And so it was done. The swift and brutal cleansing of the non believers, the weak, and the heathens alike. None more shall stand in the righteous' way. Assured by their holy leaders, the crusaders performed horrors beyond those of the worst of nightmares, slaughtering any who came before them, or who would not convert. They were told their sins would be forgiven by their almighty leader and god, rendering them free of damnation - even for the most heinous of crimes committed against such innocence. All did their part to "cleanse" the land; some shone brighter than others. One such soldier was an up and coming general with a rage and power equal only to his resolve in his mission. None were safe from his blade, spear, or bare hands. Women, children, warriors, elderly, armed or unarmed - none were spared from his brutality. He soon became known as "Death Incarnate", even to his own men and superiors. All who opposed his orders or actions fell shortly after, including his own soldiers who couldn't stand the atrocities in which he had ordered them to commit. None were safe from this creation of war, this walking plague.
The general was called before his superiors for a mission that required his area of expertise, and was told that none of the soldiers in the army would perform the task. This was his mission, and his mission alone. "There is a group of monks within a fortress to the west. They spread word against our lord - they must be silenced, or converted. You know what to do. Take what you require from the armory and return to us with word of your success."
No soldier dared look at the general as he walked out of the tent and to the armory to gather his weapons. He gathered a bundle of long pikes, as well as swords and axes of varying styles, all sharp enough to cut down anything that stood before them. Tossing the last of his weapons and rations onto his cart, he began heading westward to his solo mission.
Once he arrived, he was greeted by a sickly old mouse, ridden in tattered clothes, who was barely able to hobble along. "Greetings, great warrior..." The mouse coughed, then gasped for air as he searched for breath to continue. "What do you seek?" "Save your greetings. I seek those who spread word against the way of the crusaders. Point me to them or perish. Make your choice old man." "I am sorry to hear... Our gates are open to you - but we are those you speak of. We are sick and are in need of medicine. The plague has invaded our stronghold, I advise you to leave. We are perishing so as it is, we need not have another die of this horrible disease." The mouse lifted his tattered shirt to expose the bulging buboes across his body. "I fear no plagues - I am Death Incarnate, no sickness can harm me. You are the enemy. I shall cut you down where you stand if you do not obey me. Join us, and cease spreading your heretical lies. Make your and your peoples' choice." The mouse looked back to the stronghold, where the few remaining survivors - all clearly infected with the Black Plague stood, looking on with their tattered rags and sickly bodies. "We cannot join your cause warrior, I am sorry. Spare the women and children, they are not among those who are preaching against you or your kind. Take me and go, I accept my fate at your hands." "Noble, but stupid." Before the old mouse could respond, the warrior smashed the side of his spear across his head, knocking him to the ground. "Now you will watch as those you defend meet their fate that you have chosen for them."
The horrors that befell the sickly inhabitants of the stronghold were gruesome. All were slaughtered like animals, the young, old, women and men alike. They were then impaled with a spear, sometimes two or three per, the spear then stuck into the ground to display their cold bodies to all who passed. Once finished, the crusader walked back to the old mouse who was struggling to get back to his feet. The general took the last spear off of his cart, and ran it into the mouse's chest, pushing it through his frail body as if it wasn't there. "Your chose your own fate. I hope you enjoy it. Your days of heresy are over."
With that, the blood soaked general rode back to his camp, he found the grounds deserted. There was nothing left, no tents, no soldiers, not even a spare blade lay where the armory once stood. Had he been abandoned? Had the army been decimated? There was no way of knowing.
As night fell, the bloodied soldier set up a small fire and thought of his next move.
This is the beginning of the backstory to one of my lesser known characters, Paradigm. As time goes on, more will be added.
Thanks! I don't do a lot of violent pieces, but this one was necessary for the backstory! I generally do a lot more cleaned up versions of pieces, but I liked the sketchiness of this one so I just let it go!
Thanks! I don't do a lot of violent pieces, but this one was necessary for the backstory! I general
