For all her life, a Viking raid was something that Priscilla had been taught to fear. They were the stuff of nightmares. Fire and deadly blades, endless slaughter, no survivors left in the barbarian's wake. Somehow though the stories always spread, and by the time Priscilla had grown to be a young woman she was more than ready to join the ranks of Ashfeld's legions to fight against the terrible northern menace. Since then she had fought against northmen from Crow's Path to the Blackstone Hills, doing what she thought was her duty to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.
Now she had just successfully helped a violent Viking horde sack one of the greatest cities of her homeland, but strangely felt like she had done the right thing.
The Divine Pyre had fought viciously, but their zealous resolve had broken once Erzebet's head had been brought down from the tower and placed on a pike. Only a handful of cultists survived long enough to surrender, the rest laying down their lives in the name of the volcano that they worshiped so blindly, their bodies strewn about the citadel's courtyard and keep. This had once been a place of trade and politics, where magistrates managed the city's affairs and traders from far and wide came seeking permission to sell their wares at the harbor's markets. But less than an hour ago the citadel was a cacophony of clashing weapons and screaming warriors, and now it was only place of death, like so many others across Ashfeld, and indeed all of Heathmoor.
Priscilla had done her fair share of the killing, having fought without mercy to finally break the hold that the Pyre had over Eitrivatnen, but now all she felt was exhaustion after a long day of violence. She sat on the steps of the citadel's main keep, back turned to the large wooden doors that had been smashed open during the attack and her fellow Lion Flame comrades who had sailed across the lake with Herleif and Ivar scattered about her. Her hands and her blades were both covered in blood, arms resting her knees as she grasped her thin sword and dagger, just wondering why everything she had known had all gone to hell.
Coal sat next to her, shield wedged between his legs as he leaned over it, resting his chin against one fist like some grumpy looking gargoyle. He stayed silent as he gazed out over the crowded courtyard full of lingering Viking warriors, and the burned gates that had been nearly blasted off their hinges by the Pyre's terrible weapon that now sat silent and cold. Priscilla was thankful for the lack of conversation, preferring to keep to her own thoughts for the time being. It was not in a Peacekeeper's nature to be talkative at the best of times, but barely surviving the execution of her mark earlier that day had left her feeling more withdrawn then usual. If only everyone in her company felt the same.
"Do you think we should stop them?" Marcelo asked with a hesitant quiver to his voice, standing just a few steps up behind Priscilla as he watched a constant stream of Viking raiders move in and out of the citadel keep. Each heathen warrior that went in soon came out again clutching whatever loot and treasure they could get their hands on. Whatever wealth in jewels and precious metals the Pyre had hoarded for themselves of course, but they also came out carrying crates of fine silks and embroidered tapestries, delicate marble carvings and even grand paintings that took multiple people at once to carry down the steps. They all wore big smiles under their scruffy beards, and laughed happily as if they had just found such treasures laying about freely, rather then having to hack and cleave through an entire city just to get at them.
No, it seemed that the hard work was over and the real raiding could now get underway, and there appeared to be nothing that the Vikings wouldn't pick up and carry off with them if they thought they could fit it onto their ships. Marcelo watched on helplessly while one precious item after another was carried off, and tried to keep himself busy by cleaning his longsword with a cloth as he fumed. "These treasures belong to the people of Eitrivatnen, or at least those poor souls who have endured through the Pyre's tyranny. Surely we can't simply stand by and watch it all be taken?"
Priscilla didn't give so much as give a shrug of her shoulders as she answered him. "I suppose you could try asking them nicely to stop and see where that gets you," she said in a dismissive drone.
"Somehow I think that if such a simple solution could work, our ancestors would have succeeded at negotiations with these savages centuries ago," Marcelo countered as he moved down the steps towards her.
"Well I am out of ideas then. Coal, do you have anything to add?" Priscilla asked, but Coal just gave a small shake of his head and a grunt that echoed from within his helmet. Priscilla craned her head back as she looked up at Marcelo. "Tough luck, friend. I guess not every victory is a happy one."
Marcelo sighed, shaking his head as he regarded the raiders again. A trio of them were carrying off a large painting in an ornate golden frame. Within was a picture of a pale woman with a coy smile, standing in a pool dotted with lily pads and wearing a soaked pink gown that left nothing to the imagination of what was beneath. "This is ridiculous. I admit that not all of these barbarians are the wicked fiends I once thought them to be, but I still can't help but feel we have only delivered our people from one terrible fate to another."
Priscilla reached up and snatched the cloth out of Marcelo's idle hand, and sat back against the steps to start wiping her own blades clean of gore. "Unfortunately that is the deal we have appeared to make," she grumbled. She wasn't in the mood to explain to Marcelo how the world at large was not as glorious and honorable as he would like to think it was, but if he was going to just stand there and patronize the rest of them over their alliance with the Vikings then someone needed to break the sad truth to him. "They help us defeat the Divine Pyre, and the good people of Ashfeld get their lives back. After the Vikings take whatever they want for themselves of course. But that is just the way of things. I imagine that these poor wretches are used to such things by now anyway."
