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02/16/2020 12:38 PM 

A Bard's song Pt. 1

Learn to do right, seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.
-Isaiah 1:17

}England, a long time ago{

Behold a family. Not unlike other families they have very little save for a thatch roof over their heads (That leaks constantly) four walls around them (That does little to halt the winds) and few chickens that wander about laying their eggs where they might. They are not happy all the time, these humble folk, but they are happy most of the time and they enjoy each other's company more than half the time, which is quite a lot more than most can say of their own families. Let us meet them, shall we?

Their, chopping fire wood as he does most mornings, is the father Peter. His hair is thin, his teeth yellowed, his hands rough and calloused, and his belly is large from too much ale. But he is a kind man, though not overtly so, and generous one when he can be. Yes he does drink a bit much but he has always provided for his wife and child. He is a good father who takes joy in playing with his son and dogs, though he can be stern he has never been cruel. He will die when the sun sets gasping for air and ripping his throat to shreds with his fingers as his eyes bulge and his throat swells shut.

Now to the son playing with the dogs and ignoring his chores. In his hand is a stick, though in his eyes it is Excalibur itself and the hounds leaping and yelping about him are either great war horses or viscous dragons depending on the moment and the mood of his tale. The boy laughs and swings his great sword about! In his mind he is not Alek the child, oh no, he is sir Alek and he is set to defend his Queen (His mother) and castle (His tiny home) from dreadful dragons that have to devour it! A thrust here, a quick side step and another thrust and Sir Alek is victorious! He stands triumphant with his branch held high. He shall scream tonight. He shall scream at the sight of losing all that he has ever known and then he shall scream no more.

And last we behold the wife going about her wifely duties. Cleaning, preparing tonight's meal and calling upon her brave young knight to come and help her quest for the eggs that the chickens have lain. Her life is a simple one and she found happiness in it though it has taken many a long year of tragedy and heart break for her to find it. Her life had not always been like this and her past was not one she thought of often or shared the secrets of with anyone, not ever her husband. But every now and then, in throws of boredom while going about some mundane task that requires little thought allowing for ones mind to wander to places you wish it not to go she thinks of the woman she once was. She had been a witch. Not a wise woman who healed with the bounty of nature or a white witch who gave protection through the forces of the light, no, she had been of the dark sort. She had drawn the cross in the dirt with her left foot as a girl and road a black goat naked and bold across the night's sky to dance wildly at the witch's sabbath with her coven. She had reveled in the left hand path and drunk deep from the chalice of darkness becoming intoxicated on the powers that came from it. But all that changed when her coven was captured by the forces of the church. Her sisters were tortured for days by men who claimed to follow the lord of mercy and justice, how merciful was torturing a woman by peeling the flesh from her fingers or burning her feet tell she confessed all that they wanted to hear? She had escaped this fate by mere chance and fled across land and sea and did not stop until the people she meet spoke a langue not her own. This is when she first meet her husband and this is when she first felt honest love. She would not die tonight but will live many long years after.

}That night{

The smell of wood smoke drifted through the little home as the family sat around the roughly made table and prepared to eat their meal. They held hands and the father and son bowed their heads as the father prayed. While the mother had rejected darkness she had never accepted her husband's faith. She kept her head high and prayed her own prayers to the triple goddess silently as her husband prayed to Jesus for all the same things; A healthy home, a healthy family, and a plentiful harvest. The prayers were done and the family began to eat their modest meal of bread, fish, and berries. Soon all were stuffed and all were ready for bed, some more than others as the father hand to scoop the son into his arms and carry him to his room. The boy was sound asleep and his father stood over him for a few moments and marveled at the fact that he could help bring something so pure into this world. What kind of man will you be? He whispered low and imagined all the things his son might accomplish that he never got a chance too. To see new lands, fight in great battles or simply raise a family all his own with a good woman at his side. He wanted to see it. Wanted to see his son grow into a man and perhaps even see his grandchildren if the good lord would be so kind. Was it selfish of him? Perhaps. Pride was a sin, the worst one if the preacher was right, but he didn't care. He'd be humble elsewhere, but he'd be proud of his son no matter what.

