The Old Friar’s Tale

The old friar walked using his staff for support. Truth be told, he did not want to reach his destination, as he fought back tears, he knew this was to be possibly the hardest journey of his life. However the woman at his side would not allow him to slow his pace, let alone stop.

The woman - the Inquisitor - was short. Just over five feet in height. However, her presence, her AUTHORITY, made her seem far taller. She must have once been considered pretty, possibly even beautiful, but her face was heavily scarred. The worst one bisected her left eye, it actually looked like a three-fingered claw mark, running down the left side of her face, from forehead to chin. The eye, which had been destroyed, was replaced by a softly glowing topaz gemstone, while her right eye was a shade of pale blue and was surprisingly lovely. She kept her golden blonde hair shorn close to her scalp, in an almost mannish fashion, and she was clad in dull black leather armor. Over this she wore her scarlet inquisitor's robe. At her left side, sheathed in a simple scabbard, was a short stabbing blade. The friar had noticed its pommel ended in a raptor’s taloned claw holding a clear gem-stone which occasionally flashed with a noxious green energy. Completing her ensemble was a heavy chain around her neck holding a medallion with the symbol proclaiming her allegiance to the Holy Duality’s inquisition. Not for the first time the friar remarked silently to himself, that this small, hard woman was definitely not what he imagined an inquisitor to look like.

Behind them were the six men-at-arms the inquisitor had brought with her into the village. They followed in two columns of three warriors each. All wore the scarlet shirts of the inquisition’s warriors, over which they wore black studded-leather jerkins and open-faced steel helms. The first and last warrior in each line was armed with a large, round wooden shield bearing the symbol of the Inquisition, and at their sides were sheathed straight-bladed swords. The middle warrior in each line carried a well made arbalest, with a quarrel already knocked in case of trouble. Each arbalester was also armed with a short stabbing sword at his side. But it was the figure at the center of this troop of hard-bitten men that drew one’s attention. A short, thin young woman, barely more than a child at only fifteen summers - and small for that. She had pale white skin, and shoulder length greasy brown hair. She was clad in a plain dirty dress, once white, now gray from the grime, and her feet were bare. But the most profound part of this pathetic creature’s visage was the cruel metal mask that enclosed her face, for though it was simple, there was something in its aspect that was horrific. The least disturbing feature were the chains going from each side of the mask to the belts of each arbalester who stood adjacent to her. Adding to the girl’s torment were the manacles that kept her hands together behind her back and the gag in her mouth.

The friar looked over his shoulder every few minutes at the hapless girl. Finally, despite his fear, he felt compelled to speak: “surely Lady Inquisitor, we do not need to have the poor child bound in such a cruel way?”

The Inquisitor stopped and stared into his eyes momentarily before speaking - the friar had to avert his face from her stern gaze, though he could not say if it was her gem-stone eye or the woman’s remaining natural orb that forced him to look away.

“In most times friar, your compassion would do you credit. However, now is not one of those times.” The woman had a “large voice”. A commanding voice. And she spoke with the cultured accent of someone well educated. “Remember what our Lord, the Just Arbiter commanded: abhor the witch, destroy the witch.”

“Yes my Lady Inquisitor you are undoubtedly correct.” The friar replied sheepishly. But much to his chagrin she continued.

“Oh I am indeed correct. There were no doubt gentle souls, like you friar, who showed compassion to Marius the World-Burner in his youth. Think, if we had stopped him then, how many lives would have been saved? Or how different our world would be today.” The Inquisitor pointedly reminded him.

At the mention of the arch-warlock, the friar made a ward against evil before muttering. “Indeed my Lady Inquisitor, indeed.”

