Spike Marshall
02-19-2006, 07:59 PM
(ooc. I'm rebooting Raiftel so his story is starting with a clean slate, as always comments are appreciated and repped)
1 of 3
The town of Rencia sparkled like a diamond in the night, a thousand tea lights bathing the town in a glow of utmost warmth and cheer. The city lay at peace in the night the insidious curtain of dark failing to break the façade of light the townsfolk had created. Yet during this very afternoon, the dusty streets had tasted blood and played host to chaos.
“Run little girl,
Don’t be scared.
Run little girl,
The demons been snared.
Run little girl,
Please don’t cry.
Run little girl,
Soon you’ll die”
A trio of girls had chanted this old folk song by the town limits their arms locked to form a circle. As if summoned by the song a violent dirt storm had started to blow in from the neglected and sun shrivelled remains of the town farm. It had fallen into disrepair after the mayor’s Vineyard had produced award winning wine three years in a row. The town now focused on the production of wine for their monetary needs rather than the hand to mouth lifestyle provided by agriculture.
The chanting girls had elected to fall down and dramatise the verse as they spoke the verse “Soon You’ll Die”. Their infantile bodies rapt in a state of playful memoria as they tried their best to act corpse like. One of the girls had chosen to lay with her head held back her eyes tracing an upside down version of the world she knew so well. It was in this moment that Raiftel had emerged. He seemed like a ghostly apparition emerging from the undulating belly of the dust storm, a proud and decadent march showing that swirling dirt held no quarter with him.
His pace didn’t falter upon entering the town ever; he marched through the town gates a customary identification growled at the guards on the gate. He had been an odd creature possessing something almost ethereal as if he had been constructed within the eye of the storm and hurled at the town rather than birthed like a real man.
He snaked through the streets of the town his goal seemingly etched in stone, his movements carried out with a nonchalant precision as he finally arrived at his destination. The Rising Sun was a pub in the middle of town famed historically for its ale and wine selection, but not also becoming popular due to the services of an ex priest who had taken up home their over the past few weeks. He survived by trading priestly cures and tonics for shelter and food.
Raiftel simply burst into the pub and found the priest sat at the bar, a drink of whiskey in his hand. Raiftel had walked over to the priest as quiet as thief, when he was finally behind him he had bounced the priests head, face first, off of the bar top and dragged the dazed clergyman outside.
*****
Father Max stumbled in the mud as he tried to make a break for safety, his knee crunching fall destroying any hope he had for escape. The rain was falling heavy now as Dusk finally receded into night, the warm lights of Rencia glowing far in the distance the ominous spectre of his old church looming straight ahead. The ground was starting to get soggy now as the rain hammered down.
“That’s good” said Max’s captor, a church warrior by the name of Raebus Raiftel.
“What’s good?” asked Max as he finally stood up straight, his question a way of broaching the cold silence that had existed since he had been lambasted at the bar and dragged to this place of nightmares.
“The ground…it’s nice and soft. It’s always nice when the grounds soft for digging” said Raiftel with out a flicker of emotion, the implication far more powerful than any idle threat.
“Please don’t kill me. I’m a priest….” Said Max.
“And a bad one at that…” scoffed Raiftel who now stalked towards the clergy man his eyes set on the church ahead.
“I’m here to kick some ass and reclaim some stuff for the Vesparels.”
“You can’t go in there…pure evil is all you will find.”
“Orders are orders….besides the fact I’ve met enough pure evil in my life to know that the grimmest of creatures can be nowhere near as malicious as the council in a rage.”
The young priest looked at the floor and recounted the events, the discovery of the book. The possession and failed exorcism, the book was a force of pure evil and yet the church wanted it. All he knew was that the church was now a hollow bastion to a forgotten god, the evil inside permeating everything it touched corrupting the very foundations of decency upon which the building was erected.
“Speaking of maliciousness…” said Raiftel, his hand darting to the back of Max’s head his fingers stabbing into the flesh. Max let out a shrill shriek as he felt a growing pressure where the fingers had opted to enter the flesh, his heart beating slower and slower, his flesh growing pale, as the life force seemed to be ripped from him. The pressure was relieved as the fingers were removed from the neck, even the faintest trickle of blood failing to pour from the wound. He gagged for a minute before his body convulsed and sounded one final death rattle.
