A farmhouse on the northern shore, Ireland
Spring, 1495
Early evening
Warren Carter, foundling son of Jon Reilly Carter, walked from the garden of his home to see if his aging foster father was asleep by the fire or waiting to scold him for being out with Mary Catherine Walsh again. At the robust age of twenty, he didn't truly care what his father had to say on the matter unless it was his blessing to marry the girl, but he would listen anyway, as all good lads do for their fathers. Checking the rain barrel as he passed, he noted the smell of roast mutton, a rarity in his home. They must have a guest.
Warren frowned. His father did not often have guests, and the man was mistrustful of strangers. Taking a last look over the ocean before he went in, he saw storm clouds. A gust of wind danced leaves and grass about his feet. He felt tense, without knowing why.
"Father?" He walked in, expecting to see the old Irishman with ale and mutton laid out, and the usual look on his face, but his father was waiting alone, the mutton cooked, ale out, and no guest. Warren immediately began to worry.
"Father if it's about Mary Walsh I can expl---."
"Sit down, boy. Eat."
Without another word, Warren sat down, and dug in, slowly at first waiting for the torrent of words he expected to come. It did not. For many long minutes they ate in silence.
"Warren."
He looked up, noting that the old man was not frowning, but neither was he smiling.
"Yes, Father?"
"I've kept you with me these twenty years, though you were a foundling. I've treated you as my son." A moment of awkward silence followed. "I… want you to know something." Warren wiped his mouth on his arm, and waited. His father had never been like this before. "We both know that, though you're as normal as any man I've met, you're…different. That God made you a bit off …from what he usually builds us."
Warren frowned. This was the strangest talk he'd ever had. And coming from his own father, he'd never expected the devout old man to say things like this. "Today, a man came by, looking for you. Well dressed, fair spoken. Said it was 'most important that he find you' before some other lout does." Jon Carter looked down, obviously having trouble dealing with what he was about to say. "He said …that you were being hunted down by the Devil himself."
Warren burst out laughing. All that tension for a joke like this. But then, then pious old Jon Carter had never been much of a practical joker… Settling himself, he waited for the old man to stop frowning and continue.
"It's no laughing matter, Warren. What've you done that the Devil would come after you for? Speak, boy!"
Warren blinked. Hard. The old man wasn't joking at all, was dead serious. "I've done nothing, Father."
"Please, son… tell me."
"Father, I've done nothing!"
They yelled back and forth for a moment, old Carter trying to get his son to confess to something worthy of the Devil's personal attention. It dragged on and seemed to be finally slowing down, when suddenly, the simple wooden door burst into splinters, followed by a smiling, roaring black knight. Warren and Jon Carter both jumped back, overturning the table into the giant's path as they scrambled to get away.
"Warren Carter!" The smiling, sickening giant announced.
"There's no Carter here!" Warren's father cried out. "Get away, Devil!"
The black knight swung his massive broadsword, tearing through the wall and coming to rest only when it had completed a full circle around him, smashing crockery and stone alike. Laughing wickedly, the giant crooned. "Little Irish boy! I've found you! And now you're going to die!"
Jon Carter was no firm believer in the new ways of Christianity, but he knew a fiend when he saw one. He grabbed up a mattock and rushed the black knight. "You stay away from my son!"
Then, in a moment that burned itself into the darkest recesses of Warren Carter's mind, the great sword flashed about and ended his father's life horribly. The old man screamed, but it was a wordless scream, lost in Warren's mind and it had no real sound to it that Warren could tell. Rage almost over took him, but the grief and shock sent him to his knees. Another voice came, and more violence, but he paid it no mind, sitting there in a stupor. The voice was English, and the sounds were swords.
"Kurgan!"
"Grayham Ashe! Where is your snobbish student? Off with another woman?"
"Impeccable as always, slime." The English voice was far too cheerful for its words.
"I've prepared the way for another, and this one will survive you, as well!"
"I think not!" The Kurgan roared, his wicked broadsword darting out and striking hard against the steel wielded by Ashe. The fight was soon carried outside. Lightning rumbled and rain came. Warren picked up the simple axe by the ruined door and dashed out into the storm. The swordplay had stopped, and another figure had joined the fray but as a hostage, not a combatant. Warren recognized her in an instant.
"Mary!" He rushed the Kurgan, only to be stopped by Ashe.
"Wait, not like that!" The girl screamed as the Englishman spoke. She must've followed him home in hopes of helping him talk to his father about them getting married.
"Warren!" The Kurgan held her in front of him as a shield, barring her from moving.
The giant developed a sickening smile. "Your woman, boy? Good."
With one swift stroke, the Kurgan had beheaded her, ending her screaming. At that moment, something inside Warren snapped. He flung the axe at the Kurgan full force, and grabbed Ashe's sword from his hands. The Kurgan blocked the axe with ease, but was unprepared for the flurry of furious strikes the young Irishman was raining down on him. Slowly but surely, Warren was losing the fight, as the Kurgan beat him back, step by step, stroke by stroke. With an almost uncharacteristic flourish, the Kurgan disarmed him, and smiled. And promptly ran him through.
Warren tried to scream. He tried to do anything. But the leaden pain in him would not allow it, and he knew that he was dying. "That's alright," he thought to himself. "I'll see Mary soon. I'll see my father." His last conscious memories were of the Englishman named Ashe taking the sword back and driving the giant over the cliff with an even more furious onslaught. Ashe shouted something in a language that Warren did not understand, and the he felt the Englishman bending over him as the darkness claimed him.
