for as long as he could bear, but it was not long before the young mercenary turned from them and resumed his casual disinterest.
If any were stunned by the quiet boy's musical outburst, it went unsaid, as all eyes save his turned back to regard the girl. It was Adrianna who next broke the silence, asking of the dark armored figure, "How did this happen?"
"She was run through on a Szordrian blade, obviously." he offered disinterestedly.
"Is that the truth or what you would like me to believe?" she hissed, the edge back in her voice.
"Oh, no, Lady Oakes, correct you are! I ran her through with my own sword and carried her bleeding carcass all the way up that damned mountain of steps just to through you off my rampaging, blood-splattered trail. Once again, my dear girl, you've got it in one!"
"I would hardly put it past you, Gharion Claus! I've seen your brand of carnage before, and it's far from what I'd call a gentleman's bearing!"
Gharion sneered through his short, closely cropped beard, "Oh, no, my lady, it's far from the gentle way your father Woltar would slaughter whole villages just for harboring a single deserter. More of your 'fine upbringing' I suppose? Well, then you'd best clap me in irons, as I seem to be out of sorts with the genteel manner."
"Don't patronize me, or it won't be irons you find yourself in, but a very shallow grave!"
"Draw your sword in a church, wench, and see how long you can keep your post as guard to the princess then. Oh, but I assure you that if you still wish to try, I will personally petition for the post. I'll take good care of her for you."
Barely able to contain the rage boiling up inside her, she turned from the heavily armored mercenary and stomped a few feet away. She had little time left, she knew, before more of Szordria's men came to seize the princess. In addition, with the loss of the second girl she was without support. Her options were simple. Either accept the help of a man she despised and a boy she scarcely understood, or brave the dangers alone. Though she loathed the prospect of accepting the Black Butcher's help, she had little choice it seemed. "Father Simon...", she began.
The portly father interrupted her, already answering her unspoken request, "I will make certain the girl is buried properly, lady Oakes. You just concern yourself with the safety of our princess."
"And Gharion..."
The burly, black armored figure laughed softly, "Oh, I'm not going to need buried. I'm going with you."
"Get your horses ready, we leave in a matter of minutes." she replied, ignoring his jibe. Gharion nodded briefly, turning on his heel as he signaled his soldiers to follow.
"Oh, and Gharion?"
"Yes, my Lady?"
"Cross me again, and they will not find enough of you to bury."
The booming sound of Gharion Claus, the Black Butcherer, echoed through the church as he strode off into the crimson moonlight, a silent shadow and mischievous imp at his heels.