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Marius the World-Burner. The Warlock King. In ages past, his birth had been foretold. A great master of magic. He was to be the herald of the golden age. Ushering in a Utopia. However, instead of the shining city on the hill, he had brought horror. Horror and war. He was a vile warlock whose mad followers had formed a cult that massacred all who opposed him. Alone he was said to be the match of a thousand knights, and he had used his minions and his black sorceries to become an iron-fisted tyrant. He had lived - and ruled - for decade after decade, century after century. And he had challenged and then warred with other beings from other realms. Horrors from beyond the fair fields and forests we knew, things from the night sky and hidden places. Things that were named in the most ancient and forbidden texts as demons.

It was whispered that many valiant souls rose against Marius, only to meet their doom and to be erased from the minds of men, as so no others would know of their heroics and be inspired to rebel.

But finally, came the Holy Duality, the Blessed Lady and the Just Arbiter, along with their comrades and their golden, winged servants: Angels. The angels of war and fire. Thanks be to all the powers of creation that the Holy Duality came and were able to cast down the tyrant. Not slay him mind you, not even that worthy and blessed pair could achieve that, but banish him to the outer dark, the realm of his demonic enemies, for all eternity. But even then, the wars had been great and fully half the kingdom’s men had died - either fighting for Marius or against him. In fact, it had been more than four centuries and still we had not recovered. Still there were towns and villages where the graves outnumbered the living. And whole family lines, clans and even tribes of mankind had been wiped out in these wars, their potential lost to us.

This is what Marius the World-Burner had cost us, and was the reason we cannot suffer the witch to live. For we can ill afford another Warlock King.

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“How much farther friar?” The Inquisitor asked.

“Mayhaps another half-hour, my Lady Inquisitor.” The friar answered.

“Good. For once we get to the stones the ritual can begin. And the witch, you are sure she has no living family?” The Inquisitor asked, not for the first time.

“No, my Lady Inquisitor. The child is an orphan. She was a ward of the friary. We had no indication of what she was...well, is. Not until several of the village’s ne'er-do-wells...well...they took certain...liberties…” The friar explained awkwardly, remembering the scene...the bodies of the young men who had tried to have their way with the girl. Their blood had literally painted the walls red.

The friar snapped out of his reverie when the Inquisitor answered: “do not blame yourself good friar. Evil oftentimes hides behind the fairest of facades. It is what happens now. Now that the witch has been revealed that we must concern ourselves with.”

Finally the moment the friar had been dreading had come. The small entourage had reached their destination. An ancient site. A deep central pit resembling a brick lined well, over which was a great stone dolmen. From the bottom of the dolmen’s “table” hung two manacles crafted of an eldritch alloy of cold-forged meteoric iron and silver. Around this central pit there were five rune-carved stone menhirs Arranged in a pentagonal shape around the central pit and dolemen. The friar knew that this ritual would involve hanging the child upside down from her feet and draining her life’s blood into the pit - only then could they be sure the witch was dead. Then her bloodless corpse would be dropped into the ”bottomless pit” to rot. The friar had read about the ritual a dozen times. But reading about it? That was one thing. Seeing it enacted, and on a child that he had known since her birth? That was another thing altogether.

“Are we sure this is needed? She is just a child!” The friar began.

“Friar! We have been over this already. Suffer not the witch to live. After all it was you who called for me.” The Inquisitor sternly reminded him.

“But what if I am wrong…” The friar started pleading.

“But you KNOW you are not!” The Inquisitor raised her voice. She then turned to her men-at-arms and said: “leave the mask and manacles on. Strip her and hang her upside down.”

It was then that the friar launched himself at the Inquisitor in a panic “No! Stop! This is not right!” However before he could reach her, the closest man-at-arms knocked him to the ground with his shield. The rest of the warriors did not even turn to look as they went about their dark work.

“Hold!” The Inquisitor commanded the guard before he could enact further violence. “He is only an old man. A foolish old man. But an old man nonetheless. And not everyone is suited for these grim tasks.” The Inquisitor stared down at him, the contempt she felt evident in her gaze. “Friar. Attempt to interfere in our holy work again and my troops and I will have to find our own way back to your village. Do I make myself clear?” The Inquisitor asked grimly.

