Tag: fridok

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 5 – The Price of Entry

Andrew Michael Miller2 Comments

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.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 4 – At the Foot of the Stairs

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

"Alaricus, are you deaf or are you choosing to ignore me?" demanded Valoricus, Alaric's father, in the overbearing tone he had adopted toward him in the years since his older brother Quintus had died. Alaric stopped his singing and rested his fingers on the lyre strings, thinking about how to best respond this time. He knew better than to ignore his father, and Alaric sensed real concern in his father's inflection. "Is everything alright, father?" he responded just loudly enough, wrapping his response in his typical charm that worked on everyone else in the City except for his father. "No," his father bit back, louder. "You must come here at once!"

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 3 – The Stones

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

Nineteen years before the betrayal The hardy young laborer Fridok wiped sweat from his brow and drank the bitter and sandy water from his banged-up, dingy tin canteen. He tried and failed to tune out the foreman squawking insults at the other stone workers. Those kids wouldn't cut it in this hard vocation; they would have to find something else to do for their wages. Pity. Stone work was decent pay for someone of Fridok's station. It would never elevate his status in the City, but it would keep his belly full and his hands busy. He couldn't hope for more than that. The Walls kept the demons outside at bay, but did nothing to address the invisible demons that… Continue reading The Apostate Saint: Chapter 3 – The Stones

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 2 – The Candle

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

The candle display on the Outer Sanctum alone was a marvel to behold, a true testament to the wonders of the Namer's creation. It had taken monks a full week to set up the display prior to the start of Beneficia, the week-long festival that pre-dated the Fall of Man. ALARICUS CABALLARIUS LUCIDIUS - Alaric, as he was known to his contemporaries, allowed himself reprieve from his duties to the Lord to see the tiny lights dancing in the wind. By themselves, none of the candles were remarkable. It was only when they were there, in their right places designated by skilled artists, that they amounted to something greater than themselves. If one were to remove just one from the collection, the whole display would be weaker in its absence. Alaric was proud to be here, in the place carefully designated for him.

The Apostate Saint: Chapter 1 – The Spear and the Sword

Andrew Michael Miller1 Comment

The careworn veteran of the Crusades could no longer distinguish the far-off incessant bustle of the Beneficia festival-goers from the forever-agonized gnashing of the lesser demons who still crawled through the lands. Such was the state of the man who foolishly agreed to set off from the White Walled City without stature or status, who survived his many tours only to gain short-lived, hollow praise. He received only a fleeting fraction of the reward that was promised to the veterans. His noble brothers-in-arms didn't enjoy the same discouragement. Lucky them.