A pact with the Devil

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    Gangting-Berg

    Dragon VIP Status- Regular VIP Status- Quality Badge Level 1- Quality Badge Level 2- Quality Badge Level 3- Haiku Contest Participant- Have Lord Fredericks On Your Friends List- 1 Year Anniversary- Player -
    Lineage : The Horsemen of Pestilence
    Position : None
    Posts : 344
    Guild : Savage Skull
    Dungeon Tokens : 0
    Age : 22
    Experience : 200

    Character Sheet
    First Magic: Manus ec Profanus
    Second Magic: Equitum ec Pestilentia
    Third Magic:

    A pact with the Devil

    Post by Gangting-Berg on 17th August 2018, 12:45 pm

    Godfrey awoken, a thin blanket covered most of his body. He sat up, looking around him, it was dark, however. There was no light, the room was cold, yet Godfrey didn’t mind it. It felt like the shadows of the forest on a sweltering summer day. He realised that he wasn’t the cell where he had been chained up, he tried to find the edge of the bed and realised that he laid on a wooden object. A table? His hands tried to find the edge and it knocked something off the wooden panels. It fell on the ground, making the sound of metal on stone. His heart pump faster, as he heard muffled footsteps from outside. The sound stopped, and he heard a new sound, a click. Followed by the sound of wood grinding over stone. A faint light entered the room as a door was raised, in its opening stood the silhouette of a man. “I see that you have awoken my lord,” Said a familiar voice of an old man, the village’s priest. “Where am I?” Asked Godfrey with a hoarse voice. The priest kept silent for a moment and then spoke. “You had died of the plague and I brought you back.” Godfrey’s eye’s widened, “What… What do you mean! That’s not possible.” The priest rose his shoulder’s, “Yet it seems it worked.” The priest walked closer, holding in his hand a candle which he used to light two other candles. “You were dead and now you are alive again.” Godfrey wanted to stand but the old man uttered him not to. “Why would thou bring me back then? I was imprisoned because I murdered.” The priest looked at him, “I do not care what you have done for you are my son, my true son.” Godfrey looked him in the eye’s and shook his head, “I do not believe in thou god, I’m not a son of the church.” The old man chuckled, “I do not mean that, you are born from my seed. A ritual, involving your lady mo.” Godfrey jumped up in anger, clasping his hands around the priests his throat. “I’m the son of lord Ulan!” shouted he, while he held up the priest in the air. Shaking him as his lifeforce started to leave the body. He threw the body in a corner of the room. He stood there, heavy breathing and naked. Godfrey looked around once more and walked through the room. He found a black rough spun robe and donned it. His eyes grew heavy and he stumbled to the ground, sleeping where he fell.

    Godfrey woke, and the room was dark. He couldn’t tell if a day had passed nor if it were day or night. The candles had extinguished. He stood up and tried to find the door, he found it shortly and walked into the crypts of the church. A faint light shone over the steps down the hall, the steps would lead to the main level of the church. The full moon was visible through the great arched windows when he emerged from the catacombs. A few candles still burned in great standing chandeliers and Godfrey took one of them down back into the crypts and the hidden room. He found a few candles and light them. He closed the hidden door and searched the room. What he found surprised and shocked him, dozens of books on sorcery, rituals and… about the devil. Godfrey had the laugh about it, an icy laugh. He started to read them.

    Godfrey made a pentagram of sulphur and made a blood sacrifice by slitting his right-hand palm open. Thick black blood dripped on the ground and he spoke the incantations. The pentagram ignited in a furry of black and orange flames. In it appeared a fiery man, his had changed many a time into that of a goat, snake and back again to that of a man. “I’m the Fallen Angel, Lucifer, Samael, Azazel, Baphomet and many a more. You are Godfrey and you have escaped my grip.” The heavy and strong, the manner it spoke was like a snake moving. “Why have thee summoned me?” Godfrey straightened his back, “It wasn’t my time yet to die,” Spoke Godfrey up, the fiery demon laughs, “I trade mine soul for the power that may grand me revenge and to seize what is mine.” The demon laughed once more and spoke: “Your soul belongs to me already, why should grant you power if you have nothing to offer me.” Godfrey was confused, “Because… I am alive thus thou own nothing of me!” those words he spoke in anger. Lucifer laughed once more. “What power should I give you then?” He said spotting. Godfrey was silent for a moment, what should he ask. His mind recalled a story of the horsemen, one of them was pestilence and brought many diseases and plagues on mankind. His icy eyes fixed on the flaming eyes of Samael. “The power of the horsemen of pestilence, I have bested the plague thus it suits mine to be the Master of It!” His voice croaked. The devil laughed even louder as before even seeing that he teared embers. “So, you wish to by my lieutenant, the Horsemen of Pestilence! Bahaha.” He paused, “So be it! You shall be one of my horsemen and once you die your soul belongs to me. You shall obey me and do as I say. I will give your white steed as befits the Rider of Pestilence. I shall give you as well a bow and quiver filled arrows, containing all the diseases in the world. The known and the unknown. And you will have the Victor’s crown. You shall find me the other horsemen, they are scattered about. Hidden from me.” Lucifer stretched out his hand, and Godfrey grabbed it. He screamed out in pain for his hand was burning. The fiery demon faded away. “Your powers will come with time” Was the last the snake’s tongue spoke. An armour wrought in the shape of a crowned skeleton and a black bow with quiver lay on the burned ground, where only the pentagram still glows orange. Godfrey’s a mark was left on his hand, it burned.

