Michael - Tertiary

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Rasamith
Posts: 12
Character: John Llareth

Michael - Tertiary

Post by Rasamith » January 28th, 2019, 4:39 am

To get to where he's going, a man's gotta become an awful lot on the road to get there.

I remember Hannah's face, the warmth of her smile always gave some semblance of peace to an otherwise bone chilling day. Each night we pulled close together, the rest of the men in the caravan were gentlemen and left the two of us be. What a blessing that was. Call me for the coward I am, but I would never have wanted that small comfort I had threatened.

These days though, memories of that comfort always come at a cost. To remember her is to remember those final moments. No man alive should have to witness such a thing. There was no reason for it. Though when peace becomes horror, reason turns rancid. We all do what we have to do to survive in these times. I just wish among the things I'd done lay some spark of bravery. The memories do us a service to bear in mind, with each carrying some fragment of truth, even if we struggle at first to see it.

I remember the last I saw of my mother's face, bloody with white pellets lying on the floor about her gaping mouth. Not pellets.. Teeth. I struggle against the iron grip of the Templar on my tunic, then feel the chill of his armored bicep about my neck as he wrestles me back, pulling me from my family home. My brother screams, struggling free, running. A crossbow levels at him and a quarrel is released. I can hear the breath escaping his lungs, the wheezing, gasping. The archer approaches him, he mutters something, but I hear it. It feels hopeless to remember, almost as hopeless as the day it happened.

I remember the caravan forming in Nemus. Holy men and women all, but a few stragglers manage to come along for the ride. We're to make east, and none are to come with unless they can prove their usefulness to the traveling group. I see her dark hair, that smile I'd come to resist remembering. A hunter, scavenger. She promised to feed herself and more, before she swore herself to the Eight. Decus bless her, Decus bless us all on this hopeless journey, I thought. In reflection, would my words have been heeded, I'd have told her to stay. We all have our role to play, and mine is far from leading the pack, and I'd have likely earned a swift backhand for my trouble. I'm just another tool for the hand that would use me. If I value my life, as I've never made it my business not to, I'll remember that.

I remember my instructors, the shackles about my wrists. It was all a part of my education, and a very thorough education it was. Remember what I am. Know my place. Perform as I'm told. I resented them at first for what they did to my family and what they were doing to me... Until I realized it was necessary. When a simple man's mind is opened to the nature of the world, beyond trivial fears and desires, he comes to see that these acts of violence among the few in a much larger whole are just that... trivial. I remember the map, gnarled fingers pointing to borders, describing distances which had been taught to me a few years previous. It sent a chill through my bones. We were but a speck in an ocean, a tide that was rising to swallow us all. The Torment.

I remember the man with one eye. He sneered at me, thrusting a hand my way. He preached on the corner of Baker Street, one of many who sang the high praise of Decus, but were not members of the clergy, but weren't discouraged as long as their words were in keeping with the Church's doctrines. "This one!" He cried. "This one is a gatekeeper, in his hands lies the key! It is his kind that have brought this hell upon us!" I remember looking to my hands in stiff iron shackles, opening them towards the people to show they were empty as the first stone struck my temple. The Templar did little to stop the jeering crowd as they circled, hurling dung rocks, and curses.. As long as the soldiers were not the recipients and the path ahead wasn't blocked they allowed the people to vent their hatred, and I suppose, so did I.

The thoughts come to me scattered, though in truth they need not be in chronological order. It's been two months since I last saw my brethren. Hannah, bless her departed soul, taught me a thing or two during her brief period with us. I remembered the berries, the mushrooms and grubs she would scavenge for the group. The woods had been devoid of life as we'd made our way from Nemus, and most of what she foraged was laughed off by the Templar... Not by me. I was always willing to learn, and despite her initial fear, she would give me a share of what she found, and we built a rapport with her on the receiving end of many a question. Those questions and the answers I received proved to be the most valuable asset of the trip, as in these final months of solitude, they've kept me alive. It is by the grace of Decus that the flora and fauna have not changed even as the sum of hundreds of kilometers have distanced me from Hannah's resting place.

I rub at my wrists in distant memory of my shackles, long since behind me. I approach the checkpoint, my first glimpse of order and civilization in what seems like ages. I realize I have a chance at a new life, free from being under the boot of every Vitavean from Bishop to commoner. The temptation is there, and I need to face it. I close my eyes and find a piece of my past that gives me succor. That gnarled finger, the map. This is bigger than me, it always has been. I approach the officiant, and my heart is clear, as are my intentions, or so I think, before the words leave my mouth.

"My name is Michael. Here's my paperwork. I was a member of a caravan from Nemus, under the guidance o' Prelate Marcus Rrohr. I've since become separated from them."

I may yet be a honest man, but I'm nonetheless withholding. Best to get the lay of the land first. My paperwork from the church may identify me, might even grant me passage beyond this desk, but I doubt walking into this province with my throat open for the slicing would see me of any use to anyone. There are a lot of ears around this

"Looks liken I'm the key holder now, now don't it?"

I blink in surprise, my blood running cold at the sound of the voice, little more than a memory but unforgettable. I look at the officiant wide eyed, I wait for him to raise his gaze; wait to see the face of that old doomsayer.

"Wh.. What did you say?"


The officiant raises his gaze, a solid jaw, well shaved, with a little glare of impatience, a special kind of glare that takes two eyes to achieve.

"Without your superior your paperwork carries little weight, son. The factions of the first province are not at this time recognizing any old person as being what they are. The roads are littered with corpses carrying just such paperwork. If your superior was here, might be a different story. Tell me son, and tell me good. What skills have you got that the church would have sent you along with this... Marcus Rrohr's company?"

It's not him, but ah.. What did he say? Skills? Best be quick about it. I do my best to shake off the jitters, and rifle off a list of accomplishments that seems to go on and on, including a few snippets of genuine truth, and a broader list of slightly more embellished truths.

"Navigation for one, I can read n' write as good as any, can transcribe materials and books that the church wills me to. I've been in a few fights and can hold my own. I know a thing or two about plant life and foraging for food..."

Decus, my list just keeps growing, eh? Next I'll be saying I'm an officiant for the church just because the two of us had this discussion and I experienced your side of the dialogue. Needless to say, I'm not sure what I got in my head before, the man is clearly not that... bah. Never mind, it's not good for the mind to dwell on such things. Nonetheless, hopefully the man will stop me when I hit on something he deems useful.

Scarlet
Posts: 19
Character: Ellie Andrews

Re: Michael - Tertiary

Post by Scarlet » January 29th, 2019, 3:47 am

The officiant cuts off the other man's rambled list with a wave of his hand. "That's more than enough I suppose. Didn't need a life story...or whatever that was you were spewing..." It doesn't seem as though he was actually listening to the half of the conversation, if he was even listening to that much. "You're clear to enter." The officient's eyes go distant as he idly waves the next in line forward. His thoughts turned inward as he daydreams about a plump, perfectly crisped and seasoned chicken waiting for him to finish his work.


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