And so it was that Sammael's preaching’s came to be known by the Arisen forces and it was with ease that they dragged him away, his family watching through the misty panes of glass. He was thrown in the gibbot cage overlooking the twin castles where he was left to rot. Lacey tried to bring him nourishment but in his enraged madness he would scream and spit at her and she would flee for fear of his protestations drawing the attention of the masters. After three days had passed of the priest's death sentence Belial's mother sent him to Gibbot Hill with food and drink, hoping that Sammael may have now calmed and that before his death he might resolve the issues with his son. There was a light rain drifting against the breeze as he made his assent along the chalky path, the small bundle of food tucked tightly against his chest. He stopped mid step as he reached the summit and took the form of his father in his eyes. At first he thought him dead; his skin was bone white and blistered from the rusty metal bars, he did not seem to move even to take breath. The food fell from the boy's arms to the damp ground as he slowly made his way closer and stared transfixed at the man who had given him life but he had never really know. He wrapped his fingers around the rough bars and started to cry.
In a flash cold rough hands were grasped firmly about his and he cried out, stumbling back, trying to get away - unable. Wide cold blue eyes stared at him through the frame of a ring of dark red eyelids as his tangled mass of blonde hair swayed with the shakes of his body. After what seemed like an eternity the man's dry lips pulled apart and his voice trickled out in a quiet rasp.
"You.... you should not have been born... but now that I do not see through eyes clouded by the mists of life I fully comprehend why it HAD to be so! You... your birth, you carry my sins so that the Lord may take me into his Kingdom, his arms. He could not allow his loyal servant to be Damned... My son, my boy.... you are cursed, by my actions and your mother's. Belial, your name shall live true... There shall be no Heaven... your life............. repent...."
The last of his strength spent, Sammael Israfil slumped back into the gibbot, dead. Belial stood with his hands still clasping to the gibbot as he drew sharp breaths, the cold winter air turning them into tiny plumes of steam. Then he ran. He kept running, his mind not even thinking where he was going, just wanting to be away from that place, from the shell of his father. He collapsed, exhausted and leaned against the slanted cross beside the abby as his eyes gazed out to sea. It was some hours later before he returned home.
In the coming weeks Lacey became increasingly paranoid. None in the village would speak to her as the knowledge spread that the man she had taken into her house had been a criminal, moreover, a criminal who had been put to death for his crimes against the Lords and Ladies. Thoughts of how she and her son's would share Sammael's fate plagued her every waking hour and in sleep the fear would manifest into terrifying dreams. She was sure every time she left the house someone would follow, watching her. So she gathered the last of her coin and sought the help of the gypsies, asking for the only solution she saw possible. She was careful and detailed in her queries, making sure that the poison she purchased was as painless and swift as possible. The next day she spent hours in her kitchen making up a soup with duck and the best bread she could afford, adding the deadly liquid to it after it had boiled as the gypsy had instructed her.
Belial came in late, having spent his time day dreaming by the cross again, and his mother chided him. The others had half finished their meals and he was sent to the stove to warm up the soup for his own dish. Then he sat down with the others at the table. One of his brothers complained about feeling tired and their mother suggested they all have an early night, trying to pursuade Belial to join them, upset when he continually refused. It was not long after finishing that he started to feel tired and yet immediately he knew something was wrong. It was not the usual day's exhaustion but a dark opressive cloud that he could feel trying to engulf him. He tried to get up, to get help, but his legs gave way under him and he fell to the floor and passed out.
He awoke with his head screaming, covered in a cold sweat and half dried vommit. Weakly he struggled to his feet and guided his way along the walls to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed heavily, his mind completely blank as he looked down at the last of his family, the last look he would have of them, huddled together in death.
Now the abby was his home, the only connection to anything he had left in this world. Always greatful to add to their ranks and knowing Belial had been raised in the scriptures they took him in with few questions. At times he was pitied for the loss of his loved ones but they could not help but feel hatred towards the circumstances of his conception. He carried a great sin and it would take a life time of piety to cleanse his soul. He worked hard and continued to educate himself in the ways of God and took the resentment he felt out on the unholy gypsies and any Arisen the Brotherhood managed to get their hands on. In this way he earned enough respect to be accept somewhat. If he could just keep the the Path his soul might yet see Heaven yet.
(END OF HISTORY)
Next post in this regard will be on actual events taken place during rp. I think I might bullet point. We'll see.
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Posted by: David Morgan | 12/08/2009 at 10:32 PM