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dank

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    A Slain Horen

    in Thales and the Fringe Roleplay Archive

    Posted


    As the forces of the Patriots chopped through the portcullis of Petrus and swarmed the city square in droves, they shouted boisterous cries of triumph as they flooded the palace. However, one man split off from his rebel countrymen, his sights set upon the monolithic church of Petrus. Corbett VanCleef strode onwards, his face set stony with conviction under the night sky - he was immovable in his objective.
     
    Nearing the gates of the chapel, Corbett drew a short, bladed object, the rusted iron glinting against the moonlight’s reflection. This was not a tempered-steel, extravagant blade, not an stylish weapon - it was a simple, three-inch hunk of serrated, razor-sharp iron, without extravagance or flair, and it was made for one purpose; to kill. As the disgruntled Amyasian drew his dirk, gripping it tightly as he marched into the chapel, his malicious intent became evident.
     
    It did not take Corbett long to find his quarry. As he stalked towards the altar of the chapel, the moonlight casting eerie shadows through the stained glass high on the walls of the sacellum, he could hear the panicked ramblings of the man he had come looking for. A pale, aghast face peered at the approaching Corbett from behind the altar.
     
    The bishop gave a yelp of terrified surprise, and began to scramble away, but Corbett, his face red from unbridled fury, stepped before him and let loose a barbaric, vicious hook, catching the man in the jaw with a dry crunch and sending him sprawling. Sputtering in terror-stricken fear as he scrambled with his feet away from the approaching attacker, Henry raised his gnarled hands, begging for mercy.
     
    No mercy would come.
     
    Corbett dropped to a knee, and with his free hand, grabbed the bishop by his collar, his knuckles white and split. He stared evenly into the bishop’s wild, animalistic eyes, ignored his mad pleas and bucking in an attempt to escape, and brought the dirk across the man’s throat with the sound of wet, tearing paper.
     
    Blood spurted outwards as the bishop’s cries turned to sickening, throaty gasps as his neck was slit, and he brought his hands up to the deep gash in a desperate attempt to stop the thick crimson flow. As his blood pooled under him, he brought a hand up to his murderer’s face, smearing Corbett’s reddened features with arterial fluid.
     
    Corbett shaked with rage, his face inches from that of the dying bishop’s, and he watched him fruitlessly thrash and gurgle. Staring into the man’s wide eyes, he leaned close, muttering two words to Henry.
     
    “For William.”
     
    Rising to his feet, watching the life ebb away from the corrupt holy man’s form, Corbett sheathed his dirk and pensively walked out of the church. He had avenged William Horen, and uprooted a corrupt member of the Faith’s clergy. With an accomplished smirk, the bloodstained Corbett returns to his duties, as he watches a torn Kaedrini flag flutter away into the sky.

    (( Written by NiceGuyNorman. Love you! <3 ))
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