Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Oct 19, 2008 23:04:10 GMT -5
I had not always walked the path of shadows and judgment. Being considered a frightening boogeyman by men, women, and children who do not truly have any fear of me, just what I represent. Though their fear is not misplaced.
One of the highest of our order, Templar Witch Hunter Ernst Traugott said, "These poor, simple folk - too fearful or too dull-witted to see the vulgarity and evil in their own midst. They wail and complain about my...uncompromising methods, but who among you can say that hanging half a village is too high a price to pay for the assurance that corruption has been exposed and destroyed this day?".
There is wisdom in those words, though people do not see it as such. They think it is monstrous and barbaric. I cannot blame them, for I used to be one of them. It seems so long ago, yet was just two years past. When I lead a simple life as a farmer out of Altdorf. When I had a wife and children to bring a smile to my face. That changed when enemies of the Empire, Chaos fiends who brought forth daemons and undead to do their bidding, struck.
"Militia! Stand ready... Volley one!" Commander Rolleich bellowed, swinging his sabre down to the sound of musket fire, the smell of gunpowder and blood. The lead line of undead spasmed, a few falling but the rest charging forward unerringly. "Stand ready... Volley two!" Rolleich cried, his voice drowned in the second crack of muskets, the first line of zombies and ghouls dropping dead.
Rolleich was rather short, being 5'4'', he was also in the early winter of his life, being sixty-years old. He had a large mustache of snow white that almost obscured his mouth. He wore the full plate armor of a Militia Captain, even the rediculously plumed helm. A longsword was gripped in his right hand, while a large kite shield hung from his left.
"Where're those damn Empire soldiers?" Markus growled, loading his pistol and firing right into the face of a charging skeleton, the ancient skull powdering under the force of the shot. In his other hand he gripped a short dagger, more a knife, which Markus hoped he didn't need to use.
Markus was slightly taller than Rolleich, being 5'8'' and much younger, being only thirty-nine. He had medium length hair that reached to the top of his neck, and a slightly tanned skin from working under the sun all day. Thick stubble decorated his face. And two eyes of a crystal blue peered out of his grinning face. He wore light leather armor, a gift from his father who was the Second-in-Command before Markus was.
"Don't worry about them right now, worry about killing these things." Rolleich said, his sabre snapping forward to behead a charging lesser daemon, dropping the fiend to the ground even as its body vanished into dark mist. "It looks like they're going to try and just wear us down from the front."
Screams of terror and pain turned Rolleich and Markus toward the south end of the village. Smoke rose up and Markus could only stare in horror. "Elizabeth, Aerick, Madeline..." he breathed, rushng off and away from the protesting cries of Rolleich. Markus pushed aside fleeing people in his mad dash to get to his family.
He felt another presence at his side and saw Rolleich running alongside him. The Militia Captain's face was red and he was puffing hard. "Disobeying your Captain's orders? That would normally call for a court-martial, which you might be getting for making me run!"
Markus didn't laugh nor reply, there was a grim set to his face as the two continued their mad dash to the enemiy lines in the back. The two turned a corner and Markus froze, his house was one of the only ones not burning... which meant far worse considering the forces assailing the village.
No enemies were in sight, probably another portion of the Militia drove away the bulk of the forces. Breaking into a dead sprint he crashed through the broken doorway, into the darkness inside. He didn't hear anything at first, a mixture of joy and fear blending inside of him. He hoped that the Militia had saved his family, and at the same time feared the worse.
As he neared the back, his thoughts were confirmed.
Stepping silently around the shattered door and frame he heard the snarling sounds of something feeding. The sound of flesh, muscle, and tendon ripping made his gorge rise. Then the sickening snap of bone being broken followed by a sucking sound made Markus' step falter, the sound stopping the creatures from their feeding to turn burning red eyes upon Markus.
Two ghouls and a Wight.
The undead monstrosity and corrupt humans rose from the ground, the ghouls snarling, their mouths filled with gore and disease. One lunged at him, the sharp crack of Markus' pistol erupted into the air. Felling the ghoul instantly from a hole through its head.
The other ghoul snarled, tackling Markus to the ground. Giving his own bestial cry, Markus heaved the depraved human off him, coming up and slicing its throat with his blade. Blood pumped in an arterial spray from the wound as the thing fell back, shrieking and spasming.
Its cries were ended as the Wight's blade fell, beheading the ghoul before it turned a dead glare upon Markus. "Why do you bother to fight us?" Its voice was the cold chill of the grave. "You shall be one of us sooner or later... Give in now and you can be like myself... free."
Markus met that unflinching gaze, "I would never want to be a monster like you." He spat, his pistol ammo was gone. Looking over the Wight he grimaced, it had on dark iron chain and plate armor, and gripped twin swords that burned with an unholy chill. Flexing his fingers around the knife hilt he shook his head slowly, he would die here, with his family.
"Then you shall be one of the mindless."The Wight hissed, moving forward quicker than the eye could see. Markus waited for the bite of the blade, yet it never came. Instead the ring of metal against metal echoed in his ears. Opening an eye, not knowing he had shut them in the first place, Markus saw Rolleich holding the twin blades of the Wight at bay with his shield and sword.
