Post by morciel on Dec 3, 2010 7:04:06 GMT -8
Jason knelt at a wooden altar, stained red from years of spilled blood. Monks in black and red robes walked behind him, none stopping from their chores or looking up from their cowls to give any notice to him.
On the wall behind the altar, was a golden sun, a waterfall of blood flowing behind it. The Temple of the Bloody Sun, a cult devoted to the god of vengeance and justice. Jason came here every day, at high noon, spilling a bit of his blood on the altar at each visit. He placed the old stone blade back onto the altar, clutching his right hand tight until the blood flow ended. His blood washed over the altar then down into a drainage tank to which it mingled with the rest of the sacrifices until it flowed over the waterfall and was brunt in the inferno underneath the golden sun, symbolizing the god’s fiery wrath. He rose, bowing at the altar, sun, and the tall thin monk standing beside the altar, holding the chain on which a smoking censer swung. The monk bowed slightly and Jason held out his cut hand to him. He held the censer over his hand, the dark grey smoke falling heavily to wrap his wounded hand. Jason hissed slightly as the vapors cauterized and sealed the wound, leaving a pale grey scar on the hand, adding one more to the network of scars on the man’s hand. He then thanked the monk and exited the temple, dropping a bronze coin into a box by the door.
His eyes burning in the days light, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket and traveled through the city. He walked the side streets, the City Guard presences there more noticeable. The blue long-coated men and women stared down the lonely streets walking the people that passed there. Their hands resting on their stun staves and guns. Jason smiled and nodded fondly at them as he passed them, knowing that they’ll never know who or what he was. He entered a alleyway, over which shadows were as for the balconies, awnings, and facades not allowing the sun light onto its block. He knew that the Guard wouldn’t put one of their people there, its darkness would put the police in a state of danger they had no need to be in. Jason smiled, such fools. He heard shuffling, a rag-clothed vagabond walked by, scratching and talking to himself. He turned and found himself face to face with a redheaded guardswoman in a double red stitched coat, stopping both of them.
He bowed. “Sorry, madam inspector.”
She pulled her collar higher against the chill of the dark street. “Not at all,” She walked around him and continued down the street. Jason smiled broadly in the gloom and continued down the path.
********
Sarah Blane strode the dark alley, blowing past the bum talking to himself, tossing a bronze coin his way. She exited Dark Alley, the sunlight stinging her eyes. She stopped in front of the first guardsman she saw. He saluted, and she replied in the same.
“How are you, officer?”
“Well, Inspector, and you?”
“Better than normal, but I’m exhausted.”
“The Slayer?”
“Aye.”
The guardsman reached to her belt and removed a sliver flask, handing it to Sarah. She opened it at took a sip, her throat burning. The Guardsman grinning broadly. “Ralin Whiskey, burn the troubles away.”
She gasped and replaced the stopper. “Thanks,” She said breathlessly. There was a reason she didn’t drink. She continued on her path, which took her to the Temple of the Bloody Sun. Though she doubted that the monks there would tell her anything, the brass told her she had to try. She entered the Temple and waited she her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
She reached into her coat pocket and dropped a silver coin into the donation box and continued down the main causeway. She stopped a lesser monk and told her to get the High Priest. The priestess bowed and strode behind the altar and the waterfall of blood. Sarah looked around, shaking her head and sighing. Many of the cults in the city were like this, making their followers give both monetary and blood sacrifices to get the ‘blessing’ of the god or goddess in question. They were visages of the past, of the horror of old time were people needed gods in their lives, when they dark era of man drove people into temples and altars to find solace.
She didn’t like this place, the High Priest and Priestess’ using the fears of old and pious people to put their coin into the their coffers. She scowled and cleared her mind of these thought, as the High Priest of the Bloody Sun strode over to her.
“Inspector, may I assume that you’re not here to drip blood onto the altar for blessing?”
“The Cult of the Bloody Sun is forbidden among the City Guard, High Priest.”
The priest smiled his eyes invisible underneath his black cowl. “Of course it is, but that has never stopped Guardsmen from paying blood to the Bright One.” He laid his gloved hand on her arm and guided her to one of the pews. “Now, Mistress Inspector, what is it that I can do for you?”
Sarah slightly coughed on the dry air and the fumes of the censers that swung overhead. The priest called over a minor monk, who brought over a pewter tray with two wooden mugs on it. The monk bowed as the High Priest took both of the mugs and handed Sarah one. She sipped the drink, a light white wine mixed with fresh herbs and honey. She cleared her throat and spoke. “What do you know about the man called the Slayer of the Fallen?”
