WARNING:: The following story contains very graphic and brutal scenes. I advise you not to read if you hate blood and gore.
Chapter One: NO MERCY
Vieux Mans: Days ride from Paris.
The wind was wild as it blew through the trees leading up to the farmhouse from the forest. It was late afternoon and winter was approaching fast making each gust feel icy cold. The sky looked laden and grey as the tempest persisted.
The farmhouse was surrounded by open fields and forests that spread off miles into the open countyside. A small brook flowed towards the house from the forest enabling whoever resided there permanent water from the well that stood in the courtyard.
The trees looked ready to snap with the sheer force of the squall.
Flocks of sheep huddled in groups against the hedgegrows as they tried to shelter from the strong gusts, constant bleating filled the swirl of the wind.
A wooden fence led up to the house from the fields, a large gate was swinging from its hinges as it clattered against the framework. Dried stalkes of grain blew across the courtyard outside the farmhouse. A lone cart rattled against the storm, its straps flapping around the wheels. Boxes had been piled up on the cart as though ready for market.
The gate continued to clatter in the wind as the storm clouds darkened to bring nightfall.
The wild fowl had taken up residence within the barn and had snuggled down onto the hay bales. Some pecked at the ground searching for corn and scraps. Geese hissed at the air as the wind blew at the barn door making it clang against the wood.
The stong wind continued to howl through the stables making the horses snort and neigh at the sound it created. One horse pawed at the dry gritty ground as though agitated. The animals sensed all was not right.
A narrow dirt path led up to the front entrance of the house. Shrubs lined the path upto the house. The wooden door was open wide, bundles of dried herb plants dangled from the hall ceiling in clumps they swayed as the storm howled its way into the hallway.
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The walls on either side were covered in thick blood spatters. The pool of blood on the floor had now congealed and had stopped flowing from the womans body as she lay with eyes open and blank. A dagger protruded from her neck. Further on into the the room lay a middle aged man. A musket ball had sank itself into his forehead and he lay in his own blood. His face full of agony where he had dropped dead to the ground. Blood had filled his eye sockets with the blast of the ball. A broad sword lay at the mans side also smeared in blood.
A lone candle flickered in its holder on the small chest of drawers making the room glow a hue of gold.
Several rats had scurried into the hall from outside and were helping themselves to the loaves of bread and cold meats that were laid out on the wooden table. Bottles of wine lay smashed on the floor, one had been used as a weapon and was coated in blood and human hair.
The far wall of the large dining room was smeared in blood as the young man was held fast by two rapier swords through the chest. His feet dangled as he hung. His head had fallen down to his chest, his long hair full of blood from a headwound. The blood had ran down the mans front and absorbed into his clothing and onto the floor were it had pooled into a thick congealing mess.
On the other side of the room was another body, this time hanging upside down from the roof beams, thick hemp was tied around his booted ankles. His throat had been cut nearly decapitating him. His body had bled out onto the cloak that lay beneath him. Another hungry rat was sniffing at the body fluids.
The third body was sat at the laid out table, two hollows in the face were the eyes had been gouged out. The congealed blood had flowed down the front of his doublet. His mouth still filled with frothy saliva from the agony. A battle axe was sunken into the dead mans shoulder blades. The rats sniffed at the dried blood as they climbed up the dead mans legs and onto his lap to eat.
The bookshelf on the other wall had fallen flat, books lay strewn across the floor. Two chairs that looked like they had been flung across the room in defence, lay upturned on the bloodied ground.
A thick bloodied trail led into the adjacent room were another body of a young woman lay. Her clothing had obviously been ripped from her pale thin body. A sword was impaled through her stomach, blood had pooled around her and channeled in liquid lines across the floor. The once beautiful face was now a frozen distorted sight of torture.
A pair of booted feet lay in the doorway of the next chamber next. The man had been shot in the back of the head. He lay on his stomach, his arms in front
of him were outstretched as though reaching for a musket to defend himself .Blood had congealed around his head and his face lay to one side, his eyes stared at nothing. His lips tinged blue. Over his body was a blue cloak baring the famous 'Fleur de Lis' of Louis XIII Musketeer Regiment.
To be continued...