As always his wife seemed to guess his thoughts and she wrapped her arms around him and, standing on her tip toes, placed a kiss upon his cheek. You should be proud my love. He's a good strong lad, much like his father. She said with a wry smile as she rested her head on his shoulder, though far more handsome. The father laughed and kissed her head before leading her to their own chambers for the night. They made love that night, it's was nothing wild or overtly romantic. A few quick thrusts and an odd moan and it was over before it really even began. But it was enough, they weren't young and sometimes that was all you could muster after a hard day. But they buried themselves under their furs and held each other close. Contentment was good when all of life was uncertain. They both spoke I love yous and slowly they drifted to sleep so that they might awaken and start it all over again.

Then there came a knock.

It was low at first and did not stir anyone, but it came again harder a second time and woke the mother and father from their sleep though the both of them were still groggy from it all. Third knock came hard and violent and shook the house sending all therein into a panic. The dogs barked, the son cried and the mother scooped him up and held him close as the father stood between them and whatever might be on the other side of that door. How to describe fear felt from three different perspectives? How do I tell you of the fear felt by a child only six winters old who had never seen anything of the world beyond him home and the woods he knew? What images does his imagination stir? Be there a dragon on the other side of that door? An ogre perhaps, come to steal him away and mash him for jelly to slather on his bread. What of the father? What does he see in his minds eye? Bandits perhaps. Come to take what little they have or take his wife's virtue. He would not allow it, no, he would die fighting whatever this is before he allowed any harm to befall his family. And the mother, what of her? I suspect you already know that she knows full well what lay beyond that wooden door baring the darkness from her ramshackle heaven. It was far worse than a dragon, an ogre, or a whole army of bandits. It was her past and it would not stay buried any longer.

Slowly the door opened with a long, droning creak. All held their breath in anticipation of beholding the horror of the other side, anticipation taking it's toll by filling stomachs full of eyes and beating hearts like war drums. Slowly the door opened only to reveal a young woman in a dark cloak standing on the stoop. She had crimson curls that tumbled from under the hood down past her breasts. What little flesh that could be seen was alabaster white and seemed to glow faintly under the light of the moon while blood red lips parted into a smile that little to resolve fear in the family. The father barked something at the woman, what it was is not important, what is that his manly pride overtook his humanly sense and he stepped forward towards the mystery woman. The mother tried to stop him but he would not listen, he was in the throws of his anger and was a pointing a finger at the woman until she raised a hand and the father's words caught in his mouth. He began to choke and dropped to his knees. He gripped at his throat, his face began to turn red and his desperation became terror as he clawed at his throat with the same mind as a dog who has his leg caught in a vice and decides to gnaw it off to be free. His nails dug deep into his throat peeling away flesh a few strips at a time even as his face turned a deep shade of blue and his bulged and the capillaries burst turning them red as the blood that flowed from his wounds.

The mother dropped to her knees next to him begging and pleading for the woman at the door to stop this, to end it. The boy screamed and screamed as his father's dogs growled and barked at the intruder who was taking him away from them. The woman smiled, the father twitched once, twice and feel silent with his fingers in his throat and his eyes opened. The dogs attacked meaning to protect the mother and son but another wave from the mother's hand caused the hounds to halt in their tracks and begin to violently shake and then vomit, vomit until what was inside was laying outside and steaming on the floor. The boy screamed again and cried, his mother held him tight and eyed the woman at the door. Why? Why? She said unable to think of anything else, the woman at the door smiled at her, it was a bright luminous smile, Because you got away dear sister and hell always collects it's due. It takes a moment sometimes for realization to take hold, more so if the realization is that you're going to lose your family and their is nothing you can do to stop it. NO! NO! The mother cried as the woman at door stepped into her home and slowly glided towards the two of them. You have grown weak. Has your Christian lover f***ed the power from you? The woman said looking down at the corpse of the father and scoffing at it. He was a good man, damn you. He was good...Anger replaces grief when one's family is mocked, more so when they are laying dead mere inches from you. Good and evil are all matters of perspective, sister. Have you forgotten that. The woman spoke looming over them like Azazel coming to collect his due. Perspective? The mother hissed and spat in the woman's face, Damn you! May the triple Goddess damn you! May Jesus Christ damn you! She screamed and the woman, who's smile had vanished, waved her hand and slapped the mother away leaving the child screaming on the floor. Hello nephew.