"It truly was a deal with the devil that we made, wasn't it?" Marcelo said forlornly.
Working the cloth over her dagger, Priscilla examined the metal in sunlight and flicked away a bit of red bone that had gotten caught in the edge. Her blades would need a good sharpening after all the work they had done today. "Would you have preferred that we stayed and fought the Pyre on our own? Perhaps try to hold out and wait for the other Legions to come and save us in a glorious show of force, united under the Lord-Warden, righteousness and God like in the old days?"
There was a gruff laugh form one of the other Knights somewhere behind her, and Priscilla watched as Marcelo fidgeted uncomfortably before looking down at her. "If we had tried either of those things then we all would have surely perished and there would be no hope of salvation for any of these people," he said as confidently as he could manage.
"And so we did what we had to. We survived and bided our time. We sought out refuge where our enemies would not think to look. And yes, we made a deal with the devil," Priscilla stated, wiping down her short sword as she spoke. "It was hardly the best deal, but the only one we could make at the time. And now we must live with the consequences of our actions, no matter how badly it might sting our pride. I believe Coal knows a little something about all that, having suffered more than most to get where he is today. Is that not true, Conqueror?"
Coal turned his head ever so slightly towards her. "Leave me out of this," he grumbled.
Priscilla continued. "Convicted and imprisoned all for trying to hunt some food to fill his starving belly. Forced to fight in battles that were not his, and then re-deployed to our legion in the north just before everything went to shit. His whole life ripped apart and turned upside down more so than the rest of us, and yet still he fights on. If anyone can handle keeping their head down and and doing what they have to, it is him. So be more like our dear Coal, Marcelo. Just keep your mouth shut, and just do as you are told."
Marcelo's shoulders tensed as he was told off in front of the other Lion Flame Knights, his hand tightening around the grip of his longsword. "This isn't right," he muttered under his breath. Out in the courtyard the Vikings had opened up a case full of wine jugs and were passing them out among themselves, guzzling the red alcohol like carefree nobles at a merry summer festival. They were celebrating their success in battle no doubt, and giving thanks to their many war-loving gods for delivering them such grand rewards that they had stolen from the dead.
Priscilla ignored Marcelo's grumbling while she finished up with her weapons and then tossed the blood stained rag aside. She didn't care what he thought, or anyone else in the legion for that matter. Not about the deal with the Vikings, or what the Pyre had done to their homes and countrymen during their time in Valkenheim. She didn't care about what Beaufort had or hadn't done to try to avoid this catastrophe. It was all in the past now, and there was no changing what had to be done now just like there was no wiping away the bad blood that existed between them and the other legions of Ashfeld now. Marcelo was right to think that this deal wouldn't be the salvation their people needed, but his hope for a righteous victory against untamed evil was just a fool's dream in the end. Not everything in life was so simple, not so black and white.
That was why she and Coal were working on their own plan, behind the veil of grand armies and mighty battles. A plan that was long in the making, and longer still in execution. The elimination of Li Qiang and the confiscating his formula was only one step towards completing that goal. They couldn't involve the Vikings in their plot. If the Jarls knew about the secrets created by the renegade Zhanhu then they would no doubt take it for themselves. Their primitive fire-flasks would take on a whole new destructive element when used in a fight, creating infernos out of entire battlefields that would be impossible to control. Judith and the rest of the legion couldn't know either. She had kept this bit of information to herself back at the start of this nightmare, as dangerous as it was. Letting them know would only lead to questions of where she had found out about the weapon herself. If the others ever found out the true masterminds behind this plan, knew that it was still Beaufort feeding her information and delivering her orders, then they would never trust her again. Too many lines had been drawn in the sand for her to reveal all the cards she held now.
Their plan would work, she believed. It was working, they just needed more time. Just one more victory at the Walled City and then Ashfeld's true salvation would actually be within their grasp. They just needed time. She had to believe it would work. She had to hold onto that hope that she was doing the right thing.
A commotion rising up in the courtyard broke Priscilla from her reprieve, and there was a bit of angry shouting as someone tried to fight against the wave of raiders taking their loot of to the boats. Coal lifted his head, looking out over the many helmets and spears and spotted someone that stood out uniquely among the northmen. "Mm, here comes that crazy Gladiator," he sighed, taking up his shield and his flail and slowly getting to his feet. "Why some people are still so fascinated by the Old Empire I'll never know. It's old, and dead."
Priscilla just shrugged, not bothering to get up as she spotted the Gladiator now weaving through the crowd as he approached. "We make war often enough. Why not add blood-sport into the mix too?" she said grimly.
