Thank you for all your continued support in my work and letting me know you're okay with the style/length! Good to know I'm on the right track!
-I did have a snow day from university yesterday, but I was also running on 4 hours sleep, so this is an intentionally short chapter (5 pages). I will redeem myself tomorrow, I promise!
Sorry about the delay, I have a number of things starting up again now...aaaaanyways, here's the next chapter! OC villain btw-Enjoy!
While Athos and Aramis hastily gathered their supplies from the house; racing against time to save their ailing brother, only fields away, a battle was nearing its end; the few, townspeople left standing in the hidden valley now at the mercy of their bloodthirsty assailants.
The most merciless of the attackers, was of course their leader, a man who was also known for holding the notoriously fearsome title of Porteur de la Mort, or bringer of death.
Once having lived the peaceful, high life of any common lord, Porter; for that was his real name, had ruined his title and wealthy status when he had boldly confronted the king regarding the hand of his sister in marriage- complaining rashly when she had rejected him.
He could admit it now... he had been reckless, arrogant and bordering on harassment, one of the many attributes of the narrow minded upper class.
But what was done, was done, and Porter found himself quickly removed of his title, estate, and therefore, forced out to live on the streets; his name slandered to such an extent that no man would give him work.
And so he took to the criminal life, taking only what he needed at first until, slowly, he developed skilled hands as a thief, from there rising up through the ranks, gaining new power and respect -his fortunate upbringing giving him enough intellect and wit to accomplish more dastardly deeds like no other criminal could.
Though it seemed like a life time ago, and perhaps it was, Porter now relished his new heightened position as fearsome and ruthless killer, acquiring many greedy and desperate criminals such as he had been to fight for their common goal -to ransack the king of his riches while taking out as many of his beloved guards and musketeers as they could.
An ironic twist on the word payback.
The way he saw it, if he couldn't have the woman that had stolen his heart, then he would live to make the king suffer by any means he could muster -even if that meant burning down his common wealth around him, town by town, destroying his profits and dispatching any soldiers who came to stand in his way.
It had just so happened that Porter had been informed that their governor had been 'open for questioning' on his journey home through the country last night; carrying a most significant piece of parchment that permitted a 'crackdown of sorts on the criminal filth that was ravaging the outlying areas of his majesties land as of late.'
That simply could not do, and so Porter and his men had swiftly plotted and ambush -and failed!
He had been furious! There had only been four worthy opponents to offer them any resistance and yet they had managed to fulfil their duties.
Those facts cut him to the quick, FOUR MUSKETEERS, FOUR!?
No man had ever dared to take him on, no man had ever been able to take away his wealth and strip him of his pride again since that dark day in his life, many years ago.
Had anyone attempted such, he would have merely killed them on the spot and hardly bat an eye.
And yet- FOUR lowly musketeers had managed to not only outwit, outmanoeuvre and escape his men, but prevent him from reaching his goal and drastically reduced his followers by at least a third!
With this outraging thought rolling around his mind, Porter brought his cutlass down
hard, finishing the helpless farmer with a chop to the neck, his head tumbling off his shoulders as his bloodied body collapsed in the dirt street.
Finding some manner of comfort at this, Porter allowed himself a small smirk, at least something was going right he mused, a small grin forming wickedly as he eyed his work.
At this, Porter casually turned around to watch the last of his men dealing with their opponents; easily trading blows with the defenceless farmers and waiting them out as they weakly tossed all matter of objects, pitchforks and rocks at them in desperation, until finally, they were backed into a corner and stabbed through the heart.
This was almost too easy, he thought with a smirk, sheathing his sword and brushing his gloves together, swaggering over to his second in command with an air of confidence.
As he passed over he managed a wink to his few straggling men who grinned in return as they dragged the remaining women, screaming out of their houses, and towards the vacant church to have some 'fun.'
Finally reaching his blood spattered comrade, Porter clapped a hand to his shoulder in appreciation of his work, the man grinning widely with pride, panting slightly as the adrenaline continued to course through his veins.