The mother struggled to move. Her powers had faded over the long years of being a wife and mother but she still had something, for her son she still needed to have something. She drew into a reserve of will power that all women have and summoned up every ounce of her strength. Thrusting her hands forth and screaming until her lungs threatened to tear like sails in a tempest she unleashed a burst of magical energy towards the woman knocking towards the wooden wall of the home and collapsing it atop her. The mother groaned and fell to her knees gasping for air. She had done it, but she had not done it soon enough. Her husband of ten years lay dead on the floor having died a horrible death, but her son was still alive. Her son was still alive. The laughter crushed her spirit. The woman rose up from the rubble and titled her head to the side glaring at the mother. What injuries she had were already healing and broken bones were resetting. Sister, I did not know you had that much in you. But it was the last of it. A pitty for you. The woman said raising her hand and catching the mother in an invisible net snatching her up of the floor to levitate in the air. What to do with you sister? Malebolgia does not want you dead, not yet. He has granted me leeway to do as I wish with what to do. The woman said as she looked about as if looking for inspiration. Her eyes feel upon the boy and she smiled, Ah...I have it. A snap of the finger and the mother began to choke. Bones broke and twisted, muscle ripped and teared only to be reshaped. The boy follows you around like a little gosling. So, that would make you mother goose.

The mother's neck stretched and her form shrunk as black feathers grew from her flesh and arms twisted and bent, fingers retreated into the hand. Eventually her screams became the panicked honks of a mother goose and the woman laughed at her work. A great black goose that shall live forever! Haha! How sweet, but your debt is not yet paid sister. The woman said smiling and pointing at the frantic goose that waddled back and forth. Oh no, not paid at all. She spoke as she scooped up the child and wrapped him in her cloak, but this shall be a start. In an instant the woman and child were gone and only the mother goose remained.

How true is this tale? Lord Iain asked taking a drink from his ale.
Pardon? The bard, who had regaled Lord Iain with the story, spoke perplexed. What do you mean?
I mean how much are you adding and how much is the honest truth? Iain said with a twang of anger in his voice.
All of it! I swear on my mother I have added nothing. The bard replied, shocked and offended.
You spoke a name in it, the only name in the whole damned tale. Malebolgia. I know that name. Tell me, where did this take place? Answer true and I won't find leave to string you up from your balls.
Uh, just a mile outside the village. An old abandoned shake by a pond in the middle of the woods. Can't miss it, I swear. The bard spoke hurriedly.
Lord Iain stood and loomed closer to the bard and pulled back his hood so that the young man might see the fallen knight's nightmare visage. You best be speaking true or I will return. The bard gulped and fainted, Iain placed a few coins into the bard's hand and exited the tavern.

He knew most of the story had to be lies, all bard's tales were exaggerated. But the bard knew Malebolgia's name. The only name in that whole damned story and it Malebolgia's! He had to know more, had to find out something and maybe, just maybe he could be a step closer to lifting this curse that plagued him. He mounted his horse and rode off into the darkened wood, somewhere in the dark a mother goose let out a mournful cry.

To be continued...

02/13/2020 11:24 PM 


x. I usually don't care how others roleplay. I'm willing to write with anybody regardless of character or verse, the only thing that I ask is that you enjoy yourself and try to have a good time.

x. I'm slow and my "muse" comes and goes with the tides. Sometimes I'll reply on the day or it might even be a week, or longer, before I can get anything out. So please have some patience with me, I'm only one Hellspawn.

x. I enjoy pic comments and just random goofy stuff in the stream. Sometimes I'll be on just to mess around in the stream and get nothing productive done writing wise.

x. I'm a very open person and I like making new friends and meeting new people. But, that being said, I might not make the first move when it comes to greetings.

x. If I add don't feel the need to plot or write anything with me right away. Sometimes characters don't mesh well together, which is fine, but that still doesn't mean we can't become friends or even make something work somewhere down the line.

That's about all I can think of for the moment. I'm pretty lenient when it comes to stuff and I don't get offended or "triggered" by anything writing wise.
Hope you guys have a good day and I look forward to writing with you all.

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