The Gladiator coming towards them wore a full faced bronze helmet, shaped with the image of a grinning skull on the front, and adorned with a crown of spikes across his head. He was lightly armored, dressed more for a day spent under the hot sun of southern Ashfeld, though he did have a small chest plate strapped to him, mismatched greaves and an armored sleeve on his right arm. His tall trident was slung over one shoulder and the small buckler in his other hand bobbed up and down in the air as he jogged closer. All in all he appeared to be quite the theatrical figure, no doubt a carefully crafted costume to increase his popularity when fighting in the arena of some city or another. But this venture they were on now was hardly a sporting match, and there would be no wild crowd to cheer for any of them whether they won or lost. Certainly not if they lost. Priscilla remembered how at the time of their escape Judith was loath to accept the wayward Gladiator into their ranks as they prepared to flee across the sea, thinking him just as a marvelous distraction that would not know how to work in a well trained military unit, but he had since proven himself a capable fighter and was actually quick with an exciting tale from his arena days if one cared to listen.
As he approached the steps where Priscilla and the rest were sitting, the Gladiator stopped short and stood at rigid attention. He stamped the end of his trident into the ground, lifted his chin and held his buckler over his chest as he saluted with dramatic flair. "Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, reporting for the most honorable Lady Judith DeLaroux, commander of the Lion Flame Legion, esteemed protectors of mighty Ashfeld's northern coasts!"
"Yes I know who you are, fool. There are hardly any other Gladiators walking around this damn city," Priscilla said, shaking her head. Always with the fanfare these sportsmen. She knew for a fact that at least two of those names he had given were made up for the arena. No one named their children like that anymore, as the reign of the Old Empire had ended ages ago. "Just tell me where Judith is. And Golden-Shield for that matter. Their presence was sorely missed while we were taking the citadel."
Godfridus didn't so much as lower his chin an inch, keeping his pose with the utmost conviction. "Ah, the most honorable Lady Judith bids that the Lady Priscilla and her Knights come with all haste to the church near the city's eastern gate. It is there that many of the oppressed citizens of this war-ravaged city have taken up refuge during the fight. Now the mighty and powerful Viking Jarl, Erik Golden-Shield, lays siege to this place of holy worship, seeking to plunder the church and take it's sacred treasures and relics for himself. Lady Judith fears for the safety of those defenseless citizens sequestered within, feeling that no Viking will show them an ounce of mercy in their vain quest for gold and material riches!"
As the Gladiator spoke, many of the surrounding Vikings stopped what they were doing and looked in the his direction, heads cocked and eyes alight with curiosity. The news of yet more plunder and raiding going on without them in the city had certainly sparked an interest in their minds, and with the citadel pretty well sacked a few raiders near the broken gates were already picking up their war gear to go find the church spoken of. Priscilla looked around and saw this, rolling her eyes under her hooded helmet in annoyance. "Forgive me Godfridus, could you say that again? Only a bit louder please. I do not think enough of our northern friends heard you the first time."
"What?" asked the Gladiator loudly, too caught up in his own grandstanding to even notice the commotion his words had caused.
"This is no time for jests, Priscilla," growled Marcelo as he took a step between her and Godfridus. "You heard what the man said. More looting and more death. Is this really the outcome we sought to achieve here today? We need to go help these people. Now, before all hope for a worthwhile victory is lost."
Priscilla sighed, and rolled her head on her shoulders before standing up. "There is always hope, my dear Marcelo. If there was not then we probably would have all just laid down and died a long time ago. It may not work, but at least there is hope." Giving her blades a quick twirl before sheathing them on her belt. "Alright then, time to get up you lay abouts," she said over her shoulder to the other Knights. "Let us go and be heroes."
As the others picked up their weapons and moved past her down the steps to follow after the Gladiator, Priscilla's attention was caught by something going on overhead. High above on the tall tower that overlooked the citadel, she saw three small figures moving about on the roof. She realized that they had removed the Divine Pyre's banner from the tower's spire, and were now raising another. A great golden banner, with a bright eagle in the center with its glorious wings spread wide.
The banner of Jarl Erik Golden-Shield she knew, proclaiming his new dominion over Eitrivatnen harbor. The very man she was going to go rescue the city's own citizens from now. Funny how life could turn out that way, but one should always expect to lose something when they makes deals with devils.
More and more Vikings crowded the narrow streets as Priscilla and the other Lion Flame Knights got closer to the church. She could see the tower housing the church bells rising up over some of the buildings, stone gargoyles glaring down at the city as if on guard against the barbarian invaders. The building itself was not very grand as it came into full view. A single tower with an angled rooftop, and a rather simple and small stained glass window situated above the main door were its most notable features. Even the surrounding garden was rather modest, with only a few tombstones visible near the backside of the church. This was a place of worship meant for this neighborhood of the city rather than any grand ceremony, more private, so it was no surprise that the locals had come here to hide once the attach had begun.
From the crowd of clamoring Vikings that surrounded it though, one would have thought that this church held all of Ashfeld's wealth for how badly they wanted to get in. The horde was shouting for the doors to be opened, banging their weapons against their shields as if they meant to charge the holy building and tear it down brick by brick.
It took an actual effort for Priscilla to make her way through Erik's Sea Eagle warriors. They stood shoulder to shoulder with their glittering helmets and shields, refusing to let her pass unless she physically pushed them aside. One red haired Berserker shoved her back as she passed by, nearly causing her to fall onto her face. The wild woman sneered, and the rest of the Vikings all laughed to watch the little Knight be put in her place. Coal moved up and grabbed hold of Priscilla's arm, making sure she remained standing as he put his shield between them and the snarling Berserker woman.