“The Slayer of the Fallen?”
“You don’t read the papers?”
The High Priest smiled and said nothing, instead watching the blood waterfall. An elderly woman entered the temple, dropping a few small bronze coins into the box at the door and continued down the altar way and knelt there, cutting her thin pale hand and dripping blood on the top of the altar.
“Holiness, he must’ve come here, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”
“He could’ve come here, but even if he did, Inspector, who would I know?”
Sarah sighed. She knew something to this effect would happen, the monks, no matter what temple they came from or god they served, ever helped law enforcement. They really didn’t even have need of the City Guard. Even benign temples, like that of a goddess of childbirth or patron of farmers, had bands of warriors and assassins that handled people that stole or offended temples. The City Guard tried to root out these people, but they were hard to find and normally passed on their work throughout generations.
“Couldn’t you pray to your god to ask him if that man was here?”
He laughed softly. “You’re not a believer, are you?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Why?”
“Because I have trouble with believing that if I live in a way that some man tells me to, that I’d go to some sort of heaven once I die. In that way, anyone could have me do anything and I be taken a fool in the hope of absolution.”
“So you worship your laws, instead?”
She smiled. “In a way, yes.”
“So you live in a way that some man tells you to in the hopes that you don’t go to some kind of hell until you die?”
She scowled, he continued. “If this man, this Slayer has come where, to have do His work, to rid the streets of the drug dealers and whores that plague our streets like an infection, they I bless him.” Sarah sighed, but said nothing. The High Priest continued to watch the old woman at the altar. He sighed. “This Slayer, he has attracted the gaze of my Lord.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Nothing in particular, he just has the attention of the Lord of the Bloody Sun, and all who truly follow His path would know that.”
Sarah cocked her eyebrow. “What does that even mean, Holiness?”
“That remains to be seen, Inspector.”
Sarah drained the wine from her mug, and set it down on the pew. She rose and bowed to the High Priest, then exited the Temple, waiting until she was around the corner to pause to take gasp of clean, cool air.
She knew that he had gone to the Temple, seeing how he worked and such. The High Priest was right, in the fact that if he had come into the temple, he would have no way of knowing who the Slayer was, unless you believed that his god whispered in his ear. Sarah didn’t.
The sky was dark with storm clouds and air smelled of salt water. It was going to rain soon. She had to get home before the sky begun to fall. She raised her hood, then begun down Temple Walk.
On the wall behind the altar, was a golden sun, a waterfall of blood flowing behind it. The Temple of the Bloody Sun, a cult devoted to the god of vengeance and justice. Jason came here every day, at high noon, spilling a bit of his blood on the altar at each visit. He placed the old stone blade back onto the altar, clutching his right hand tight until the blood flow ended. His blood washed over the altar then down into a drainage tank to which it mingled with the rest of the sacrifices until it flowed over the waterfall and was brunt in the inferno underneath the golden sun, symbolizing the god’s fiery wrath. He rose, bowing at the altar, sun, and the tall thin monk standing beside the altar, holding the chain on which a smoking censer swung. The monk bowed slightly and Jason held out his cut hand to him. He held the censer over his hand, the dark grey smoke falling heavily to wrap his wounded hand. Jason hissed slightly as the vapors cauterized and sealed the wound, leaving a pale grey scar on the hand, adding one more to the network of scars on the man’s hand. He then thanked the monk and exited the temple, dropping a bronze coin into a box by the door.
His eyes burning in the days light, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket and traveled through the city. He walked the side streets, the City Guard presences there more noticeable. The blue long-coated men and women stared down the lonely streets walking the people that passed there. Their hands resting on their stun staves and guns. Jason smiled and nodded fondly at them as he passed them, knowing that they’ll never know who or what he was. He entered a alleyway, over which shadows were as for the balconies, awnings, and facades not allowing the sun light onto its block. He knew that the Guard wouldn’t put one of their people there, its darkness would put the police in a state of danger they had no need to be in. Jason smiled, such fools. He heard shuffling, a rag-clothed vagabond walked by, scratching and talking to himself. He turned and found himself face to face with a redheaded guardswoman in a double red stitched coat, stopping both of them.
He bowed. “Sorry, madam inspector.”
She pulled her collar higher against the chill of the dark street. “Not at all,” She walked around him and continued down the street. Jason smiled broadly in the gloom and continued down the path.
********
Sarah Blane strode the dark alley, blowing past the bum talking to himself, tossing a bronze coin his way. She exited Dark Alley, the sunlight stinging her eyes. She stopped in front of the first guardsman she saw. He saluted, and she replied in the same.