    The next day the mark still burned, and Godfrey wasn’t any wiser on how his powers worked. He sat there in the hidden room which smelled like sulphur and ash, with the faint smell of rot which came of the priest’s body that started to decompose. He had enough of sitting where he was, he would claim what was rightfully his. He donned the armour and slung the quiver on his hip and took the bow. The armour fitted him as if it had been made a custom order by a master armourer. He walked through the catacombs and up the stairs to the main halls of the church. He bashed open the doors and walked outside. The sky above the forest was red and purple, the sun and the moon stood both in the sky. Night would come soon and with it… came the plague’s wraith. A white horse, big and strong walked towards him. His eye’s where red and yellow foam dripped out its mouth. It wore an armour akin to his own, this was the horse he had been given. He mounted the pale horse and trotted towards the castle which stood high on its hill. He took an arrow out of the quiver and nocked it. Pulled back the arrow till its feathers touched his cheek. The bow was heavy, yet Godfrey could pull it back easy. He aimed for one of the guardsmen and released. The arrow shoots forwards and left a green trail that fell down and spread around on the ground like a green mist. The arrow puffed out green gas when it hit the helmet of the target. The guardsmen clasped their throat’s and panicked, one fell over the battlements into the moot. Water splashed up and turned green with alga quickly, soon whole the moot had a green carpet and looked mucky bellow. Godfrey hung the bow on the side of the horse, but it disappeared in a green mist. The quiver too disappeared, they felled close by none the less. He drew his sword, its steel shone in the last beams of sunlight. He charged at the gate, the guards dropped the portcullis. Godfrey dismounted and walked to the wooden obstacle before him. He sheeted his sword, hacking with that was useless. Something told him, that he merely had to touch the wood. Took off the glow of his right hand and touched the wood. The mark of the Devil glows orange and stab of pain surged through his body. A hellish fire was released from his right hand and the portcullis was a flame. Godfrey looked with amazed eyes at what he did. His laughter was hoarse.

    The gate fell down, ash and flames were blown up. Many a guardsman had assembled within the courtyard, armed with spears, crossbows and axes. Some knights, unarmoured and armed with swords were there as well. A ghost in black skeleton armour walked through the flames, its eyes were cold as ice and glowing blue. It stopped walking and raised its arms, a flood of mosquitoes and other insects rushed through the gate moments later like a torrent of water. It was a carnage, men were drained from their blood. Eye’s and skin were eaten. What followed were rats, that came from the moot and hidden crevasses. They feasted on the meat of the living and the dead alike. The black ghost with blue eyes moved over the courtyard, followed by an eerie green mist. It bellowed in a hoarse and croaking voice, “I’m thou master! I claim the rights to this lordship!” A crossbow thumbed and replied with a bolt, it missed. A large black bow appeared in the hand of the skeleton knight. He shots back an arrow, trailed by a green smoke, at the crossbowman in the tower. The bow disappeared in green mist. A knight dressed in full armour busted through the doors of the donjon. Armed with a poleaxe, he charged. The plague master drew his own sword and the weapons clashed. It seemed that the knight had the upper hand with his taller weapon. Yet the dark knight grabbed the poleaxe’s shaft and pulled it with the knight closer. He dropped his sword and it’s pale, naked hand, was pressed on the knight’s breastplate. “Goodbye, brother.” Said a soft, hoarse, voice from behind the skeleton mask. A shock wave sends the knight flying, the poleaxe staying in the dark knights’ hand, but the knight smashed against a wall. The skeleton knight threw down the poleaxe.

    Godfrey entered the donjon; green mist followed him and filled the hall. A group of men-at-arms formed a wall of shields and swords. Leading them was Godfrey's middle brother. “Hold position!” Shouted he, his voice sounded desperate. “Brother, you will die!” Godfrey’s voice crackled. His brother didn’t reply, motionless he stood there behind his men. Rats flooded the hallway and Godfrey walked towards the shield wall. Rats moved aside for him as if there was a shield around Godfrey that pushed them aside. A green aura appeared around Godfrey, they licked around him like flames. Suddenly the aura got sucked up in his right hand. A small orb, like a green liquid pearl, floated above his open hand. He threw it at the ironclad warriors, it exploded in a thick cloud of pestilence. None could see anything but a moss green mist, none could breathe anything but the polluted air. Men coughed terribly, men coughed blood, men fell dead. Godfrey walked over their bodies and entered the great hall, the knight’s hall. He expected to find his father there, but he was not there. A few of the noblewoman and children where there, guarded by squires and green boys. “Thee are mine hostages, I’m Godfrey of house Ushill. Count of Ushill and Crachton, knight of the plague and Horsemen of Pestilence.” People shivered and whispered.

    2060 words


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      Current date/time is 12th December 2018, 9:55 pm