"Got something to say, tin man?" the Berserker grinned, her hands already going to the twin bearded axes that hung from her belt.
Before the confrontation could escalate Godfridus appeared at their side, putting a confident hand on the Berserker's shoulder. "Peace, good warrior. Peace," he said with a slight tilt of his head, the skull embossing on his helmet giving him a wicked grin. "We only seek to pass through, for we are on a most honorable quest to safeguard the poor citizens locked within that coveted house of worship. Let us pass, unless you wish to make contest here and now. I would hate to thrash you about like a novice in the training circle before all of your good comrades here. But I assure you, if it is a fight you seek then you need look no further then I, Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, the dreaded Hell Spawn of Sow Mesa!"
The red haired Berserker frowned at the Gladiator as she looked him up and down. "Fucking who?"
"Godfridus! Malus! Ferocianous!" the Gladiator suddenly shouted, exclaiming each part of his name with passionate fanfare. All at once he moved in closer, getting right into the Berserker's face as the woman reeled back, his voice mounting in grandiose fervor as his excitement became uncontrollable. "Why it was none other then I who slew the accursed Exile of the Lion Wastes with one perfect stab to his dainty soft foot. You look upon the man who took on the deadly embrace of the ferocious Shugoki, Hiriyama Jin from distant Jigoku, and walked away with my spine still intact! I have danced with vicious beasts from all corners of Heathmoor and taken their heads as trophies to the roar of the crowd! I did mighty battle with the terrible Temptress of Westlake and still had the strength to bed her with incredible passion that very same night! I, who have fought in arenas all across this noble land and come away with so many scars in so many places that they would shock and awe any who would dare wonder how I received them! I have-"
"Enough! Enough!" snapped the Berserker, slapping the Gladiator's hand away from her shoulder. "Just go! Get gone, the lot of you!" She looked warily between the Knights, then sank back into the crowd behind her and slipped away.
Godfridus stood there silently for a moment, his one hand still raised as if in shock that the Berserker would just leave in the middle of his speech. Then he relaxed, shaking his head sadly. "Ah, yet another fair lady overcome by the magnificence of my grand reputation. Such is the price for achieving such grand deeds in the arena. What a tragedy, the burden of fame. But we must not tarry!" he exclaimed, lifting both chin and trident as he turned and strutted towards the church, leading his fellow Knights through the crowd of now dumbfounded Vikings. "Clear a path, you hairy vagabonds! Let us pass, or I shall show you how I defeated the mighty Dragon Lord of Blackrake, and earned myself the title of Bowel Shaker among my many foes!"
Marcelo quickly stepped up next to Godfridus as he followed, leaning in close as he spoke softly. "You slept with the Temptress of Westlake after your duel?" he asked quietly.
Godfridus chuckled pleasantly. "Indeed. Ah, that is a night that would forever live in songs and poetry if I was the type of man to fornicate and tell the tale."
"If memory serves, wasn't the Temptress of Westlake supposed to be hideously disfigured from all of her fights in the arena?"
"Oh, God yes!" exclaimed the Gladiator, cocking his head towards Marcelo. "She was quite the frightful sight to look upon when completely undressed. What of it?"
"Nothing," Marcelo said quickly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Just curious if it was true."
Priscilla's head was pounding by the time they made it through the surrounding horde to the church's small gate, but whether it was from the day's battle or Godfridus' boasting she wasn't sure. She spotted Judith and the rest of their legion just beyond the small gate in the church's surrounding wall, standing front and center guarding the doors with weapons at the ready. Priscilla looked about for any sign of Erik Golden-Shield, but only saw his son Magnus standing before Judith instead. The young Berserker looked none too pleased with the situation, golden axes clutched tight in his hands, feet braced and shoulders squared as if waiting for a fight to break out at any moment.
"I don't give a shit who is in there, you old ashen haired wench," she heard Magnus snarl as she made her way through the gate. "We're going in to claim what is ours, and as far as I am concerned anyone we find lurking about in there is free for the taking."
Judith simply shook her head, longsword held at her side as she stood tall against the Berserker prince's ferocity. "That is not how this is going to work, Magnus. This is a house of God, and you are standing upon hallowed ground. I will not allow you to commit anymore atrocities here then have already been committed by the Divine Pyre."
Priscilla glanced up towards the church and noticed for the first time how the building had indeed been vandalized during the occupation. The stained glass window above the door had been smashed apart, the holy images depicted by the colorful glass lost and leaving only a hollow cast iron skeleton frame behind. The crest of the Divine Pyre had been drawn on the church doors behind the Knights who now stood on guard, and high above their heads the stone cross that should have adorned the tower's top had been broken off and taken away. A glance to her right showed that it had just been allowed to fall from the tower, and now lay embedded in the broken earth and forgotten.
