Art was pulled back to consciousness abruptly by the overpowering aroma of something repulsive. Opening his eyes, he was met immediately by the source of the smell. Face to face with a corpse lying on its side next to him, Art tried and failed to rise from his position. He quickly realized that he was somewhere on the bottom of a pile of corpses, some fresh, some rather far along on the pathway to rot. A newly appreciated claustrophobia overtook Art him as he pressed violently against body parts trying to unbury himself from the pile. He pushed against one corpse that looked the least decomposed, but quickly found it to be rather rigid and immovable. It wasn't until he pressed his hand firmly against a cold, worm-infested body that he managed to make some progress in escaping the heap of corpses in which he was lumped.
Tag: apostate saint
The Apostate Saint: Chapter 23 – Crossing the Line
Valoricus never carried a sword, though he, like all the Cabalarii men since the time before the Fall, had come of age with years of combat training under his belt. The greatest of his ancestors - the generals and consuls of the countless civil wars that led to the downfall of mankind - had effectively set the tone for the family that no man in that line of succession had dared challenge, even over two millennia later. He came from exceptional stock; his was one of the only families from that time in the City's history who could still trace back their heritage - and name - to the great heroes of the past. He didn't need to carry a sword; he was royalty as much as any man could be in a City with no king, and nobody would disrespect the honor of the City so much to threaten anyone in a family of such historical import.
The Apostate Saint: Chapter 11 – The Art of the Sword
Fridok had thrust a fate worse than death upon a man who was simply trying to do his duty. Vitus Malleator was one of Alaric's men, a young and upcoming guardsman whose enthusiasm was his only sin. He should have known the dangers involved with attacking a man wielding a Soul-arm; these weapons were the main factor in why so many demons had been slain by the Crusaders. Their power extended into the realm of the spirits, and thus were able to not only kill the body but destroy the soul. Now, Vitus Malleator was ash and his soul was destroyed. There would be no salvation waiting for him. And it was Fridok who bore the blade that cut him down.
The Apostate Saint: Chapter 6 – The Grand Melee
Swordplay was not Alaric's greatest love. Sure, it was good exercise and he was a natural at it, but it was all just a distraction from the arts - music, in particular. His parents weren't fond of his obsession with playing music, painting and sculpting, but Alaric was obedient to their will, so he was able to pursue his true passion in his spare time without too much objection. Still, it always seemed that the more he did to make them happy, the more they expected out of him. The pace was quickly becoming unsustainable. They wanted a son who was all man, all the time, and that meant that anything that didn't fit in their idea of manhood didn't really have a place in Alaric's life. Winning the melee exhibition was the only feasible opportunity Alaric would have to finally have some breathing room.
The Apostate Saint: Chapter 5 – The Price of Entry
His chance, it seemed, had finally come. Without even allowing himself to catch his breath, Fridok gathered his sword and attached it to his waist. It was time to emerge, once and for all, from this loathsome place with its dank, mold-covered walls and all sorts of foul-smelling odors from any number of the other inhabitants who were rotting away in their own filth. The son of the Toriad had returned to the City to liberate His people from the demons and from themselves, and he had openly called for warriors to join him; His companions would win their place by His side in the proving grounds. There would never again be another chance for Fridok to claim his own salvation, and he knew it.