Donegal | Year 1307 | Outskirts of Cordale
Aidalis glanced up the sky; staring at the rain that was still falling from the sky in drizzles and drops. It made a pitter patter of rain against metal; rolling off of his pauldrons. There were always a collection of clouds that stretched across the sky, but it was said that there had been a time when the sky had shown clear and bright; deprived of the permanent cloud cover that now stretched across the sky. The cloud cover had rendered the citizens pale and bloodless; and their crops limp and lifeless. Root vegetables were the most common of the foods consumed, and thin, gamy meat. They had never known anything else. She was hungry, and he could understand why. He could only imagine what it must have been like, in the days prior to to the Year 500, when the first angel had fallen, the one that had become part of the Prime Evils. The Gods Who Are Many had turned the sky dark as they wept bitter tears for their lost angel, the one who had gone astray, and they raged against the world of Man, who had let their wayward angel descend into total darkness.
When Kieara pressed his hand against her knee, he felt a shudder go through him. Man was impure, tainted. Evil men, the Enemy of the faith had helped the Prime Evils get their hands on the last angel who had fallen to earth. He was not such an impure man as the agents of the Enemy that worked day by day to spread their diseases on the world. But he had impure thoughts, just as any man did, was not so pure. That is why there were Pain-Tasters. That is why there was the Cleansing. Because Man was sinful, and man was flawed. Aidalis' hand lingered on her knee, brushing the tips of his gauntleted fingers agains the edge of the fabric. Behind his helmet; he closed his eyes, thinking of all the touches he had given throughout his life, and all the touches he had. Nothing came close to an angel; touching that which had been closest to his Gods. He thought of terrible things, dark, dirty, filthy things. A sick look, a hand up the dress; the thought of her without her dress. Angels. Angels who had never seen a Man and knew nothing of what horrors this world had to offer. She was so like a child. So innocent.
At her question, Aidalis was lurched out of his thoughts, and opened his eyes "The Gods scorched the sky, when one of your Sisters was lost." He murmured. "They wept bitter tears for her, and now, they remind us often of how Man failed to save one of their Children ; an angel who had come to us, that we had not taken care of." He tilted his head with a mechanical grating. There was a smile in his voice, a levity, "Your questions do not bother me. I am your servant in all things." He meant it, too. In all sense of the word, he was dedicated to her. He had to be, for he was an All-Sword, and she was an Angel. At the mention of pain in the stomach, he laughed once, not to mock her, but at the fact that hunger was such a novelty for her. He patted her knee once, and then, began to rummage in a saddlebag close to the front of the horse. This was the bag of practical goods, positioned near the saddle so that he could get at his essentials without having to show his precious and unsettling cargo.
From his saddle bag, Aidalis produced a handful of white mushrooms; soft, meaty. Nutrient rich; albeit a bit tasteless. He handed a glove full to her, offering it to her. "You are hungry. Eat. These will help restore your strength, my lady." He bowed his head to her, and continued to gallop forward, down the road, to the city of Gaul, where Aidalis hoped that they could find some answers. He needed to know what he should do with her. The Twelve would need to protect her - but he did not know how they could. Aidalis would not be able to live with himself if this girl, this lovely little girl, met the same end as the angel that had fallen so many centuries ago.
Donegal | Year 1307 | Outskirts of The Cloven Woods
A grim sight awaited them as they entered into the territories surrounding the city of Gaul. Aidalis's horse came a stop at the sight of a narrow corridor of trees that had been hewn at the centers; refurbished into a crude structure, a frame for the handiwork of some vile monster. The masterpiece swung in the center of the frame; two humans strung up by the neck. Aidalis cringed, and kneed his horse in the sides, flicking his reins once. As they passed beneath the swinging corpses, he was able to get a better look at them. The man wore the distinctive red-peaked robes of a priest of his order. They were torn to shreds, and the All-Sword could see that his visible skin was covered in cruel lacerations from what must have been a serrated knife. The other, was a young boy; probably a young boy of the church, just learning the ancient words. Or a squire to some hedge knight that had once taken arms to protect the city of Gaul. The boy was shredded in a similar manner, and from inbetween his legs dripped a sticky, black substance that Aidalis dared not consider. The ground was stained a deep dark red, amongst the otherwise grey and green landscape. There was a roll of thunder, like the starting of the drums of war.One of Aidalis' hands instinctively leapt off from his reins and wrapped gently around Kiera's middle, holding her close to his heavily plated chest, his forearm nestling just under her breasts. His helmeted ad was lifted upward, staring at the mutilated bodies as he passed beneath them.
He murmured to her, his voice strained, "Close your eyes, my lady. Do not look." But he knew that it was in vain. She had seen the ugliness of the world, something dark and terrible that the Enemy had to offer. There was no doubt in Aidalis' mind that this had been the work of the Enemy of the Gods Who Are Many - the Church of All. There were dark cults in the world, things that worshipped the Prime Evils and hoped to see them succeed. They expected to feel impossible pleasure and pain; but the truth was that such things are only possible through the love and discipline of the Gods Who Are Many. He muttered, more to himself than the angel before him, a prayer. In truth, it was a hymnal that he had sung when he was a mere boy , learning the sacred words in the Book of Voices. His mutterings gave way into softly sung prayers. Aidalis' voice was elegant, yes - he had been trained in music when he had been young, when he had been only a devotee to the Gods Who Are Many. It was quick, though, the All-Sword clearly wished to pass this desecration quickly, but still wished to honour those that had fallen.
to your servants with your host,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting.
Your thousand immortal hands,
the creator and unmaker of all;
We are mortal, formed of the flesh
and to your flesh we shall return.
for so you did ordain when you created us, saying,
'You are blood and to blood you shall return.'
Aidalis bowed his head, and his horse began to trot past the site of desecration, the site where a man of a the faith and a very young boy had met their final deaths. His eyes, behind his helmet, stared straight ahead. Through this mostly destroyed wood was the city of Gaul. Once they passed this forest, they would be near Gaul - but this forest was dark and haunted. The ghosts of the Gaulmen lurked amongst the demolished trees; and the Enemy polluted them and bent them to their will. The Cloven Woods, it had been called, when the Gaulmen had fought their war against the first demon invasion, in the Year 501 - the last time one of the Prime Evils had ever walked the earth. It had been the angel, the one who had been pure. Her wings had been massive and cut like broadswords - reducing all of the trees to nothing more than petrified stumps. There was no life here, not any longer. There were only the vile cultists of the Enemy, and the spirits of the Gaulmen who had seen the face of evil, the creature that had called herself the Heresiarch, who had once been beautiful, who had once been a girl like Kieara with innocent eyes, who had seen no monstrosities ; but now, she had. She had seen swinging bodies, and Aidalis could not spare her that.