Such sacrilege. No doubt the Divine Pyre had worked quickly to break down Ashfeld's established religion before replacing it with their own ideology once the north was theirs. The evidence of their cruelty had been left behind like a scar that needed to be healed, but had she and the other Knights truly found the right remedy by bringing the Vikings here to liberate the city instead? Surely they would do no better, finding churches and houses of government as nothing more then stone buildings to be plundered for grand treasure. But there was no point in having second thoughts now. This was all part of the plan after all.
Magnus glared at Judith as she stood so defiantly before him, baring his teeth in anger. "My father's army stands with me. What are few rouge Knights going to do to keep us from smashing those doors down and taking everything within?"
Judith's hand tightened around her sword, the tension mounting as she looked around at all the treasure hungry Vikings that surrounded them. Priscilla took that moment to speak up, leaning into the corner of Magnus' vision with a little wave of her hand. "Perhaps nothing, but I suppose that we could still fill you full of holes before we are all slaughtered where we stand. It is not the best of all possible outcomes, I think, but one that I could certainly live with. Or die with, as it were."
Magnus whipped around to look at her, his eyes narrowing at the newly arrived Knights that were coming in through the gate, and he realized that he had become surrounded in the church's small courtyard. Indeed, his father's warriors could have made quick work of the lot of them, vastly outnumbering what remained of the Lion Flame Legion, but standing alone surrounded by well armored and battle tested veterans of Ashfeld's legions meant he had little chance of escape on his own. Even a Berserker's strength had limits.
Godfridus stepped forward next, head held high and back straight as he brought his buckler to his chest once again in salute. "Ah, honorable Lady Judith! It is I, Godfridus Malus Ferocianous, who have returned as requested with-"
"Shut up!" snapped both Judith and Priscilla in unison, causing the Gladiator's armor to clatter as he jumped with surprise.
Magnus sneered as he looked back at Priscilla, flexing his fingers around his axes. "The gods would not allow me to be defeated by such sorry and disgraced warriors as you lot. I am a favored son of the Æsir, Odin blessed and Berserker strong. I have nothing to fear from the likes of you nithing troll shits."
"Shall I take that as a challenge then, boy?" asked Judith, finally bringing up her longsword and pointing it at the young Berserker. "Let us do away with all this useless talk, and let our warriors see which of us truly stands with the blessings of the divine on their side."
"Aha, yes! A contest of skill!" exclaimed Godfridus with a flourish of his trident. Again he stepped forward, moving to Judith's side as he took up a fighting stance and brandished his three pronged weapon at Magnus with vicious intent. "Good Lady Judith, I bid you allow me to stand as your champion in this fight. I will make quick work of this rabid wolf, just as I bested the vile Black Hound of Hylur in my younger days! I will flay his hairy hide and gift it too you as a rug, or perhaps a fashionable scarf if you would prefer." The Gladiator was posed immaculately in the moment before battle, each part of him perfectly placed to show off the most amount of bulging muscle and gleaming armor, but he failed completely to notice how Judith just seemed to sag and shake her head at the needless display.
Magnus didn't seem to mind though, not in the least as he sneered at the Gladiator. He quickly brought up his axes, happy to take up Godfridus on his offer to duel and answering with some bravado of his own. "Be careful who you address, peasant. I have slaughtered a hundred Pyre Knights today single handily, you clanking fishmonger. I would carve you up like a roasted pig, and feed you to the worms and crows!"
"Ah, is that the best you can do, you little milk drinking cur? If your mother was here, I would slap her for taking the effort to birth your mangy hide that you would have the audacity to stand before me now!" Godfridus laughed, giving a dismissive backhanded wave of his buckler as he traded insults with the golden clad Berserker.
Priscilla could see Magnus' eyes widen with fury beneath his helmet, his blonde beard bristling as he seethed. The Gladiator had obviously struck some kind of nerve in the young would be northern prince. "You leave my mother out of this, you worthless pile of troll shit! I'll take that pointy stick of yours and shove it so far up your arse that you will become my new banner as I march into battle!"
Godfridus twirled his trident over his head, then planted it in the ground with it's deadly prongs facing the sky. "You are welcome to come and try. Indeed, fortune does favor the bold. Such could be said of your father I think, for he would truly have to be a mighty brave man to hump your mother as she chewed cud in the fields with the rest of his cows!"
"My mother was a mighty shield maiden! Feared across all the land by nithing weak shits like you! Speak ill of her again, and I'll fucking kill you where you stand!" Magnus roared, voice cracking as he hacked his twin axes through the air. His entire body began to shake as his anger and fury grew, and Priscilla couldn't help but think that this would be the time to ease off and leave the wild, blood crazy Berserker alone lest this battle of words became bloody in earnest. But Godfridus only seemed emboldened by the warrior's threats, going at him again like a bloodhound after the scent of a wounded animal.
"Ha! That cannot possibly be true. I could never believe that you would be the son of such a mighty she-wolf. All I see before me now is a little golden pup, yap yap yapping as he waits for his fucking balls to drop."
That got a bit of a laugh from the surrounding crowd, both Knights and Vikings alike. Magnus gritted his teeth, casting hateful glances at all around before rounding on Godfridus again. "You... you spineless wretch of a pig's ass!"