With a great heave the two combatants broke apart. "Reload damn you!" Rolleich growled before engaging the undead again. The two trading blows, though it was clear the Wight was just playing with the old captain.
Markus looked down, fumbling as he loaded his pistol, only to hear a shout of pain. Looking up he saw Rolleich falling back, a blade sliding free from his stomach as the Wight turned its baleful gaze upon Markus. "Now for you." It advanced in that same quick pace, when a pistol bullet pierced its skull, stopping it momentarily.
The Wight felt the hole before laughing, and continuing forward. Markus stared in shock, before he knew it the Wight was upon him. Bringing him to the ground, a sword rising above its head, "You shall serve soon..."
The crack of the pistol went off again, and the Wight gave a snarl of anger as the blade it held fell to the floor. "You'll pay for that!" It howled, readying its other blade.
Markus grunted, throwing his weight against the creature to hurl it away from him. He dropped his knife and gripped the first weapon his hand could find. The Wight's dropped blade. Rising, Markus turned and let loose a shout of pain, the bony claw of the undead tearing across his face, ripping open one eye. Gore bled from eye and face, running down to mix on his armor and ground.
Markus stumbled away, glaring at the undead monster through his one good eye. The thing lurched forward, swinging its blade. Markus met the swing, parrying the attack.
The Wight struck again, feinting low before striking high. Markus caught the blade in another parry, throwing the Wight's blade out wide with his own sword. Flicking his wrist back the unholy blade sheared through the neck of the beast, severing the unholy energies tying it to this realm. The monster fell into a pile of unmoving bones.
Markus dropped the unholy blade and stumbled over, Rolleich was lying upon the ground. His eyes glazed and his jaw slack. Markus should have felt sympathy for the death of this friend, but he didn't. He felt nothing inside of him. Not even when he looked at the destroyed mounds of flesh that had been his family.
He felt a cold creeping through his body and could understand why. The Wight had cursed him with that last attack. Markus turned from the dead bodies and looked over the remains of the undead.
Bending down he began to look over the bones without a word.
Exiting his home, Markus wore the armor of the Wight. A long brown leather overcoat covering up most of it, except for the shoulders which rested squarely atop his coat.
Sheathed on his back were the twin unholy blades, at his side was the blade of Rolleich and his father's old pistol as well as the pistol he had been using earlier. A hat with a wide brim rested on his head, casting his face in shadow. Bandages were wrapped across the right side of his face, already strained with black blood. Only his left eye peering from the shadow of the hat.
On that day Markus Karlloff the simple farmer and Militiaman had died. Marks Karlloff the Witch Hunter was born.
One of the highest of our order, Templar Witch Hunter Ernst Traugott said, "These poor, simple folk - too fearful or too dull-witted to see the vulgarity and evil in their own midst. They wail and complain about my...uncompromising methods, but who among you can say that hanging half a village is too high a price to pay for the assurance that corruption has been exposed and destroyed this day?".
There is wisdom in those words, though people do not see it as such. They think it is monstrous and barbaric. I cannot blame them, for I used to be one of them. It seems so long ago, yet was just two years past. When I lead a simple life as a farmer out of Altdorf. When I had a wife and children to bring a smile to my face. That changed when enemies of the Empire, Chaos fiends who brought forth daemons and undead to do their bidding, struck.
"Militia! Stand ready... Volley one!" Commander Rolleich bellowed, swinging his sabre down to the sound of musket fire, the smell of gunpowder and blood. The lead line of undead spasmed, a few falling but the rest charging forward unerringly. "Stand ready... Volley two!" Rolleich cried, his voice drowned in the second crack of muskets, the first line of zombies and ghouls dropping dead.
Rolleich was rather short, being 5'4'', he was also in the early winter of his life, being sixty-years old. He had a large mustache of snow white that almost obscured his mouth. He wore the full plate armor of a Militia Captain, even the rediculously plumed helm. A longsword was gripped in his right hand, while a large kite shield hung from his left.
"Where're those damn Empire soldiers?" Markus growled, loading his pistol and firing right into the face of a charging skeleton, the ancient skull powdering under the force of the shot. In his other hand he gripped a short dagger, more a knife, which Markus hoped he didn't need to use.
Markus was slightly taller than Rolleich, being 5'8'' and much younger, being only thirty-nine. He had medium length hair that reached to the top of his neck, and a slightly tanned skin from working under the sun all day. Thick stubble decorated his face. And two eyes of a crystal blue peered out of his grinning face. He wore light leather armor, a gift from his father who was the Second-in-Command before Markus was.
"Don't worry about them right now, worry about killing these things." Rolleich said, his sabre snapping forward to behead a charging lesser daemon, dropping the fiend to the ground even as its body vanished into dark mist. "It looks like they're going to try and just wear us down from the front."
Screams of terror and pain turned Rolleich and Markus toward the south end of the village. Smoke rose up and Markus could only stare in horror. "Elizabeth, Aerick, Madeline..." he breathed, rushng off and away from the protesting cries of Rolleich. Markus pushed aside fleeing people in his mad dash to get to his family.
