Not on my watch

Light flakes of snow drifted through the evening air. Standing on the edge of a low cliff, a tall cloaked figure stared across an open field at a small manor overlooking the nearby town. With the sun setting to his right, bathing the sky in a deep red glow, the man turned to find a safe route down when a motion in the fields below caught his eye.

Someone, a man ill dressed for the cold, burst out from the tree line heading towards the town. Before he could make it more than a dozen yards an arrow shot from the woods, piercing his leg. Seconds later a half dozen other men casually emerged from the woods brandishing swords and axes. With a sigh and a quiet curse, the cloaked figure leapt off the side of the cliff, slid more than 20ft down a near vertical rock face and took off through the woods.

Gerald lay face down in the snow, panting. He could hear the crunch of snow behind him as someone approached. Desperately Gerald pushed himself up, trying to get to his knees, to get up and run. But before he could lift himself more than a few inches a heavy boot slammed into his back, blasting the breath from his lungs.

“Gave us chase there lad” said the man standing on Gerald’s back. “Name be Breck, and I be executioner tonight. But first, we got questions.”

Gerald gasped for breathe as Breck took his weight of Gerald’s back. “What. What do you want?”

“Tell us about old man in manor” said Breck, kneeling beside Gerald’s head. “You give good answer. Quick death. Throat slit. Nice and clean. Yes? Give bad answer.” Breck shook his head. “You not want that. I not want that. No one want that. So give good answer.”

Gerald franticly looked twisted his head, looking for some way out. But all he saw was Breck and the five grim faced men surrounding him. “I don’t know anything about the old man” he cried. “I’m just passing through! Honest!!”

Breck lowered his head and sighed. “That not good answer. Why you make me do this?” Breck asked, standing. “I not bad man. I good man.” Said Breck, as he plunged his sword into Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald screams, tensing with pain, but Beck continues as if he didn’t notice. “But old man make people angry. Powerful people. People who ask Breck to make old man go away.” With a sharp jerk Breck twisted the blade, sending fiery jolts of pain trough Gerald. “And these people. When they ask, you do.”

As Gerald desperately pleaded, trying to convince Breck that he knew nothing about the old man, the cloaked figure crept behind one of the outline bandits. In a single quick motion the cloaked figure grabbed the man’s hair and brought a long knife up to the man’s neck. “I shall give you a single chance to explain your actions” the cloaked man called out.

Breck looked up from Gerald. Squinting, he took a look around the field. Not seeing anyone besides the tall cloaked figure, Breck shrugged. “He alone. Kill him.”

“So be it” the cloak man muttered, slitting the captured bandit’s throat.

The four men charged, yelling at the top of their lungs and weapons held high. Breck turned back to Gerald, ready to continue questioning poor Gerald, but stopped as the field went suddenly quiet. Confused, Breck pulled his sword out of Gerald’s back as he turned again to face the cloaked man.

“Huh” managed Breck before a knife entered his skull, collapsing to join the four other warriors at the cloaked man’s feet.

Gerald groaned, barely conscious, as the cloaked figured carefully lifted him up. Breathing heavily, Gerald couldn’t make out the face under the cloak. “Who are you” he managed, his breathing short and laboured.

“Priest”, the cloaked man replied.

“Priest of what?” he tried to ask, but the siren call of sleep proved irresistible.

Off in the distance, the sounds of barking dogs could be heard. Priest smiled. At least the old man sent some sleds. Now, time to find out what the old man had called him for.

And then there was two

Crow perched on a small outcropping high in the torch lit cave, and smiled. Wrapped in the black feathered cloak that gives him his name, Crow was invisible to those below. He loved the rush of power he felt, looking down over his slaves pressed tight in the cages. Wild, fearful, pleading eyes peered from the faces of every kind of race, watching as the guards made their rounds.

Humans, dwarves, elves and things he didn’t even know the name of. All creatures have worth, whether as servants, entertainment or food. Crow didn’t care what his men brought in. There was always a buyer.

A shout from one of the guards in the corner drew Crow’s attention. His men had managed to grab a young feline and its containment was proving difficult. Brutally cunning fighters and incredibly stubborn, a properly broken feline can fetch a huge sum as a prized pet among certain noble classes. As difficult as it is to get a child away from its tribe, they were well worth the effort. Crow had lucked out with this one. Its tribe had faced a brutal winter, loosing most of its members during a extensive cold snap. Weakened as they were, his men were easily able to dispatch the few remaining tribe members. It was a shame the two other children didn’t survive. They were worth only a fraction as much as meat.

Leaning in to get a better look, Crow reached back to grab the rope he used to climb up for support. But instead of rough, thick rope, his fingers wrapped around smooth, cold chain. With a start, Crow let go and tried to spin around, but his foot slipped on the narrow ledge. Before he could even cry out, four ink black chains unfurled from the darkness above and wrapped tightly around him.

Crow tried to scream for help as a small, thin, naked man dropped from the darkness onto the ledge, but the chains had crushed all air from his lungs. He couldn’t move, scream, or even breathe.