"You quivering shit-pile of foul refuse-eating swine!" Godfridus returned.
"Dirty, maggot-spewing bastard!" Magnus snarled with flying spit.
"Vile, lice-ridden spawn of a diseased back-alley whore!"
"Cowardly goat fucker!"
"You yellow-bellied fornicator of poor defenseless beasts!"
A few hollers and a whoop went up from the crowd, and there was even someone clapping not far off. Godfridus turned to the onlookers and gave an appreciative nod, puffing out his chest as he took in the adoration. It was almost like those few encouraging cheers were akin to the entire roar of the arena to his mind.
Priscilla had lost interest minutes ago. Instead she found her attention horrendously captured by one small pink nipple that seemingly refused to remain hidden beneath the Gladiator's light armor. She didn't want to look at it, but the situation was getting out of hand so quickly she just couldn't help but be drawn in by the ridiculous little thing, her head cocked ever so slightly as she let her mind drown out the sound of their insults and jibes and just lost herself to the absurdity of the moment.
Magnus growled and stamped his feet as he stared the Gladiator down, his face growing more and more red like the setting sun. "How dare you speak to me this way!" he yelled for all to hear as he pointed one axe at Godfridus. He began to march towards the Gladiator, squeezing his weapons tight in his hands until his knuckles turned white. "I am Magnus Erikson! Son of the most powerful Jarl in all of Valkenheim, and you will show me the respect I deserve!" Bringing one arm back, he lifted an axe up high and prepared bury the glimmering edge right into the Gladiator's neck.
Just as the swing was about to cleave through flesh and muscle, Godfridus ducked to the side, spinning around with incredible grace and agility, leaving the axe to slice through nothing but air as he stabbed out with his trident at Magnus' toes. "Away with you," he taunted, sounding more annoyed then angered by the Berserker's cowardly attack.
Magnus gave a sharp yelp as he jumped back from the Gladiator's stab. He barely got his foot away in time before the sharply pointed tips of the trident stabbed into the ground. Hopping back on one foot, his face flushed with embarrassment as his father's own warriors laughed at the spectacle Godfridus had made of him. "Damn you!" he roared, coming at the Gladiator again, this time with axes spinning around him in a flurry of flashing steel and gold.
Godfridus stood his ground, weathering the oncoming blows like a mighty stone against an endless gale. Magnus spun around and around, swinging hard with his axes so that they sparked and sliced against Godfridus' buckler as he defended himself. Suddenly the Gladiator made a move so quick it was almost impossible to see, hooking the shaft of his trident in the curved edge of the Berserker's bearded axe. Magnus stopped short, his arm and shoulder jerking horribly as all his momentum was brought to an abrupt halt. Unfortunately for him Godfridus had the upper hand now, yanking the young warrior around and sending him twirling through the air. Magnus gave a harsh cry as he soared through nothing and crashed to the ground with a thud.
Now the crowd was openly laughing, and Godfridus stood before them arms outstretched and urging them to give him more. It seemed that once more after months running and hiding that the battle-tested fighter could again revel in the skill he displayed, and stand as a god of the arena once more. He jumped back, moving his feet quickly as he brought up his fists and gave a series of lighting fast punches, dodging and weaving as he fought an unseen enemy all to please the crowd.
Some of the Vikings were even clapping as they cheered him on, and none of them made a move to help Magnus as he stumbled up onto his feet. The young Berserker looked haggard and defeated, doubled over and panting as he went after one axe that had flown from his hand. The Vikings of the Sea Eagle clan just watched and jeered, whispering among themselves as the Jarl's son struggled to defend his honor.
"That'll teach the whelp some manners!" yelled out some unseen warrior further back, causing Magnus to snarl and snap obscenities at the crowd.
Priscilla sighed in disbelief as she watched the pointless display of arrogance and bravado before her. "This is ridiculous. Nothing but a waste of time," she said moving to stand next to Judith.
Judith nodded. "Agreed. We are wasting a perfectly good distraction right now," she grumbled through her helmet. Putting a hand on Priscilla's shoulder, the taller woman leaned in close and spoke softly. "Go inside and make sure that everyone is alright. See if you can get them ready to move. I think that there is another entrance at the rear of the church that they can slip out of."
"Slip out of to where, exactly?" Priscilla hissed back. "In case you failed to notice, this city belongs to the Vikings now."
"It matters not," Judith bit back, her hand squeezing a bit harder on Priscilla's shoulder. "Take them to the city gates, to the fields beyond. Take them into the fucking sewers if you must, just get them away from here before these heathens decide that they are tired of watching this farce."
Priscilla bit her lip beneath her helmet to keep herself from retorting back, and simply gave a nod before moving back out from Judith's grip. She tapped Coal on his arm, and motioned for a Lawbringer and Marcelo to join her. Together they slipped quietly behind the row of Knights guarding the door, waiting until they bunched up together to give them some cover before ducking into the church as quickly as possible.