Spring, 1495
Early evening
Warren Carter, foundling son of Jon Reilly Carter, walked from the garden of his home to see if his aging foster father was asleep by the fire or waiting to scold him for being out with Mary Catherine Walsh again. At the robust age of twenty, he didn't truly care what his father had to say on the matter unless it was his blessing to marry the girl, but he would listen anyway, as all good lads do for their fathers. Checking the rain barrel as he passed, he noted the smell of roast mutton, a rarity in his home. They must have a guest.
Warren frowned. His father did not often have guests, and the man was mistrustful of strangers. Taking a last look over the ocean before he went in, he saw storm clouds. A gust of wind danced leaves and grass about his feet. He felt tense, without knowing why.
"Father?" He walked in, expecting to see the old Irishman with ale and mutton laid out, and the usual look on his face, but his father was waiting alone, the mutton cooked, ale out, and no guest. Warren immediately began to worry.
"Father if it's about Mary Walsh I can expl---."
"Sit down, boy. Eat."
Without another word, Warren sat down, and dug in, slowly at first waiting for the torrent of words he expected to come. It did not. For many long minutes they ate in silence.
"Warren."
He looked up, noting that the old man was not frowning, but neither was he smiling.
"Yes, Father?"
"I've kept you with me these twenty years, though you were a foundling. I've treated you as my son." A moment of awkward silence followed. "I… want you to know something." Warren wiped his mouth on his arm, and waited. His father had never been like this before. "We both know that, though you're as normal as any man I've met, you're…different. That God made you a bit off …from what he usually builds us."
Warren frowned. This was the strangest talk he'd ever had. And coming from his own father, he'd never expected the devout old man to say things like this. "Today, a man came by, looking for you. Well dressed, fair spoken. Said it was 'most important that he find you' before some other lout does." Jon Carter looked down, obviously having trouble dealing with what he was about to say. "He said …that you were being hunted down by the Devil himself."
Warren burst out laughing. All that tension for a joke like this. But then, then pious old Jon Carter had never been much of a practical joker… Settling himself, he waited for the old man to stop frowning and continue.
"It's no laughing matter, Warren. What've you done that the Devil would come after you for? Speak, boy!"
Warren blinked. Hard. The old man wasn't joking at all, was dead serious. "I've done nothing, Father."
"Please, son… tell me."
"Father, I've done nothing!"
They yelled back and forth for a moment, old Carter trying to get his son to confess to something worthy of the Devil's personal attention. It dragged on and seemed to be finally slowing down, when suddenly, the simple wooden door burst into splinters, followed by a smiling, roaring black knight. Warren and Jon Carter both jumped back, overturning the table into the giant's path as they scrambled to get away.
"Warren Carter!" The smiling, sickening giant announced.
"There's no Carter here!" Warren's father cried out. "Get away, Devil!"
The black knight swung his massive broadsword, tearing through the wall and coming to rest only when it had completed a full circle around him, smashing crockery and stone alike. Laughing wickedly, the giant crooned. "Little Irish boy! I've found you! And now you're going to die!"
Jon Carter was no firm believer in the new ways of Christianity, but he knew a fiend when he saw one. He grabbed up a mattock and rushed the black knight. "You stay away from my son!"
Then, in a moment that burned itself into the darkest recesses of Warren Carter's mind, the great sword flashed about and ended his father's life horribly. The old man screamed, but it was a wordless scream, lost in Warren's mind and it had no real sound to it that Warren could tell. Rage almost over took him, but the grief and shock sent him to his knees. Another voice came, and more violence, but he paid it no mind, sitting there in a stupor. The voice was English, and the sounds were swords.
"Kurgan!"
"Grayham Ashe! Where is your snobbish student? Off with another woman?"
"Impeccable as always, slime." The English voice was far too cheerful for its words.
"I've prepared the way for another, and this one will survive you, as well!"
"I think not!" The Kurgan roared, his wicked broadsword darting out and striking hard against the steel wielded by Ashe. The fight was soon carried outside. Lightning rumbled and rain came. Warren picked up the simple axe by the ruined door and dashed out into the storm. The swordplay had stopped, and another figure had joined the fray but as a hostage, not a combatant. Warren recognized her in an instant.
"Mary!" He rushed the Kurgan, only to be stopped by Ashe.
"Wait, not like that!" The girl screamed as the Englishman spoke. She must've followed him home in hopes of helping him talk to his father about them getting married.
"Warren!" The Kurgan held her in front of him as a shield, barring her from moving.
The giant developed a sickening smile. "Your woman, boy? Good."
With one swift stroke, the Kurgan had beheaded her, ending her screaming. At that moment, something inside Warren snapped. He flung the axe at the Kurgan full force, and grabbed Ashe's sword from his hands. The Kurgan blocked the axe with ease, but was unprepared for the flurry of furious strikes the young Irishman was raining down on him. Slowly but surely, Warren was losing the fight, as the Kurgan beat him back, step by step, stroke by stroke. With an almost uncharacteristic flourish, the Kurgan disarmed him, and smiled. And promptly ran him through.
Warren tried to scream. He tried to do anything. But the leaden pain in him would not allow it, and he knew that he was dying. "That's alright," he thought to himself. "I'll see Mary soon. I'll see my father." His last conscious memories were of the Englishman named Ashe taking the sword back and driving the giant over the cliff with an even more furious onslaught. Ashe shouted something in a language that Warren did not understand, and the he felt the Englishman bending over him as the darkness claimed him.