Author's notes: WARNING! Implied homosexuality below, if you are likely to be offended with SM-homosexuality flair, the author suggests that you try enjoying it anyway. The author is considering to change ratings, as it might get a little more graphic in the following few chapters.
Anyway, this chapter dwells deeper into the characters, sorry for the long update. Assignments taxed a measure of my time…Enjoy!
Chronicles of the Reaper - Chapter 6
It was also sometime during a cool drafty autumn when she last saw the red bird chirping away in delight, while she lie motionless watching the passing of the withering trees on a fresh yellow bed of leaves. She dared not move an inch of her body, as even the slightest twitch would cause a stinging pain. A tear flowed down her chubby cheek hoping her parents would come looking for her as they always had.
In her young imaginative mind, she would plea the bird that she tried so hard catch, to fly away and call for help. Very much like the intelligent creatures she heard so much about from her mom during their bedtime story. Time and time again she cried out to the bird in apology, but still the bird nonchalantly pecked on seeds far above the branches, as she never exist.
She tried moving her broken leg once again, but the pain discouraged her otherwise. She began sobbing in fear and chilling cold. When the grey clouds move away, she moved her hands to shadow her eyes from the piercing sunlight and wished they never went away.
How she wished she had never went away.
She awoken from her dream and quickly realized that she was still in the bathing tub, the warm water felt absolutely delightful against her fair, supple skin. She rubbed her arms in a slow, gentle motion to feel the soothing liquid slither all over the surface of her body, touching the deepest parts of her feminine sensuality. She moaned in deep satisfaction before submerging herself fully into the water.
She paused a moment under the water and tried recalling her incomplete and ephemeral dream while it still fleets in her mind, it did not feel like a pleasant dream but somehow it seemed significant to her.
She was just a little girl, she remembered.
She emerged from the water and inhaled deeply, refreshed and fully awake, and rubbed her palm all over her body to enjoy the finer things in life. She realized how much she has grown, blossoming into a young maiden with adoringly ample, perky bosoms, a pretty set of oval shaped eyes and a full pouty lips that so many young men yearn to kiss.
She was especially proud of her rich wavy chestnutty curls that flowed down her midriff.
Velayn stepped out from the large, square tub into the steamy wash chamber fitted with intricately designed mosaics plates. She grabbed a towel to wrap around her wet, dripping body and gingerly walked out to her room.
It has only been an hour since she arrived home, the Wilkinsbane manor, and the afternoon sun still hangs behind the wisps of clouds. She stood in front of her bedroom window, admiring her gardens from the second floor of the manor before drawing the curtains to allow some privacy. She unwrapped herself, dried her glistening body and walked around with nothing else on in her indulgently warm bedroom, heated by a dim, burning fireplace at the far end of the room.
Her room was a treasure trove of memories of poetry, toys and wood crafted animal figurines in as gifts of courtship to the young lady. Her alluring womanhood has caught the eyes of many men and there were quite a few who mistook her exciting, outgoing, fervently curious personality with mutual attraction. They were mistaken, and their hearts broken.
Many men had thrown themselves over her feet, some felt cheated and toyed by her ever smiling visage, but in truth, she was merely curious and gracious. She was, too, at times curious as why she could not bring herself to be attracted to men. Maybe it was the overly garish and dramatic confession of the lovelorn, or maybe the customary courtship was too blatant for her inimitable taste. Perhaps she yearned for friendship while the men wanted more, and maybe she regarded men as all alike.
She was going to die as an old spinster, she jested to her worried father.
She slipped in a thinly embroidered linen nightgown that stretched just above her hips and jumped onto her large bed. Sprawling her shapely figure across the silky sheets, she mentally began to pick a suitable cloth for him – the unconscious man.
Lex could not decide.
If Lex were to discard his passive facade, people would know there were things that frighten Lex to the very core of his soul. Working for the hierarchical organization of Cathedral forced him to the directive of a wide multitude of characters and people.
Forced, he shook his head, realizing the words he chose to describe his relationships.
There were paths to climb in the hierarchical Order, from page to squire, and to the initiation into the Third Circle, their armor would be basic at most and marked by a purple coat of arms.
The Second Circle came next as recognition of their continued valor, experience and age, and also a leading unit for Paladins of the Third circle, identifiable with more decorated and ornate armor plate mail, marked by a violet coat of arms.