There was another clash of metal against metal from out in the courtyard. She heard Godfridus give a sharp laugh, followed shortly after by the watching crowd erupting into grand applause.
Leading the way, Priscilla slid to the side and made sure that the others got in without much noise, easing the door shut just after the Lawbringer managed to squeeze through in all that armor. The noise from outside quickly softened as the door latched closed, the metal click echoing faintly into the high rafters above. The church was quiet and dark, with only a few candles lit on the far end of the chapel and dim light shining through the small windows. At first one would have thought that the place was completely deserted by how still it was, save for the dozens of wide fearful eyes staring back at them out of the gloom. Faces, too many to count, pale and stricken as they knelt huddled together among the rows of pews that stretched forward towards the altar. Priscilla swallowed hard as she looked over them all, suddenly feeling the total weight of what all was at stake with this plan she had helped implement. There were no warriors here, no one who was about to pick up arms and make a glorious last stand for their family and neighbors. Those fools were surely all dead by now, killed by the Divine Pyre when they had taken Eitrivatnen.
No, what she saw were a bunch of scared women and children, and those too old and weak to be a threat to the Pyre's rule. They all looked small, even the adults. Thin and run ragged, most likely left little more then the clothes on their backs while the Pyre took everything else for themselves. One little girl gave a whimper as Priscilla looked in her direction, burying her face into her mother's chest as the woman held her tight, staring with tear-filled eyes.
Were they afraid of her? She and the other Lion Flame Knights? It wouldn't come as that much of a shock. Even if they hadn't witnessed their legion fighting side by side with the Viking horde through the city, they had all just spent months under the tyranny of those who had sworn oaths to protect them. After living through the treachery and violence brought about by the Divine Pyre's rise to power, it was a wonder that they might ever trust another Knight of Ashfeld ever again.
A priest stood up from the crowd and took a hesitant step forward, looking at each of the four of them in turn. He was middle aged, thin, and wore a fine purple robe tied with a golden cord around his waist. He licked his lips and spoke, though his voice faltered at first and he had to begin again. "Are... are they gone?" he asked, licking his lips again, his eyes darting between them a bit quicker. "Are we saved?"
And there it was. Their confusion desperately shackled to a small glimmer of hope. It was all they had at this point. All they could hold onto. It was up to her now to sever that tie. Better now that they faced reality rather then holding onto the dream of a peaceful tomorrow that would never be.
"No, the Vikings are not gone," she said in a calm and clear voice. No sooner had the words left her lips then the entire church erupted into cries of anguish and fearful groans. Some shot up to their feet, demanding answers as to what was going on. Others remained on their knees, turning to the altar with hands pressed together and heads bowed as they quickly uttered their prayers for deliverance and mercy. Priscilla took a deep breath, raising up her hands to try to calm the crowd as she continued. "My comrades and I are here to get you all out safely, but I need you to listen to me!" she called out, having to raise her voice to make sure it was heard over all the clamor. "Please! Please listen! Tell me, is there another way out? A back door we could use to get around the northmen outside?"
The priest held his arms out helplessly at his side, appearing at a loss as the rest of his congregation looked to him for answers. "Ah... Y-yes, there is another door. One out of sight in the back. I-it leads out to the cemetery," he uttered in a weak voice. For a man of faith he looked as if he was about to lose his at any moment, along with whatever sat in his belly from how pale he had become. "But it is a door that we hardly ever use! It is old and heavy, and the hinges will surely creak if we attempt to use it. The Vikings will hear it, I know they will! They will hear us and catch us before we can escape!"
Marcelo stepped forward and put reassuring hand on the priest's arm, attempting to calm him down before his rising fear could spread to anyone else. "Be brave, Father. For the sake of your flock, be brave," he urged, holding the priest's gaze until the frail man began to nod. "Now is not the time to give into fear. Even if all seems lost, and the wolves howl just outside your door, do not betray your hearts to despair. There is always hope, so long as true good Knights are willing to stand up for those who can not stand for themselves."
A few of the older men and women seemed to be encouraged by Marcelo's moving words, nodding their heads and looking to others who still needed some encouragement and support. They were good words, Priscilla thought, but not the kind that was going to make the horde just magically disappear and see them all to safety. "Take us to the back door. We are leaving now, all of us together," she said, leaving no room for doubt in her voice as she looked at the priest. The holy man nodded, then looked to Marcelo and gave an appreciative bow of his head before turning and heading for the back of the church. Priscilla moved to help usher the rest to follow, helping a few people up off of their feet and out from between the benches.
When she came to the woman with the cowering child, the woman suddenly gripped her arm tightly and pulled her in close. "Whats going on? Why are the Vikings still here?" she asked, her eyes wide and fearful, with just the hint of madness gripping them. No doubt she only felt afraid for her child, trapped and cornered while the monsters of the north lurked just outside the door. "If you're here, then why isn't the city saved? When will the legions come to save us?" she demanded, growing more hysterical with every question.
Priscilla tried to pull her arm free of the woman's grip, but found it frightfully strong, and she did not wish to hurt the woman by removing her forcefully. "Forgive me, but there is no time. We must be away now. Please, go with the rest," she urged, still trying to tug her arm free.