The small man sat there hunched, staring at him, as Crow had stared at the slaves. The man’s pale skin was stretched tight over his ribs; his long dark hair was thin and greasy and reaching out from behind his back were six long, oily black chains. But worst of all was the man’s eyes. Open wide, his eyes glinted with a hint of madness and burned with a fire from deep within.

Silently, a chain rose to between Crow and this terrifying man. At the end of the blade was a smooth blade, the light of the fires below glinting off its metal. “My church has fallen and so have you” said the man, as the blade slowly drifted over Crow’s heart.

Desperately, Crow tried to struggle, tried to break free. But it was no use. The chains would not budge, and his lungs burned from lack of air. With one quick motion the blade sunk into Crow’s heart. As his vision faded, Crow could hear the man’s final words. “Your soul has been weighed. Your life has been judged. They have been found wanting.”

Po looked at the cooling corpse for several minutes before lowering it onto the ledge behind him. The guards must die as well, for there was too much blood on their hands to be washed clean. But first, Po must find the young feline. Before she died, Po promised the mother that he would save the child, and Priest would not forgive Po breaking such a promise.

January's Quote

This is the quote Shawn was going to post:

"Everyone dies. It's the final and only lasting justice. Evil exists; it is intelligence in the service of entrophy. When the side of a mountain slides down to kill a village, this is not evil, for evil requires intent. Should a sentient being cause that landslide, there is evil; and requires Justice as a consequence, so that civilization can exist. There is no greater good than Justice, and only if law serves Justice is it good law. It is said correctly that law exists not for the Just but for the unjust, for the Just carry the law in their hearts, and do not need to call it from afar. I bow to no one and I give service only for cause."
-Boba Fett

The Contest

I perched above the city, hiding amongst the clouds. The sky was black, the kind of black that only comes with a storm. My brothers and sisters were with me, hiding here and there among the clouds. It was nights like this that we lived for.

“I will throw the first bolt to start,” Aryana announced, pulling a lightning bolt from the pouch at her waist. “Once it has hit the ground, then you may begin.”

The rest of us grabbed bolts of our own, fingers and arms twitching in anticipation. We watched as she held the bolt lovingly, then tensed her arm and let it fly. BOOM! The bolt hit the ground below us, shattering a tree in two. With that, we were off, throwing bolts of our own. Down and down they came, hitting everything from mail boxes to cars. Some of us threw them quickly, trying to hit as much as we could. Others took their time, trying to land their bolts on the smallest targets.

After about twenty minutes, Aryana stopped us. On our honour, we counted up our scores. Ten points for every small target hit, five for every large one. Zero points if we missed and just hit the ground. Of the five of us, I had the highest score.

“Congratulations Eva, it looks like you’ve won tonight,” Aryana said with a smile. The others grumbled as they handed over their left-over lightning bolts. With a big grin, I started launching them down, three at a time, until there were no more. Then we launched ourselves into the sky, off to collect more lightning bolts for the next storm.

I've Come a Long Way, Baby

“What happened to you? Last I heard, you were at the top of your class, you loved your country, and you were a model citizen. Then you appear before me in the court for a crime such as this. You have come a long way, Wesley. How does the accused plead?”

Wesley looked up from the stand, into the icy eyes of the judge, and said, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The bailiff spit out his coffee in shock; he, as well as everyone else in the courtroom, knew that the boy was full of it. The judge caught wind of this and continued, “You mean to tell me, under oath, that you mean to plead ‘not guilty’ to the charges?”

Wesley thought about his response. He finally added, “Well, no. I did it–”

A large gasp fell over the crowd.

Wesley paused again, surprised at the reaction, before continuing, “I did it, but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Silence fell over the courtroom, besides a faint sobbing of a small child that could be heard near the back of the room. The child eventually quieted down once the child’s mother reassured him as best as she could.

The judge proceeded, “Let it be known that the accused pleaded guilty to this most heinous of crimes. Now, the accused shall be sentenced to–”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

The stone cold gaze of the judge came back to Wesley. Whispering in the courtroom grew to louder discussion. The judge pounded his gavel on his block, “Order! Order in the courtroom!”

He then proceeded to point the gavel straight at Wesley, “You aren’t in a position to tell us what is right and wrong. The law is on the books, and you disobeyed it.”

Wesley shook his head in disbelief, “I didn’t do anything wrong…I mean, I’d do it again in a second.”

A larger gasp than the first ensued and people started shouting. Several members of the jury stood up in disbelief, and one of the jurors fainted. “Order!” shouted the judge, pounding his gavel once more, “Order!”

“I mean, I crossed the street on a red light, but there weren’t even any cars coming! I didn’t do anything wrong!” continued Wesley.

“Such a thing to say! You broke the law,” the judge was at a loss of words, “How can you say such things?”

Wesley looked at the crowd and couldn’t help smiling at the recklessness that the judge could not control. He looked back at the judge and said, “I guess I’ve come a long way, baby.”