When the friar only looked at her slack-jawed, she screamed at him: “I said, do I make myself clear you weak old fool!”

The friar quickly nodded his head. However this seemed to anger the Inquisitor further. “Speak with your voice! Say the words before I have them cut out your tongue!” She screamed.

“Y-yes. Yes Lady Inquisitor I understand and I will not interfere.” He replied on the verge of tears.

“Good.” The Inquisitor turned back to her men. “Proceed with your orders!”

It was then that they heard the stranger speak. A voice from outside the menhirs. “Well. Well. Well. It looks like I have arrived just in time.”

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Everyone stopped and looked toward the voice. From the ground the friar stared at the stranger in open-mouthed astonishment. The man was mounted. But not on a horse, for no horse could make the journey on this rocky uneven terrain. He was mounted on a dog. The most enormous dog the friar had even imagined. The dog was far larger than the biggest draft horse back in the village, and it was no common hound or mean cur. For the dog had jet black fur, a tail that curved up over its back, and erect ears. It was well groomed and it reminded the friar of a drawing of a lion he had seen once in an old book about the mythical eastern lands. But the most striking thing about the dog was its smiling face that exposed its lulling blue-black tongue.

And that was merely the dog. The man on the dog was another matter. He wore a dazzling royal blue hooded cloak over a finely wrought suit of traveler's garb. The hood shaded the top of the man’s face but the friar could see he wore a short beard or possibly a goatee and that this beard was a reddish-brown hue. Also there was a pretty gray and white short haired cat perched on the stranger’s left shoulder like a parrot on a pirate captain from an old sea yarn the friar had read as a boy.

The Inquisitor demanded from the stranger: “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Who am I? I doubt you would believe me if I told you. And as to why I am here? I am here to stop you from murdering that child.” The stranger replied matter of factly.

“What? She is not a mere child! She is a WITCH!” The Inquisitor nearly screeched the final word.

“A witch? Oh yes, I suppose she is. She is a sorceress of the old blood. I can sense her potential from here. Even with that horrid mask on her. With the right training, she will grow mighty with the eldritch arts indeed.” Said the stranger.

“Right training? You mean your training? So you are one of the vile adherents of Marius the World-Burner?” The Inquisitor again demanded as she reached for her still sheathed short sword.

“Walker.” Was the only reply the stranger gave.

“What?” The Inquisitor said.

“My name. It is not World-Burner. I was known as Marius the World-WALKER.” He said with the hint of a sardonic smile on his face.

“Nonsense!” The guard next to the Inquisitor, an ugly hard-bitten man with a bushy-black beard and a twisted, broken nose blurted out. “You are not him!”

The Inquisitor glanced at her retainer for an instant before responding: “He is correct. You are a liar. A liar as well as a WITCH!” Again the Inquisitor screeched the word.

The stranger answered by smiling even more smugly and pulling back the hood that concealed his upper face.

The friar cried out loud as they all looked upon the stranger’s fully exposed visage. The rest of the group was stunned into silence.

The stranger was a mildly handsome man, with pale, smooth skin, clear blue eyes, close-cropped reddish brown hair, and a short goatee. He appeared at most forty years of age. But it was the third eye - the golden reptilian eye in the center of his forehead, known as the dreaded Oculas Madriax, that caused them to pause. For the group recognized the stranger’s face - and the eye. For it was a face they all had seen, in the holy texts that had all read since they were children. It was the face of the devil. The face of Marius the World-Burner!

The Inquisitor, her remaining eye opened wide, pulled her short stabbing blade. Where the hilt and crossguard were like works of art, crafted by a master, the sword’s blade was just the opposite: Discolored, pitted and corroded, it seemed to give off a yellowish green “steam” when it was pulled from its scabbard. Like a block of polluted ice. The Inquisitor grasped her medallion in her left hand and whispered platitudes like prayers. “Purge the unclean! Suffer not the witch to live!”

She then pointed at Marius the World-Burner with her steaming, poisonous sword and commanded her warriors: “Kill Him! And the girl!”

