Madness, part 4.
Posted: Fri Oct 24, 2003 6:28 pmJerill scratched his side irritably and stared at the smouldering coal of the fire as the sun rose slowly on the horizon. He was tired of camping out after all these weeks. He thought nostalgically of taverns and shops, baths and featherbeds. What were they doing out here anyway? It just didn't seem to make sense anymore. At first, he and the rest of the villagers had been filled with righteous anger and had embraced the life in the wilds with a fervor. But, even preying upon the occasional traveler, as they had been instructed, was getting old. All they had to eat was wild game, water and the occasional supplies they looted from travelers. What madness had seized them, sending them out here? Jerill frowned and looked about him at the other filthy, unhappy outlaws he was banded with.
That night in the village square was dim in his mind now. A roaring bonfire had blazed in the center, sending brilliant sparks twirling upwards into the night sky. Jerill had finished working in the forge and was standing with Menaile, his wife, listening to a woman dressed in dark gray who stood on a stack of crates, haranguing the audience. On the ground beside her stood a small boy with pale skin and unblinking dark eyes. At first, the stuff she was saying about unfairness and rebellion seemed silly but for some reason it all began to make sense and before long everyone was shouting "Down with the Queen!", "We will not support the Realm", he as much as others. The woman in gray stood above them, exhorting them on and the small boy leaned against the stack of crates, smiling.
Now, it had lost its appeal. Jerill had heard that one band had managed to invade Jhelom even though one of their stringent rules and beliefs was to avoid towns and cities at all costs. The band had been slaughtered by a group of those pushy adventurers that seemed to infest the World but at least they managed to get down a mug of grog or ale before death. Ahhh, a mug of nut brown ale with a heavy head of foam on the top. Jerill licked his lips and looked southeast towards the city of Vesper. If he just announced he was going to go hunting and then slipped into town. Abruptly, a vision of two dark eyes in a pale face appeared in his mind and his mouth sagged. He then gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles angrily. It could not be borne! The injustice of the Queen and her Adventurers. The taxation! The cities that needed to burn! Jerill lost all thought of Vesper as he stood up and glared about the camp.
Vaile nodded as she listened to the reports of the outlaw chieftens. She thanked them gravely and dismissed them quietly, then turned to regard the boy who sat incongruously in the ornate, gilden throne. "It is proceeding as you said it would." she remarked. "The outlaws become stronger, more numerous and better armed with each passing day. It is true that the dastard Adventurers did not ignore us as we hoped but have attacked us at every opportunity. Still, that is of little import."
The boy shifted in the seat and stared down at her with a small smile. "Yes, Mother, it is proceeding and it is nearly time to take the cities. The outlaws are becoming restless and long for their so called civilized delights. A bit of looting and rapine is not enough to hold them for much longer." He frowned and the woman shuddered inside. When he frowned anything could happen.
One chieften had rebelled and sent his troops into a city. The boy had made an example of him. The partially decomposed body of the man was still outside, impaled on the thick stake that was driven into the rocky soil. He had taken three days to die. The boy had squatted on the ground before him the entire time, a blissful smile on his face. Why he called her Mother was beyond her reckoning except for protective coloring perhaps? A child as young as he was would be noticed if he was alone. They had traveled to so many cities and villages with her speaking and exhorting. But the power came from him. She remembered the day the gargoyles had brought him to her.
She had been gathering herbs, honey and beesway when the fire gargoyles had appeared. Flinching back against the rough bark of an oak tree, she opened her mouth to scream but then they moved aside and this little boy had stepped forward, his chin high and his eyes fixed upon her. He stared into her very soul and then took it and twisted it somehow. She only had the vaguest memories now of another life, a husband, a young daughter.
He had told her his story once, impressing the wonder of His words upon her very spirit. He had been borne in a cottage in a rural village. He had been aware of everything long before he was birthed and forced his mother to carry him twice as long as she normally would. Ghouls, Shades and other grim creatures killed his human father and guarded him. He had grown and become strong in her womb and when he decided it was time he emerged from her, tearing her into pieces in the process.