I Shall Exterminate Everything Around Me that Restricts Me From Being the Master

“Everything around us is a means for learning. Life is the domain that I have created to allow us to attempt to adapt to our surroundings in order to grow, physically and intellectually.

“I am creation, remember that; it is probably the third most important thing I can teach you, not that you care about what I’m saying one bit. I create and I observe, and I attempt to learn from the past in order to improve the future. Despite what many believe, what the others believe is, in fact, true: I am not perfect. And this is where the second most important lesson I can teach you comes in.

“You are destruction and do not forget that you are the most necessary part of this domain. I create, I build, but I do make mistakes. It is up to you to destroy the mistakes so that I can improve upon them; you are needed to make room for the future, as I close in on perfection.

“Of course, you do not believe me that I am using you for these purposes. You feel that you have free will, but the truth is you do not. You believe that you exterminate everything around you that restricts you from being the master. However, this brings me to the most important lesson I can teach you.

“You are a part of me. I know you do not want to believe me, and I know you never will, but I want you to know that. Just remember that your quest to become the master will never come true, because you are nothing more than a tool to help me reach perfection.

“I am the master.”

First Priest of the Church of Retribution

It was a late night in a small tavern in a small town. The bartender was chatting with a patron. The kitchen busy cleaning the pots and grills. The dozen or so patrons relaxing after a long day. It was a night like most others, quiet but welcoming, in strutted a finely dressed man surrounded by six guards. At once, conversation stopped and an air of resignation filled the room.

"Mmmmhmmm. Mighty fine place you have here Roberts. Such a . . . quaint place."

"My lord Hendricks" sputtered Robert, scurrying out from behind the bar. "What brings you to humble tavern?"

"Oh, me and the gents were just returning from the Morgan's farms. Seems they lied about how much livestock they raised. And after going through the unpleasant business of confiscating their food stocks I figured the boys could use a good hot bowl of stew."

"But sir, the maids just cleaned the pots. There's no stew left."

"Well then, make some more. Lads, throw some tables together!"

Robert stated blankly as the guards dragged several of the patrons out of their chairs and swept the plates onto the floor. "But sir! The maids are tired!" Robert cried. "You can't. ."

With a loud crack Robert stumbled backwards, reeling from the the lords mailed back hand. Blinking, he staggered, tasting blood and feeling a sharp pain in his jaw. "Do not tell your lord what he can and can not do" lord Hendrick said with a snort. With a look of utter contempt he took in the shocked faces of the peasants. "I think we shall dine alone tonight."

Slowly Robert bowed, trying not to loose his balance. As the patrons carefully made their way around the guards to the door the kitchen staff, having seen everything, began preparing the kitchen once again. "As you wish." He said.

Within moments, the tavern was cleared of everyone save lord Hendrick, Robert, and hooded man in a back corner calmly eating his bowl of soup. While Robert was trying to remember who the poor fool was, a guard strolled up to the old man's table. "Dinners over drudge."

"Not done soup." replied the man, in a frail, quiet voice.

"Oh yes you are" said the guard, sweeping the bowl of soup onto the man's lap. At least, thats what the guard tried to do. Instead, without realizing how it happened, the guard was on his knees, screaming in pain as the man wrenched back a finger with his right hand. The hand that was holding the soup spoon. Calmly, the man continued eating, now with his left hand.

As the other guards rushed forward, the man released his grip. Gasping, he got to his feet, the other guards raising their swords to the sitting man.

"Wasting foods a sin." The man replied, calmly. "You aren't a sinner. Are you?"

The guards shifted their, looking between themselves. The subtle shift in the mans voice coupled with his perfect calmness signaled that primitive part of their brains that all men who fight, and survive, learn to listen to. And it was saying "DON'T SAY YES!!!!"

"What are you doing?" blustered lord Hendrick, far to slow to catch on. When the guards didn't answer, still unsure how to react, lord Hendrick shoved his way through his men, face redder and redder.

"What is the meaning of this! Do you have any idea who I am? Are you even listening to me?!?!"

*slurp*

Eyes bulging and face bright red, lord Hendrick pointed his finger at the man's temple. "Guards! Kill this. . . this. . . *gurgle*". A disbelieving hand shakily raising to the black pommeled knife protruding from his throat, lord Hendrick collapsed.

"Your life has been judged and found wanting." The man lowered his spoon into the empty bowl and stood. His body unfolded slowly and the guards had to look up into the face of this seven foot tall man. If indeed he could be called a man. His pale gaunt face framed was by his long grey hair. The man had a filthy grey, blood soaked bandage wrapped over his eyes, but still looked directly into the face of each of the guards.

Wordlessly he stepped over the fresh corpse, the guards stepped aside and quickly lowered their eyes and weapons. They'd all heard the stories. They knew they lived or died by this mans whim.

As the man walked by Robert, broken jaw slack, he dropped a heavy bag on the table. "Good soup."

The guards watched the man's back as he left, not one making a move for the throwing dagger at their belt. No one would strike a priest of the fallen church. Not even in the back.

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