What happened next, happened with such alacrity that the friar would have trouble remembering it correctly. The two arbalesters fired at the Warlock-King with their bows, Marius made a small sweeping gesture with his left hand and the two bolts transformed into actual ravens and flew straight up into the sky! An instant later he made a short chopping, diagonal gesture with his right hand, from upper left to lower right. The friar later swore he saw the very air take on an edge. An edge that cut through the ugly bearded warrior and the arbalester behind him, splitting them both in twain and their torn bloody corpses fell to the earth with a shower of gore. Marius then punched out with his left hand and the guard that had knocked the friar to the ground was struck with a devastating, telekinetic force. The guard’s shield shattered as if hit by a giant’s hammer and the guard was thrown back into the mehir a few feet behind him with an audible crack as his bones were pulverized.

As the last remaining arbalester furiously worked the crank of his bow, the cat leapt from Marius’ shoulder and grew into the size of a tiger as it hit the hapless man and crushed him to the ground, he was able to utter a short scream before the giant cat tore out his throat.

The Inquisitor rushed forward screaming “Abhor the Witch! Kill the Witch!” As she charged forward the huge black “lion dog” said in a loud feminine voice: “You talk too much you silly bitch! And besides, you keep repeating yourself!” As she struck out with her huge right paw, connecting with the Inquisitor’s chest. The Inquisitor was knocked flying back into the well-pit and her screams echoed as she fell deep into the earth.

The last two warriors ran with their blades out toward the helpless girl who lay naked on the cold, wet ground. One of the warriors had already torn her scant, dirty dress from her before Marius interrupted the ritual and she lay curled up in a fetal position.

Marius glanced up and a golden beam of energy lanced from the Oculas Madriax into the first warrior and he just...ceased to be... only a brief haunting echo of a scream marked that he had even been there. The last remaining guard stopped and in great fear dropped his shield and sword. “I yield! Please Lord, I implore you for mercy.” The guard, a thin man with a badly pox-marked face, put his hands into the air and slowly dropped to his knees.

The Oculas Madriax allowed Marius to see into realms that human-kind could scarcely comprehend. Let alone perceive. Not just dimensions of space, but of time. It allowed him to see colors that we can not even see, colors that we could not describe or name. Parts of these colors were emotions. Yes, emotions created colors, just like colors could create emotions. The guard was a petty, black-hearted man. He went upon his work with great pleasure. The tortures, the rapes, the fear that he instilled in the women and children, the supposed witches the inquisition gave him access to. These colors swirled around him like phantoms. Screaming, horror-filled phantoms.

“Mercy? Yes I guess this will be such. At least compared to the things you have done.” Marius stated flatly as another golden beam blasted the last warrior from existence.

The friar lay on the ground. It happened so fast. In seconds the stranger...the warlock...and his familiars? They had killed all of them in seconds. The friar looked around in terror. And suddenly a shadow covered him and he looked up at the giant dog smiling down at him. “Old father. It would be best if you were still and quiet now.” The giant dog said in a jovial manner as she used her right paw - the same paw she had used to knock the Inquisitor into the pit - to push him further into the dirt.

The cat walked back toward the giant dog, shrinking back to the size of a normal cat with every step. The dog looked down at the cat, “Look at you, you are a mess, you have blood all over your face!”

The cat smiled back at the giant dog before responding in a woman's voice: “don’t worry, I am going to clean my claws.” The cat walked up to the friar and stared down at him. Without looking up, the cat continued to speak to the dog. “So you have got yourself a mouse I see”.

“Looks that way.” The Giant Dog replied.

“You might as well just go ahead and squish it. It would be best if there were no witnesses.” The cat replied.

“No. We will deal with the good friar soon enough.” Marius entered the conversation. “But first I have other things to attend to.” Marius flew - actually flew - up into the air and out of the friar’s sight.