The woman only seemed to hold onto her tighter, coming at Priscilla now even as her little girl began to whimper and cry in her arms. "We deserve to know! Have we not suffered enough? My child is in danger! Why has no one come to save us? Why!? Why!? When will someone do something!?"
Again Priscilla tried and failed to pull her arm away. The woman was taller then her, bigger too, looming above her like some overbearing manifestation of judgment for her part in all of this. "My good lady, please... just go..." she muttered, feeling small beneath the woman's harsh gaze. Her heart began to race in her chest, and she felt like she was breaking out into a cold sweat beneath her helmet, fearful that all of a sudden everyone would round on her and accuse her of being a traitor. Accuse her of being complacent, of toying with their lives to serve her own goals. This was a house of God. How could she deny the truth when it was thrown at her feet? Her breath caught in her throat, making her neck feel tight as she tried to speak, jerking her arm back now to try and get free. "Please, I just want to get you and your daughter out of here. Forgive me... we are doing all we can..."
"If you are here, why do the Vikings remain in the city? Where are the other legions?" continued the woman angrily. "Do they not know what has happened here?"
"Alright, that's enough," snapped Coal as he appeared next to her, shoving the woman away and moving her towards the others. He didn't seem bothered by the crying child in the woman's arms, or the spiteful glare she flashed him as he pushed her along towards the back of the chapel. "Go on! This isn't a request, now move!" He moved up behind the shuffling crowed, flanked by the Lawbringer who herded people towards the exit like frightful sheep with his poleaxe.
Priscilla backed away towards the front door, panting hard and clutching at her arms. It felt hot inside her helmet, and the world almost seemed to wobble and sway around her. She was shaking, but she stayed on her feet, refusing to give into the wave of nausea that washed over her. This was nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing more then an old woman who needed to be reminded of her place. She had a job to do, and that was all that mattered. Damn the rest if this wasn't the salvation they were hoping for. They would get their due freedom in time, they just needed to be brave and hold out a little while longer. Everyone just needed to hold out and be calm for a little while longer.
"Are you alright?" Coal asked as he stepped up behind her, making her jump.
"Yes," she snapped, "I... I just got a bit dizzy. Been a long day is all."
Coal paused for a moment. "Are you sure? Maybe you should sit down," he said, reaching out with a hand to help guide her to one of the benches.
"I said I am fine!" Priscilla slapped the hand away, spinning about on her heel and sliding around Coal to walk down the aisle. She forced herself to relax, taking on a much more natural gait just like she had been trained to do. Control her emotions, that was what she had been taught when becoming a Peacekeeper. Only let the world see what you want, then can you control the outcome of any situation. She faced down savage Vikings and renegade Knights regularly enough, even a pompous Wu Lin for that matter. She wasn't about to break before a few angry peasants now, not when she had made it this far.
"Alright, once you get out to the cemetery keep to the left," she commanded, refusing to look at any of the frightened citizens as they filed into a hall that led behind the altar. "Stay out of sight and look for a way over the fence. From there we make for the eastern gate. If that is too heavily guarded then we will try to slip into the sewers and make for-"
"Priscilla!"
The voice boomed suddenly from outside, loud enough to make it through the thick stone walls and heavy wooden doors of the church, causing all heads to snap back towards the front as the echo faded up towards the ceiling. Priscilla felt a chill run down her spine, recognizing the voice immediately for its utter authority and command. She glanced over at Coal, who looked back at her with shoulders tense.
Then the voice came on again. "Priscilla Arentii, I know you are in there! Come out now with all the rest, before I come in there after you. I promise that the first option is far better suited to your best interest!"
Priscilla lowered her head in frustration, leaning over a bench and gripping the wooden frame tightly. Her hand jerked suddenly as she slammed it down, grinding her knuckles into the hard surface and letting the pain wash over her. "Dammit!" she shouted, ignoring the offended look of the priest as her voice echoed off the walls.
The Lawbringer glanced at the huddled crowd of frightened citizens, then back to her. "We can still make it," he urged. "If you keep the heathens busy then I can get them out to the gate."
Priscilla shook her head solemnly, fists trembling as she clenched them tight. "It is too late," she spat, refusing to meet any of the citizen's wide fearful eyes. "It was always too late."
Again the voice sounded from outside, harsher this time, like the bark of a wolf cornering it's prey. "Priscilla! I will not call for you again!"
Reluctantly she turned back around and headed up the aisle towards the front. But before she could get there Coal grabbed her by the arm, stopping her in her tracks as he shook his head. "Priscilla, no. We can't."
Priscilla looked up at him, knowing that he couldn't see the sad frown she wore beneath her helmet and wondering if his face looked much the same beneath his. "Turns out now is not the time to be heroes, Coal. I wish it was, but we are not ready yet." Tugging her arm free, she turned her back on all of them and walked on. Pressing her hands to the two double doors, she hunched her shoulders and pushed as she stepped back out into the bright golden daylight.