Raiftel watched the scene with interest, the power of the young priest’s life force racing through him like an ethereal stallion. He was mastering his gift much faster than he could have imagined now able to not only give life but take it whether by touch or by burst. It was forming the energy that proved a problem still, but for now he was happy to let it rest inside him as a nice store for later.
His eyes now wandered from the desecrated remains of the priest, his body aged at least 80 years in the past minute, and to the church which was now illuminated by twin forks of lightning that arced across the sky like flaming dragons of the night. The rain was plodding even harder now bouncing noisily off the suede of his wide brimmed hat and long jacket. It was one of the thing’s he had to hand to his bodies former owner, he had a sense of style the latest fashions stocked up and arranged in a way that even when not in the halcyon days of high fashion the clothes retained a certain chic appeal.
He walked to the church’s door, a huge crucifix hanging over the entrance a symbol of convergence that was commonly found on the more yokelly churches. It was a way of incorporating local belief into the Vesparels. He opened the door as lightning gave stark relief to the stained glass windows, scenes of war and biblical cruelty played out through the glass.
Raiftel entered the church and slowly walked down the main hall, his muddied footprints staining the bleached wood floor as the sound of flittering bats echoed. The church seemed almost normal aside from the faint hint of death that pervaded the room, the meticulous white of the marble statues and dark pulpit masking something undeniably grim. A flash of lightning confirmed the sense of displacement as the back windows were illuminated bring a crucified corpse to Raiftel’s attention. He was crucified upside down his form still masked by shadow even when the lightning shone, a keen awareness of life being the only reason Raiftel had spotted him. Raiftel walked towards the pulpit the form of another man slowly appearing as he got closer. The other man was knelt in the pulpit a self inflicted dagger wound to his belly having robbed him of life. A selection of nails and a bloodied hammer suggesting he was the crucifier. A small book lay in his rigor mortis straightened lap.
As Raiftel leant over to grab it he heard a noise from within the church and was suddenly aware he wasn’t alone. A sudden spike of localised energy telling him that once again he had disturbed a demon.
1 of 3
The town of Rencia sparkled like a diamond in the night, a thousand tea lights bathing the town in a glow of utmost warmth and cheer. The city lay at peace in the night the insidious curtain of dark failing to break the façade of light the townsfolk had created. Yet during this very afternoon, the dusty streets had tasted blood and played host to chaos.
“Run little girl,
Don’t be scared.
Run little girl,
The demons been snared.
Run little girl,
Please don’t cry.
Run little girl,
Soon you’ll die”
A trio of girls had chanted this old folk song by the town limits their arms locked to form a circle. As if summoned by the song a violent dirt storm had started to blow in from the neglected and sun shrivelled remains of the town farm. It had fallen into disrepair after the mayor’s Vineyard had produced award winning wine three years in a row. The town now focused on the production of wine for their monetary needs rather than the hand to mouth lifestyle provided by agriculture.
The chanting girls had elected to fall down and dramatise the verse as they spoke the verse “Soon You’ll Die”. Their infantile bodies rapt in a state of playful memoria as they tried their best to act corpse like. One of the girls had chosen to lay with her head held back her eyes tracing an upside down version of the world she knew so well. It was in this moment that Raiftel had emerged. He seemed like a ghostly apparition emerging from the undulating belly of the dust storm, a proud and decadent march showing that swirling dirt held no quarter with him.
His pace didn’t falter upon entering the town ever; he marched through the town gates a customary identification growled at the guards on the gate. He had been an odd creature possessing something almost ethereal as if he had been constructed within the eye of the storm and hurled at the town rather than birthed like a real man.
He snaked through the streets of the town his goal seemingly etched in stone, his movements carried out with a nonchalant precision as he finally arrived at his destination. The Rising Sun was a pub in the middle of town famed historically for its ale and wine selection, but not also becoming popular due to the services of an ex priest who had taken up home their over the past few weeks. He survived by trading priestly cures and tonics for shelter and food.
