'Till Death do Us Part

[Altiak 1648]

 

 

 

12th of Sun’s Smile, 1535

 

The sacred hall of God’s house found itself host to a strew of gatherers: men and women come for a view to a wedding. Under the warm glow of the Canon’s light they assembled, watching in solemn reverence as a kindly priest united staunch knight and demure lady.

 

The hallowed union was beholden that day not only by the upright and just, but by a distinct and unusual band of men. Rough-hewn, dark and brooding, garbed in the garish caricatures of minstrels, they lay in wait like beasts of prey - skulking between the pillars of adamant, watching with the patient eyes of vultures as they strummed their lutes in benign melody.

 

A lean, square-jawed man with eyes like muddy water stood by the doors of the church, eyes lingering on the ceremony for a few moments before he hefted up the heavy bar in his hands. With dubious intent and a perfunctory gesture he slid the latch across the handles of the doors and stepped forward.

 

The mummers exchanged glances of unreadable assent as their comrade barred the doors, and the air of the church grew heavy, constrictive, suffocating. No longer was the ground on which they stood the house of God - it was his tomb. With a final nod to his fellows, a single musician discarded his lute and belted out a declaration that would brook no amnesty:

 

“The dead cannot wed!”

 

The bard’s farce had come to a conclusion, and with it came the end of innocence. Stalking forward, the rough men made for the budding newlyweds before their purpose could be made clear. Knives and swords took the place of lutes, and with callous brutality the men cut down any of the damnable entombed that stood in their way.

 

The lean man, swerving around the violence and bloodshed that took place all around him, ascended the podium and leapt upon the avanite altar. With arms spread wide like a martyr the man looked down upon the carnage before him, and in a harsh bellow made the savagery that took place below clear:

    “Nobody fucks with th’ Butcher Boys!”

 

 

Credits to NiceGuyNorman for this great piece of writing and Tarantino-tier visualism!

 

 

Edited November 30, 2015 by Altiak

[lawnmowerman 3040]

A de Saltpans youth attends the butchering, cracking jawlines and skulls with his trusty blackjack skull, the breaking of bones overwhelming his ears.

"Don't fock wiff' th' butcher boys!"

[Zarserith 2]

Walking...

Walking...

Walking...

Stops

Raises a brow as I hear the chaos from inside the church

Shrugs and keeps walking

[The Great Mongol Khan 1110]

((Literally just watched Django. Great post +1))

[H 820]

Ayche arrives late.

 

"...Wonder why the doors are barricaded."

 

"Guess I'll go home."

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.