The head is the one and only First Circle Paladin where his armor shines in a hue of gold, heavily ornate with majestic grace, and along with the title, a weapon equally as worthy – the Warhammer of Dawn. The First Circle Paladin, also known as the Commander, ranks equally with the High Priestess and the all five ministers.
From the position of gatemen to guard captains, the functions of a Paladin are many, and for young Lex, albeit the large responsibility of being a guard captain of a minister, Lex's lack of experience and contribution remained him within the Third Circle. There were many other roles Paladins played including the Tactical Paladin Unit, which are trained specifically to counter hostage situations or eliminating crazed powerful wizards, also the Justice unit which is responsible for determining punishments and fines for lawbreakers, and also the Inquisition, which are responsible for uprooting cultist activities.
Lex was rather proud of his own achievements when he was assigned as a guard captain to an affluent family, but time told him otherwise. His job as a guard captain was mundane, repetitive and eventless; he heard nothing of invading beasts or treacherous rebels. Only words like trade, conniving businessmen, family parties, picnic trip and other stories and terminologies that did not excite him. Being apart from the military branch, his low rank and seemingly minute responsibilities slowly and surely drifts him away from the more pressing matters in the kingdom. Even his superior regarded his monthly reports and requests with disinterest and impatience, brushing him off so he could attend to more serious issues.
He stopped trying.
He would have relied on his father if he was not so egoistic, stubborn and independent, but secretly in his heart, he wondered why his father has not intervened. This isn't my usual self…snapping himself out of his foolish head, he decided if he were to return to the main order, he would have to perform better; he would rely on no one else.
As of now, opportunity has presented itself, and he knew this issue was serious enough to gain some standing and attention from the higher-ups.
But he could not decide.
This matter was one worthy of the Inquisition, and the Inquisition was under the directive of an eccentric, ghastly being - an elf with a pale and whitewashed complexion, skin as scarred as bark of a tree, and its surface as scaly as of a fish. Inquisitor Thriril constantly bears a fanged, depraved smile with his large, leering eyes of malcontent. His hair as white and pale as it is wiry, tied to a neatly groomed ponytail…
…He stood in darkness before a pitiful stream of light, revealing only an unnatural and dark vigor that swirled around the edges his deep purpled ceremonial skirt, a wide gap parted from the middle of his waist flaunting the intricate designs of his extravagant buckle. He brushed a thin layer of gathering dust off the shoulder of his short vest, weaved with thin strips of purple leather, seamed and ornamented with black fabric to perfection. He traced his fragile, bony fingers along the wide brim of his cavalier hat, and carved a demonic smile in sheer excitement.
Bleary eyed, the elf's hidden visage swims in his adjusting vision within the dark and hollow prison-like chamber. Lex, with a jerk, found his limbs were strapped in chains and his weakened body stretched all across the cold wall. Dim torches burned in unison to boil the damp atmosphere into austere humidity that sent sweat trickling down his temple and rippling muscles.
"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" The Inquisitor had an unsuspecting harmonic, raspy voice that echoed softly off the walls and into the back his head, cocooning his waning consciousness like a hypnotic spell. He walked into the light but his lowly dipped hat still revealed none of his broken face.
There was a terrifying surreal and unholy aura radiating from the Inquisitor's frail body, an alien terror that felt like a nightmare, yet he can feel genuine fear throbbing from his veins. With every rising step, the Inquisitor's boots seemed to swell in weight that resonated even heavier thuds, mentally prodding Lex to back nowhere into a dead wall, shying and shrinking away as someone were trying to peel the skin off him.
"Do you know why you're here?" The Inquisitor asked cynically, still maintaining his wide smile, bearing his abnormally long fangs. He stopped two feet before his adoringly bounded jailbird that wore nothing but long, ragged pants; he raised his balled fist upwards, and released his fingers and a spell to blind the confused prisoner.
Biting his lips to control his fear, he tried to remain steadfast and unnerved, his eyelids opened and stretched wide in futile attempt to regain his vision, and pray that it is all a terrible nightmare.
"Fearless…" he licked his dried, cracked lips. "…and such beautiful physique. The Cathedral has chosen well."
He stepped forward and wrapped his heavy clawed gauntlet around Lex's neck, pulling him closer as he was consoling a child. His bare body trembled and pulled away slightly at the pressing against the inquisitor's cold, icy chain mail, shuddering too, uncomfortably at the itch upon his neck, inflicted by the elf's playful, irregular breathing.