He felt another presence at his side and saw Rolleich running alongside him. The Militia Captain's face was red and he was puffing hard. "Disobeying your Captain's orders? That would normally call for a court-martial, which you might be getting for making me run!"
Markus didn't laugh nor reply, there was a grim set to his face as the two continued their mad dash to the enemiy lines in the back. The two turned a corner and Markus froze, his house was one of the only ones not burning... which meant far worse considering the forces assailing the village.
No enemies were in sight, probably another portion of the Militia drove away the bulk of the forces. Breaking into a dead sprint he crashed through the broken doorway, into the darkness inside. He didn't hear anything at first, a mixture of joy and fear blending inside of him. He hoped that the Militia had saved his family, and at the same time feared the worse.
As he neared the back, his thoughts were confirmed.
Stepping silently around the shattered door and frame he heard the snarling sounds of something feeding. The sound of flesh, muscle, and tendon ripping made his gorge rise. Then the sickening snap of bone being broken followed by a sucking sound made Markus' step falter, the sound stopping the creatures from their feeding to turn burning red eyes upon Markus.
Two ghouls and a Wight.
The undead monstrosity and corrupt humans rose from the ground, the ghouls snarling, their mouths filled with gore and disease. One lunged at him, the sharp crack of Markus' pistol erupted into the air. Felling the ghoul instantly from a hole through its head.
The other ghoul snarled, tackling Markus to the ground. Giving his own bestial cry, Markus heaved the depraved human off him, coming up and slicing its throat with his blade. Blood pumped in an arterial spray from the wound as the thing fell back, shrieking and spasming.
Its cries were ended as the Wight's blade fell, beheading the ghoul before it turned a dead glare upon Markus. "Why do you bother to fight us?" Its voice was the cold chill of the grave. "You shall be one of us sooner or later... Give in now and you can be like myself... free."
Markus met that unflinching gaze, "I would never want to be a monster like you." He spat, his pistol ammo was gone. Looking over the Wight he grimaced, it had on dark iron chain and plate armor, and gripped twin swords that burned with an unholy chill. Flexing his fingers around the knife hilt he shook his head slowly, he would die here, with his family.
"Then you shall be one of the mindless."The Wight hissed, moving forward quicker than the eye could see. Markus waited for the bite of the blade, yet it never came. Instead the ring of metal against metal echoed in his ears. Opening an eye, not knowing he had shut them in the first place, Markus saw Rolleich holding the twin blades of the Wight at bay with his shield and sword.
With a great heave the two combatants broke apart. "Reload damn you!" Rolleich growled before engaging the undead again. The two trading blows, though it was clear the Wight was just playing with the old captain.
Markus looked down, fumbling as he loaded his pistol, only to hear a shout of pain. Looking up he saw Rolleich falling back, a blade sliding free from his stomach as the Wight turned its baleful gaze upon Markus. "Now for you." It advanced in that same quick pace, when a pistol bullet pierced its skull, stopping it momentarily.
The Wight felt the hole before laughing, and continuing forward. Markus stared in shock, before he knew it the Wight was upon him. Bringing him to the ground, a sword rising above its head, "You shall serve soon..."
The crack of the pistol went off again, and the Wight gave a snarl of anger as the blade it held fell to the floor. "You'll pay for that!" It howled, readying its other blade.
Markus grunted, throwing his weight against the creature to hurl it away from him. He dropped his knife and gripped the first weapon his hand could find. The Wight's dropped blade. Rising, Markus turned and let loose a shout of pain, the bony claw of the undead tearing across his face, ripping open one eye. Gore bled from eye and face, running down to mix on his armor and ground.
Markus stumbled away, glaring at the undead monster through his one good eye. The thing lurched forward, swinging its blade. Markus met the swing, parrying the attack.
The Wight struck again, feinting low before striking high. Markus caught the blade in another parry, throwing the Wight's blade out wide with his own sword. Flicking his wrist back the unholy blade sheared through the neck of the beast, severing the unholy energies tying it to this realm. The monster fell into a pile of unmoving bones.
Markus dropped the unholy blade and stumbled over, Rolleich was lying upon the ground. His eyes glazed and his jaw slack. Markus should have felt sympathy for the death of this friend, but he didn't. He felt nothing inside of him. Not even when he looked at the destroyed mounds of flesh that had been his family.
He felt a cold creeping through his body and could understand why. The Wight had cursed him with that last attack. Markus turned from the dead bodies and looked over the remains of the undead.
Bending down he began to look over the bones without a word.
Exiting his home, Markus wore the armor of the Wight. A long brown leather overcoat covering up most of it, except for the shoulders which rested squarely atop his coat.
Sheathed on his back were the twin unholy blades, at his side was the blade of Rolleich and his father's old pistol as well as the pistol he had been using earlier. A hat with a wide brim rested on his head, casting his face in shadow. Bandages were wrapped across the right side of his face, already strained with black blood. Only his left eye peering from the shadow of the hat.
On that day Markus Karlloff the simple farmer and Militiaman had died. Marks Karlloff the Witch Hunter was born.