“How are you, officer?”
“Well, Inspector, and you?”
“Better than normal, but I’m exhausted.”
“The Slayer?”
“Aye.”
The guardsman reached to her belt and removed a sliver flask, handing it to Sarah. She opened it at took a sip, her throat burning. The Guardsman grinning broadly. “Ralin Whiskey, burn the troubles away.”
She gasped and replaced the stopper. “Thanks,” She said breathlessly. There was a reason she didn’t drink. She continued on her path, which took her to the Temple of the Bloody Sun. Though she doubted that the monks there would tell her anything, the brass told her she had to try. She entered the Temple and waited she her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
She reached into her coat pocket and dropped a silver coin into the donation box and continued down the main causeway. She stopped a lesser monk and told her to get the High Priest. The priestess bowed and strode behind the altar and the waterfall of blood. Sarah looked around, shaking her head and sighing. Many of the cults in the city were like this, making their followers give both monetary and blood sacrifices to get the ‘blessing’ of the god or goddess in question. They were visages of the past, of the horror of old time were people needed gods in their lives, when they dark era of man drove people into temples and altars to find solace.
She didn’t like this place, the High Priest and Priestess’ using the fears of old and pious people to put their coin into the their coffers. She scowled and cleared her mind of these thought, as the High Priest of the Bloody Sun strode over to her.
“Inspector, may I assume that you’re not here to drip blood onto the altar for blessing?”
“The Cult of the Bloody Sun is forbidden among the City Guard, High Priest.”
The priest smiled his eyes invisible underneath his black cowl. “Of course it is, but that has never stopped Guardsmen from paying blood to the Bright One.” He laid his gloved hand on her arm and guided her to one of the pews. “Now, Mistress Inspector, what is it that I can do for you?”
Sarah slightly coughed on the dry air and the fumes of the censers that swung overhead. The priest called over a minor monk, who brought over a pewter tray with two wooden mugs on it. The monk bowed as the High Priest took both of the mugs and handed Sarah one. She sipped the drink, a light white wine mixed with fresh herbs and honey. She cleared her throat and spoke. “What do you know about the man called the Slayer of the Fallen?”
“The Slayer of the Fallen?”
“You don’t read the papers?”
The High Priest smiled and said nothing, instead watching the blood waterfall. An elderly woman entered the temple, dropping a few small bronze coins into the box at the door and continued down the altar way and knelt there, cutting her thin pale hand and dripping blood on the top of the altar.
“Holiness, he must’ve come here, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise.”
“He could’ve come here, but even if he did, Inspector, who would I know?”
Sarah sighed. She knew something to this effect would happen, the monks, no matter what temple they came from or god they served, ever helped law enforcement. They really didn’t even have need of the City Guard. Even benign temples, like that of a goddess of childbirth or patron of farmers, had bands of warriors and assassins that handled people that stole or offended temples. The City Guard tried to root out these people, but they were hard to find and normally passed on their work throughout generations.
“Couldn’t you pray to your god to ask him if that man was here?”
He laughed softly. “You’re not a believer, are you?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Why?”
“Because I have trouble with believing that if I live in a way that some man tells me to, that I’d go to some sort of heaven once I die. In that way, anyone could have me do anything and I be taken a fool in the hope of absolution.”
“So you worship your laws, instead?”
She smiled. “In a way, yes.”
“So you live in a way that some man tells you to in the hopes that you don’t go to some kind of hell until you die?”
She scowled, he continued. “If this man, this Slayer has come where, to have do His work, to rid the streets of the drug dealers and whores that plague our streets like an infection, they I bless him.” Sarah sighed, but said nothing. The High Priest continued to watch the old woman at the altar. He sighed. “This Slayer, he has attracted the gaze of my Lord.”
“And what does that entail?”
“Nothing in particular, he just has the attention of the Lord of the Bloody Sun, and all who truly follow His path would know that.”
Sarah cocked her eyebrow. “What does that even mean, Holiness?”
“That remains to be seen, Inspector.”
Sarah drained the wine from her mug, and set it down on the pew. She rose and bowed to the High Priest, then exited the Temple, waiting until she was around the corner to pause to take gasp of clean, cool air.
She knew that he had gone to the Temple, seeing how he worked and such. The High Priest was right, in the fact that if he had come into the temple, he would have no way of knowing who the Slayer was, unless you believed that his god whispered in his ear. Sarah didn’t.
The sky was dark with storm clouds and air smelled of salt water. It was going to rain soon. She had to get home before the sky begun to fall. She raised her hood, then begun down Temple Walk.