"What say you?" Porter asked gruffly, looking around at the demolished town once again, bodies now strewn across the short radius, tainting the 'soon-to-be-burnt-homes' in crimson rivers that flowed from the dead or dying.
"What do you mean, sir?" the man asked formally; he had learnt the hard way never to address his master as anything but sir, the pain in his fingers that flared up every winter providing him with a harsh reminder, should he forget again.
"-Well, if the musketeers weren't at this village and they weren't at the village that we burnt down earlier, what do you suppose that means?" Porter asked calmly, his patience wearing thin when he had not received an immediate answer.
"Uh….that we've gone too far?" the man fumbled, looking at his hands and nervously picking at his nails.
"No…try again" Porter replied quietly, a cold and slightly menacing expression beginning to take over his deathly white face, his wild dark eyes boring holes into his mans skull.
"They're already... dead?" he ventured, heading further and further from Porters' 'correct' answer.
Patience depleted, Porter suddenly cuffed his foolish second upside the head, making sure he titled his fist just enough for his rings to catch against his scalp.
"You pathetic fool!" he roared, "It's no wonder we haven't found those cowardly musketeer scum yet -as you clearly lack the mental capacity to direct our scouts with an ounce of logic" he fumed, raising his fist again as if to hit the man, making him cower.
He already knew he could exert fear upon others without physical abuse, so why bother tiring himself out?
His man shrank back in fear, hand pressed against the painfully forming bruise on the back of his head, not daring to meet the mans eyes as he began to pace back and forth in front of him, noticing the way his expensive black boots shined in the sunlight -yet another 'gift' from the king.
Still not sure what his master wanted of him, the man wisely chose to remain silent.
Sighing in frustration, Porter answered for him, "They must be on a small farm" he explained.
"-The townspeople certainly haven't seen anyone by their description...unless they had be lying to us for no reason..." Porter ranted.
"-though I highly doubt they would so foolish enough to lie under such dire circumstances, especially as after i'd put my pistol in their face" he added, a smirk upturning the corner of his lips as he recalled the terror in their eyes, it made him want to laugh in their faces, just the rush that it gave him!
"-therefore they must have stumbled across some small lodgings, a house perhaps" Porter finished, turning back to eye his ever so slightly trembling second.
"Hey, I think I saw a small farm only a short ways from here!" a passing man of Porters called, not bothering to give him eye contact as he rifled through the pockets of the dead for any valuable items or coin they may have been carrying.
Porter raised an eyebrow at this, he had seen no such farm...
They would have to get atop this valley then, he concluded, then perhaps they might be able to spot it.
Porter quickly left instructions to his nearest brother in arms, ordering them to light the place when they were done scouring while he and his man scoured the view above the rise over yonder.
Never being the one to actually do the trivial work, Porter waited -none too patiently- for his man to finishing scoping the area with his eyeglass and deliver a report.
"Well I don't see nothing" he stated finally, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Tempted to put his fist through the incompetent mans face, Porter did his best to reign in his temper and snatched the eyeglass from his hands with a "Give me that!" before peering through it to survey the land.
"Firstly," he chided, "the proper term would have been 'anything' not nothing" Porter corrected, snidely, eyes still continuing to squint through the glass as he performed the task at hand, feeling rather than seeing his man bowing his head, face heated with embarrassment while his master took pleasure in scolding him like a small child.
"Secondly-" Porter began, his arms jerking to a stop as he spotted a small lump atop a farm -no doubt a farmhouse, "-you completely failed to fulfil your duties -as their is in fact a farm not but a hundred yards from here" he finished coldly, whipping the eyeglass into the mans stomach, smiling at the pained sound he made as he fumbled to place it back in his belt.
Porter lowered the eyeglass and his gleeful grin for having found a new, promising target, instead glaring down at his man. "Get the men ready" he ordered icily, "we ride within the hour" he added, stalking back down the rise towards the burning buildings, his second stumbling down behind him, keeping his distance.
It would appear time was running out for the musketeers, if they didn't leave soon, they might not be leaving at all.
Cliff hanger, ooooh! lol
Let me know what you're thinking with a review! Until next time, my pretties!