Post by Cali on Feb 22, 2014 12:38:24 GMT 1
I planned to post this here back in November, but well, here it is.
Story and Narrative Inspiration:
Diablo by Chris Metzen, Bill Roper, Erich Schaefer, Eric Sexton
Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
The Seventh Seal by Ingmar Bergman
Based in Catholicsufi's Logos Universe
All chapters prone and subject to further editing
For Christopher
Excerpt From Journal of Avery Tirel
United Alchemists Guild caravaner and commerce emissary.
Dated Late Summer 1349 A.D/C.E
When riding in the general vicinity of Briella upon Warkshire, it was evident I instruct the rest of my caravan to follow the loose trail of dead bodies along the paved trail, as the letter of request had ominously advised.
Ghastly as it may have sounded and looked, it saved my fellows and I a great deal of bother, as I blamed twiceforth for getting the caravan lost in the woodland above Berkshire. It was also helpful to see that the corpses, that of human and stallion alike, had no sign of being laid to rest by the black death. A humanly struggle had ensued here, flagged by the fissures in the flesh and damage to the bone, most certainly by sword and axe. The bodies were rather ripened and stale, stinking of the inimitable aroma of death and annexed by colonies of maggots and mealworms that dined upon what remained of the deceased Englishmen.
The corpses were those of road agents and plainclothes knights, who swore fealty to Duke Samuel Pasqiuer, a recently deceased (and thankfully so) noble who was thoroughly and dangerously maddened by the death of his children and heirs. The bubonic plague itself had made many a folk uneasy and despondent due to its horrendous nature, but Samuel the Hedge Duke and his ogre faced, psychotic hedge knights and lessers had little to lose among the hedges they dwelled in. I assume many were reluctant to terrorize the township of Briella and its populace, but I hesitate to say to act was entirely unwarranted and unprovoked, provided there was truth to the rumors. Nevertheless, I will elaborate on that in a later entry.
In the clearing west of the wooded hills, the village of Briella became evident, the description identical to what I had read of the settlement. The sillouette of a waving peasant had prompted Jacque, my Flemish coachman to steer the two mares at the head of the moving supply train toward the main road across the planky bridge over one of two of the stone laden creeks that bordered the township.
The wagon wheels groaned and whined over what remained of the journey toward Briella, and I had decided that I had enough of sitting in a wagon crowded with crates and barrels of foodstuffs, dry goods, and guild specialty trinkets, and so I leaped out and strode the rest of the way. Along this brief itinerary I was greeted with a seemingly omnipresent pallet of blinking peasant eyes in the dusk air, from within the open windows of structures, and upon the shit and piss pattered thoroughfares.
It was evident that the local cohorts of serfdom were quite glad and relieved to see us with the hopefully frequent provisions my esteemed guild was to provide in this troublesome time. But what I also saw in their gazes were wrinkles on those too young, looks of emotional ataxia and horror. I thought myself educated on the plight of this particular township, and prepared for their disposition. But it seemed it would matter little. It was then I stood, nervously clutching the flanks of my burgundy jacket, gazes of the bumpkins expiring as they trotted in a myriad of beelines to prepare for the arrival of our much awaited shipment, and I wondered if I had arrived late. If I did not, would it matter? I was nervous.
I will correct myself: I was hasty to note down in the journal that all of these leering men and women were comprised of sectarian yokels. Many of them were explorers, mercenaries, and profiteers who had ventured into inner Warkshire for the anomaly in question that occurred here. One in particular, a Silver Helix pathfinder who posed as a simple traveler had intercepted me for a greeting. I was in the company of those of the secret societies that we and I had squatted in the coattails of the “sleeping” peasantry and nobility who were unaware and jolly with expected ignorance. I had known they were here, otherwise the guild would not transfer resources for the sole reason of relieving a beplauged peasant village. What was going here was far more terrifying than the usual bubonic pestilence that tormented the chivalric order of the western world.
Story and Narrative Inspiration:
Diablo by Chris Metzen, Bill Roper, Erich Schaefer, Eric Sexton
Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell
The Seventh Seal by Ingmar Bergman
Based in Catholicsufi's Logos Universe
All chapters prone and subject to further editing
For Christopher
Excerpt From Journal of Avery Tirel
United Alchemists Guild caravaner and commerce emissary.
Dated Late Summer 1349 A.D/C.E
When riding in the general vicinity of Briella upon Warkshire, it was evident I instruct the rest of my caravan to follow the loose trail of dead bodies along the paved trail, as the letter of request had ominously advised.
Ghastly as it may have sounded and looked, it saved my fellows and I a great deal of bother, as I blamed twiceforth for getting the caravan lost in the woodland above Berkshire. It was also helpful to see that the corpses, that of human and stallion alike, had no sign of being laid to rest by the black death. A humanly struggle had ensued here, flagged by the fissures in the flesh and damage to the bone, most certainly by sword and axe. The bodies were rather ripened and stale, stinking of the inimitable aroma of death and annexed by colonies of maggots and mealworms that dined upon what remained of the deceased Englishmen.
The corpses were those of road agents and plainclothes knights, who swore fealty to Duke Samuel Pasqiuer, a recently deceased (and thankfully so) noble who was thoroughly and dangerously maddened by the death of his children and heirs. The bubonic plague itself had made many a folk uneasy and despondent due to its horrendous nature, but Samuel the Hedge Duke and his ogre faced, psychotic hedge knights and lessers had little to lose among the hedges they dwelled in. I assume many were reluctant to terrorize the township of Briella and its populace, but I hesitate to say to act was entirely unwarranted and unprovoked, provided there was truth to the rumors. Nevertheless, I will elaborate on that in a later entry.
In the clearing west of the wooded hills, the village of Briella became evident, the description identical to what I had read of the settlement. The sillouette of a waving peasant had prompted Jacque, my Flemish coachman to steer the two mares at the head of the moving supply train toward the main road across the planky bridge over one of two of the stone laden creeks that bordered the township.
The wagon wheels groaned and whined over what remained of the journey toward Briella, and I had decided that I had enough of sitting in a wagon crowded with crates and barrels of foodstuffs, dry goods, and guild specialty trinkets, and so I leaped out and strode the rest of the way. Along this brief itinerary I was greeted with a seemingly omnipresent pallet of blinking peasant eyes in the dusk air, from within the open windows of structures, and upon the shit and piss pattered thoroughfares.
It was evident that the local cohorts of serfdom were quite glad and relieved to see us with the hopefully frequent provisions my esteemed guild was to provide in this troublesome time. But what I also saw in their gazes were wrinkles on those too young, looks of emotional ataxia and horror. I thought myself educated on the plight of this particular township, and prepared for their disposition. But it seemed it would matter little. It was then I stood, nervously clutching the flanks of my burgundy jacket, gazes of the bumpkins expiring as they trotted in a myriad of beelines to prepare for the arrival of our much awaited shipment, and I wondered if I had arrived late. If I did not, would it matter? I was nervous.
I will correct myself: I was hasty to note down in the journal that all of these leering men and women were comprised of sectarian yokels. Many of them were explorers, mercenaries, and profiteers who had ventured into inner Warkshire for the anomaly in question that occurred here. One in particular, a Silver Helix pathfinder who posed as a simple traveler had intercepted me for a greeting. I was in the company of those of the secret societies that we and I had squatted in the coattails of the “sleeping” peasantry and nobility who were unaware and jolly with expected ignorance. I had known they were here, otherwise the guild would not transfer resources for the sole reason of relieving a beplauged peasant village. What was going here was far more terrifying than the usual bubonic pestilence that tormented the chivalric order of the western world.