“Did you see that nasty sword that scar-faced bipedal bitch had? Where does one get a nasty blade like that?” The giant dog asked the talking cat.

Giant talking dogs and size altering talking cats discussing my fate! A warlock claiming to be Marius the World-Burner! This is a nightmare! I cannot take much more of this! The friar said to himself in abject terror.

Marius flew to the girl who still shivered in the dirt. “Be at peace girl. Everything is good now. You are safe.” Marius made a gentle gesture with his right hand and the manacles and mask fell from the girl. Marius then reached out with his left hand and gently removed the gag from her mouth. Marius looked at the girl with his flesh and blood eyes. She was not pretty. She was skinny with a weak chin and bad teeth. Her face was badly acne scarred. She reeked of fear. However, with the Oculas Madriax. With that he saw her as a glowing beacon of fate and possibility.

“What is happening?” The girl asked.

“I am here to help you. You will be living with me, and together we will discover your destiny.” With that Marius reached out and touched the girl in the center of her forehead, she then fell into a deep sleep. He then took off his blue cloak and wrapped her in it before carrying her back to his familiars.

Marius landed next to the giant dog and looked down at the friar. “Now for you priest.” He said.

“I am just an old man…” the friar began.

“Oh stop! Old? I was far older than you are now when your great, great grandparents were pulled from the womb.” Marius retorted. “I saw you protect the girl at the risk of your own safety friar. I have seen your aura. And it is these two things that are saving you today.” Marius continued.

“But first you will listen, priest. You may not believe what I will tell you, because you have been raised on propaganda. But you will listen. I am indeed Marius World-Walker. It is your “Holy Duality” who has, as far as I can tell, renamed me ‘World-Burner’. They were once my friends. Your Blessed Lady and Just Arbiter. We fought together against the forces of darkness that threatened this world. But something happened and they betrayed me. They turned against me. And I was banished to far away realms.” Marius explained. “But I have returned.”

“But the wars you waged against the demons?” The friar asked.

“I defended this world - our world - from would-be conquerors. Along with your saints and the others.” Marius responded.

“But all the dead…” The friar began.

“You mean my students that were massacred after I was betrayed and locked out? Or the losses we suffered in the invasions? Those were dark, dark times.” Marius looked up into the sky.

“Regardless of what you choose to believe in, priest. I have returned and soon, so will they. And I must be ready.” Marius turned away.

“They?” The friar asked.

“Yes, the enemies we battled, the “demons” that you mentioned. And other things. Things even the demons fear. I must gather what forces I can. So I am letting you live, old priest. Why? Maybe because I want someone to know the truth.” Marius said before flying back upon the dog. He held the sleeping girl, wrapped his cloak and the cat jumped back up upon his shoulder.

“And if I were you I would make up some story, about bandits, or maybe bears. People are going to ask questions.” The cat called out from Marius’ shoulder.

The friar was about to speak again, but Marius and his group faded away, simply disappearing.

The friar lay on the ground for nearly an hour. Did it really happen? Did I dream this? However, as he stood up and looked around. The blood, the bodies. They were still there. This DID happen. The friar gathered his dirty robe about him and began the long walk back to his village.

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The Inquisitor awoke in great pain. Bruised and battered, she lay on piles of bones. Her enchanted leathers had absorbed much of the impact of the fall, but she still hurt. And she was at the bottom of this pit. As she stood up, she heard movement and a large hideous worm started to crawl in her direction! It had a massive fang-lined mouth and she looked at it with horror and revulsion as it sprang in her direction, she dropped to the floor, finding her enchanted blade beneath her, and brought it up hastily, piercing the worm’s underside and gutting it. She was sprayed with its foul ichor and she gagged and swore.

She looked around hastily to make sure there were no other surprises. It was dark down here, but her gemstone-eye was highly enchanted, so darkness was not a hindrance to her. She then noticed a cave leading out of the pit. That may lead to a way out! And she had to chance it. What choice did she have?

After all, the world had to know that Marius the World-Burner had returned…