Raiftel simply burst into the pub and found the priest sat at the bar, a drink of whiskey in his hand. Raiftel had walked over to the priest as quiet as thief, when he was finally behind him he had bounced the priests head, face first, off of the bar top and dragged the dazed clergyman outside.
*****
Father Max stumbled in the mud as he tried to make a break for safety, his knee crunching fall destroying any hope he had for escape. The rain was falling heavy now as Dusk finally receded into night, the warm lights of Rencia glowing far in the distance the ominous spectre of his old church looming straight ahead. The ground was starting to get soggy now as the rain hammered down.
“That’s good” said Max’s captor, a church warrior by the name of Raebus Raiftel.
“What’s good?” asked Max as he finally stood up straight, his question a way of broaching the cold silence that had existed since he had been lambasted at the bar and dragged to this place of nightmares.
“The ground…it’s nice and soft. It’s always nice when the grounds soft for digging” said Raiftel with out a flicker of emotion, the implication far more powerful than any idle threat.
“Please don’t kill me. I’m a priest….” Said Max.
“And a bad one at that…” scoffed Raiftel who now stalked towards the clergy man his eyes set on the church ahead.
“I’m here to kick some ass and reclaim some stuff for the Vesparels.”
“You can’t go in there…pure evil is all you will find.”
“Orders are orders….besides the fact I’ve met enough pure evil in my life to know that the grimmest of creatures can be nowhere near as malicious as the council in a rage.”
The young priest looked at the floor and recounted the events, the discovery of the book. The possession and failed exorcism, the book was a force of pure evil and yet the church wanted it. All he knew was that the church was now a hollow bastion to a forgotten god, the evil inside permeating everything it touched corrupting the very foundations of decency upon which the building was erected.
“Speaking of maliciousness…” said Raiftel, his hand darting to the back of Max’s head his fingers stabbing into the flesh. Max let out a shrill shriek as he felt a growing pressure where the fingers had opted to enter the flesh, his heart beating slower and slower, his flesh growing pale, as the life force seemed to be ripped from him. The pressure was relieved as the fingers were removed from the neck, even the faintest trickle of blood failing to pour from the wound. He gagged for a minute before his body convulsed and sounded one final death rattle.
Raiftel watched the scene with interest, the power of the young priest’s life force racing through him like an ethereal stallion. He was mastering his gift much faster than he could have imagined now able to not only give life but take it whether by touch or by burst. It was forming the energy that proved a problem still, but for now he was happy to let it rest inside him as a nice store for later.
His eyes now wandered from the desecrated remains of the priest, his body aged at least 80 years in the past minute, and to the church which was now illuminated by twin forks of lightning that arced across the sky like flaming dragons of the night. The rain was plodding even harder now bouncing noisily off the suede of his wide brimmed hat and long jacket. It was one of the thing’s he had to hand to his bodies former owner, he had a sense of style the latest fashions stocked up and arranged in a way that even when not in the halcyon days of high fashion the clothes retained a certain chic appeal.
He walked to the church’s door, a huge crucifix hanging over the entrance a symbol of convergence that was commonly found on the more yokelly churches. It was a way of incorporating local belief into the Vesparels. He opened the door as lightning gave stark relief to the stained glass windows, scenes of war and biblical cruelty played out through the glass.
Raiftel entered the church and slowly walked down the main hall, his muddied footprints staining the bleached wood floor as the sound of flittering bats echoed. The church seemed almost normal aside from the faint hint of death that pervaded the room, the meticulous white of the marble statues and dark pulpit masking something undeniably grim. A flash of lightning confirmed the sense of displacement as the back windows were illuminated bring a crucified corpse to Raiftel’s attention. He was crucified upside down his form still masked by shadow even when the lightning shone, a keen awareness of life being the only reason Raiftel had spotted him. Raiftel walked towards the pulpit the form of another man slowly appearing as he got closer. The other man was knelt in the pulpit a self inflicted dagger wound to his belly having robbed him of life. A selection of nails and a bloodied hammer suggesting he was the crucifier. A small book lay in his rigor mortis straightened lap.
As Raiftel leant over to grab it he heard a noise from within the church and was suddenly aware he wasn’t alone. A sudden spike of localised energy telling him that once again he had disturbed a demon.