"Such beautiful physique…" he whispered again in lustful admiration, licking the sweat off Lex's muscular neck. "…such cold, relentless emotions." He traced his dark golden claws down Lex's developed chest, the edge nibbling onto his firm, tanned skin, and the other bare hand stoking gently on the left side of Lex's sweaty chest, his blindness evoked a confusing and heightened sensation of pain and pleasure.
A sickly sweet odor that snaked into Lex's nose paused his futile struggle.
"Obedient and submissive!" the Inquisitor shrieked excitedly, boring his wide maddened eyes deep into Lex's comparatively calm soul.
The Inquisitor's bark like skin moved to caress affectionately against Lex's burning cheeks, rousing an erotic, debauched pleasure from the mental torture. The elf started to glee in joy as he started to nibble on Lex's ears. "You enjoy it…don't' you?" Flashes of grotesque image ran through Lex's head, of dislocated muzzles and broken heads. Blood and flesh stuck onto his mace while a squire yelled in agony, while holding his torn legs together.
"Arm and mace blindly guided by written law and conditioned conscience," the elf ravaged mercilessly his victim's stoic pride, brushing his lips and tongue against Lex's skin. "How did your conscience react when your mace robbed starving cubs from their rotting mothers?" Lex saw a pack of vultures sat and waited as the life of a bony cub writhed away, its tongue lolled out in dehydration. "Do you stand by and watch your friends devoured by beasts?" Lex saw wolves tore chunks of meat from a young squire's thigh, blood and veins dripped and dangled from their jaws. His heart reacted with revulsion, but his mind justified no reasons. He felt indifferent with deep discomfort.
For what it seemed to be an eternity, he was transported back to the forest. He stood idly while the wafting stench of blood drowned his senses and lumpy flesh soiled his foot and cloth.
Lex's mind turned and twisted in contemplation of the Inquisitor's questionings, a squire did lose a leg in that ambush, but he saw no wrong in his action. "I've…I've done no wrong…" his trembling voice defended.
"Then what drives you, son of Remington? How do steer through your decisions? By your moral compass? Compassion? The words, eyes and judgments of others?" The Inquisitor held up his chin. "On whose life do you choose to dispense mercy?"
The grin on the Inquisitor's widened as uncertainty loomed his captive's striking features.
"…your love for others?" he smiled knowingly and pursed his lips sympathetically, releasing his hold on the man who recognized his baseless intent.
"You're unsure, young little thing…" he continued. "Yet you kill without hesitation."
"What drives you, Lex Remington?" the prisoner resigned before his vision slowly returned, eyes staring down onto the floor. The words rang painfully in his head, knowing that his purpose is lost…
Or has not been found…
"Remember, remember…" the Inquisitor pressed a single claw between his chest, directly beneath his throat. His hat still masked his face.
He started driving the claw deep into his skin, asserting a gentle yet precise force. Grimacing in pain, Lex finally yelled out in agony as the crazed elf surgically cut his flesh down in a vertical straight line. "Remember, remember." He continued slowly without haste, enjoying the orchestrated shrilling scream.
"Remember, remember," He stopped cutting just above the navel and pushed the claw deeper in further torment.
"Remember…"
"Sir Lex, is something amiss?" Halifaz call snapped Lex out from his haunting memory.
Lex shut his eyes for a moment and looked around, he was riding his horse en route to the Cathedral. Behind was Halifaz driving the carriage, carrying the unconscious man. The street was bustling as usual with people drove their carriages, painting their buildings, tending their tiny gardens and returning from markets.
The dream felt incredibly real.
How could it not? The scar from the torture still marked his body, he occasionally feel it through by brushing on the surface of his plate mail. Every time he feels it, he remembered.
Remember, remember. What was he supposed to remember? What was the Inquisitor's intent?
His head started to throb harder as he knew he had learned nothing, and the price of that scar and torture weighed him down still. After his collapse in that painful episode, immediately the next morning, he received a writ commanding his presence at the Virtuous Hall to be initiated into the Third-Circle.
No one told him about the Inquisitor, and he asked no one.
On whose life do you choose to dispense mercy?
He looked towards the carriage, beyond the quizzical glance if Halifaz and into the unconscious man, calling to him like a hint.