A former executive or something.
- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- Writing Levels
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Surrealism, Surreal Horror (Think Tim Burton), Steampunk, Sci-Fi Fantasy, Spaghetti Westerns, Mercenaries, Dieselpunk, Cyberpunk, Historical fantasies
Chapter One: Yearning for the Hand of Freedom
I've lost track of how many days I've spent in this castle. It might have been a week, it might have been a month. Either way, I feel like I've been trapped here for years. I didn't know where I was going; I wasn't headed anywhere in particular. The moment I stepped foot on this territory, I knew I should have turned back. Something told me to keep going, though. I could hear the cries of troubled souls; the mourns of those in need.
Before I could investigate further, I was greeted by an old aged man. I was too confused to hear what it was he said, but I believe it was something religious. Seconds later, I was forced into a cart, trapped by barred walls. My sword was confiscated, too. There was nothing I could do to escape in such a limited amount of space.
There's insanity in this castle. Killers, sinners, schizophrenics... They're everywhere. I've done my share of killing, but it was all deserved. I'm a server of justice; a protector of the good. I've been betrayed and left for dead by my closest allies, whom also deserve to die. God will banish them to Hell when their day of death arrives. He won't accept back stabbers into his paradise.
I now sit in this plain prison of a room. My bed is surprisingly comfortable and is made for me every morning. Otherwise, I hate it here. There's no window in my room because I'm not allowed to see the outside world. The walls are dense so I can't hear anyone speak outside of my room. People seem paranoid that I'll somehow tear a hole in my room and get genocidal. That is foolish... I'd bruise my knuckles attempting such a thing. I've no strength of a brute.
Some of the male Doctors look at me like they've never seen a woman before. I suppose that's not surprising... Some of the captives must have lost their charm since coming here. Others look at me suspiciously, though. It's rumoured that I'm crazy; that I don't understand what's going on. They call me dangerous. Well, that's one thing they have right. I'm not a warrior to be trifled with. I proved this one day when I punched one of the Doctors in the eye for touching me where I did not wish to be touched. Since then, some enter wearing masks with angry expressions, hoping to defend themselves from my wrath.
They say I need to "keep the monster under control".
Goddammit, I'm not insane. I do not belong here. I'm... I'm not a monster. Am I?
No. It can't be.
I'll free myself from this place, with the rest of the prisoners following me, if they wish to escape as well. Locking a person like this is madness. It's unfair. So I will be these peoples' saviour.
Even if that means if I see them again in the future, I will strike them with my righteous blade.
Behold. Damascus will cease to be a city; it shall become a heap of ruins!
I am the reaper of this land; an angel of death sent by the LORD to remove sinners from the world. Such is the lot of our despoilers, the portion of them that plunder us.
I rest calm and confident in my habitation. These white walls mean nothing to me. Everyday, they bring in food and fix up my bed as if I am their little pet. I see right through them...I do. There is nothing remotely human about them....I know this for many reasons.
They believe that I am nothing more than a frail little girl that cannot defend herself. Kekekkekek. Such arrogance. I am not a mere little girl. I am WILLIAM, SAINT OF CONQUEST! I must make up for my sins in life in order to become whom I once was. My punishment could be much worse, after all. I am just waiting for the day the Knight arrives. SHE will be the hour of their doom. This is why they fear her.
The LORD tells me so. Kekekekekek.
There was once a prophet that knew of the evils of the Reds and their Castle. It went something like this: They had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal--the redness and the horror of blood!"
Everyday, the demons in their masks appear. They have no shape or souls. They are little more than pointless devils that do the bidding for their master, the Queen of these lands. They come and say "Control the Monster Within." I shall not stand for such foolishness. They are sinners.
So I yell back at them, “Every head is ailing, every heart is sick. From head to foot no sport is sound: all bruises and welt and festering sores-Not pressed out, not bound up, not softened with oil. Your land is waste, your cities brunt down; before your eyes, the yield of your soil is consumed by strangers-A WASTELAND AS OVERTHROWN BY STRANGERS!”
They pin me down and lock me in a jacket with chains and weights, so that I cannot harm them. They try to tell me that my views on the LORD are wrong. Kekekekeke, such fools. For they are wrong!
Their castle is meant to keep sickness out from the country side, so the "doctors" say. It is ultimately an oppressive structure, there are few of the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.