Majestic daemons came and prostrated themselves before him and gave him knowledge and their very life energies. Necromancers instructed him and in time, he hungered. From him the sweet Darkness, the Taint of Shadows flowed. In time it would cover the World and the heavens would ring with wailings and screams. Pain would encompass the continents and all would be sundered. Then it would be made anew and there be only strife, causing pain and anguish that was necessary to feed her little boy, her Lord and Master.
That night in the village square was dim in his mind now. A roaring bonfire had blazed in the center, sending brilliant sparks twirling upwards into the night sky. Jerill had finished working in the forge and was standing with Menaile, his wife, listening to a woman dressed in dark gray who stood on a stack of crates, haranguing the audience. On the ground beside her stood a small boy with pale skin and unblinking dark eyes. At first, the stuff she was saying about unfairness and rebellion seemed silly but for some reason it all began to make sense and before long everyone was shouting "Down with the Queen!", "We will not support the Realm", he as much as others. The woman in gray stood above them, exhorting them on and the small boy leaned against the stack of crates, smiling.
Now, it had lost its appeal. Jerill had heard that one band had managed to invade Jhelom even though one of their stringent rules and beliefs was to avoid towns and cities at all costs. The band had been slaughtered by a group of those pushy adventurers that seemed to infest the World but at least they managed to get down a mug of grog or ale before death. Ahhh, a mug of nut brown ale with a heavy head of foam on the top. Jerill licked his lips and looked southeast towards the city of Vesper. If he just announced he was going to go hunting and then slipped into town. Abruptly, a vision of two dark eyes in a pale face appeared in his mind and his mouth sagged. He then gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles angrily. It could not be borne! The injustice of the Queen and her Adventurers. The taxation! The cities that needed to burn! Jerill lost all thought of Vesper as he stood up and glared about the camp.
Vaile nodded as she listened to the reports of the outlaw chieftens. She thanked them gravely and dismissed them quietly, then turned to regard the boy who sat incongruously in the ornate, gilden throne. "It is proceeding as you said it would." she remarked. "The outlaws become stronger, more numerous and better armed with each passing day. It is true that the dastard Adventurers did not ignore us as we hoped but have attacked us at every opportunity. Still, that is of little import."
The boy shifted in the seat and stared down at her with a small smile. "Yes, Mother, it is proceeding and it is nearly time to take the cities. The outlaws are becoming restless and long for their so called civilized delights. A bit of looting and rapine is not enough to hold them for much longer." He frowned and the woman shuddered inside. When he frowned anything could happen.
One chieften had rebelled and sent his troops into a city. The boy had made an example of him. The partially decomposed body of the man was still outside, impaled on the thick stake that was driven into the rocky soil. He had taken three days to die. The boy had squatted on the ground before him the entire time, a blissful smile on his face. Why he called her Mother was beyond her reckoning except for protective coloring perhaps? A child as young as he was would be noticed if he was alone. They had traveled to so many cities and villages with her speaking and exhorting. But the power came from him. She remembered the day the gargoyles had brought him to her.
She had been gathering herbs, honey and beesway when the fire gargoyles had appeared. Flinching back against the rough bark of an oak tree, she opened her mouth to scream but then they moved aside and this little boy had stepped forward, his chin high and his eyes fixed upon her. He stared into her very soul and then took it and twisted it somehow. She only had the vaguest memories now of another life, a husband, a young daughter.
He had told her his story once, impressing the wonder of His words upon her very spirit. He had been borne in a cottage in a rural village. He had been aware of everything long before he was birthed and forced his mother to carry him twice as long as she normally would. Ghouls, Shades and other grim creatures killed his human father and guarded him. He had grown and become strong in her womb and when he decided it was time he emerged from her, tearing her into pieces in the process.
Majestic daemons came and prostrated themselves before him and gave him knowledge and their very life energies. Necromancers instructed him and in time, he hungered. From him the sweet Darkness, the Taint of Shadows flowed. In time it would cover the World and the heavens would ring with wailings and screams. Pain would encompass the continents and all would be sundered. Then it would be made anew and there be only strife, causing pain and anguish that was necessary to feed her little boy, her Lord and Master.