A story I did for a setting I RP in, dark sword and sorcery type stuff. Enjoy!:
Grigori Samson did not have the most enviable of lives. When he turned thirteen, his home nation of Dalmar declared war on Valikorlia, his father enlisted and was never heard from again. When he turned fourteen, he enlisted in the Dalmarite army and lay witness to countless war crimes to horrid to speak of. At age sixteen a great flash of light split the continent asunder and his whole family; mother, father, wife, children, all were never heard from again. At age nineteen he became a Valikorlian citizen, moved to Ganelon and remarried to a drunken whore of a dungsweeper's daughter. At twenty he became a swineherd and started to make a meager living while rebuilding his life.
For seventeen years he claws his way up from meaningless peasant to lower middle class with a small hovel near Ganelon's Port. Then the unthinkable occurs. The Vinmen, wild barbarian men of the far North, raid Ganelon and it's fate is sealed with a duel. Samson's son was killed while trying to defend Imperial soil, and his wife left him to be one of the Vinmen's salt wives. Now at age thirty three, he has nothing to show for where he came from or who he is. As a Dalmarite he never believed in the gods of the Church, but he knew that if they existed, they were either incompetent or apathetic to his plight.
This was a common sentiment shared by all at the time, almost all of the continent was disillusioned with the Church and with religion in general. They sought a comfortable alternative to the faith and lore of the corrupt establishments, and that was why the thirty seven year old Grigori Samson was here. As he fled from Ganelon to the city of Esthras, he came across an elderly man wearing a yellow priest's robe riding in a rickety old cart pulled by a grey ass.
When the priest offered to give Grigori a lift, Samson felt his anger boil over and he cursed the gods banefully in the old man's face. To his surprise the priest just smiled, "It is refreshing to meet another who feels this way." Samson was shocked, and even more shocked when after his outburst, the priest offered him a ride in his cart to Esthras. He gladly accepted, after all it was several days of journeying till he would've reached the capitol city on foot. Grigori and the old priest talked the entire way there about a multitude of topics the Dalmarite had never even heard of: theology, philosophy, art, sophistry, and still more strange topics that interested and intrigued the former swineherd.
Once they made it past the stone gates of Esthras, the priest in yellow extended an invitation to Grigori, "Care to meet several like minded fellows? You'll fit right in." Those were exactly the words Samson wanted to hear, he'd always been the odd one, and to hear of a place that would accept him made him ecstatic. It was somewhere he could share his grief, learn more of these topics, make friends and connections, and of course discuss their overwhelming hatred of the gods.
Grigori later met his friends in an abandoned orphanage to the far South of town. Nestled deep in the unsettling halls were several other men and women from all walks of life. There were peasants, scholars, soldiers, politicians, nobles, and still more. Samson noted the unsettling aura that the place had, it felt like being alone in the cold, thick darkness as a child. In addition to the plainly clothed folk there were several dressed up in the same yellow robes as the old priest. They stood around the walls with their hoods up over their heads while wearing unsettling porcelain masks. They all held the same position, standing erect and facing the entirety of the crowd like faceless soldiers guarding an unseen kingdom.
Despite the fear everyone felt, most everyone was excited and spoke to their fellows quietly. They spoke of the Archpater, a speaker named Abdiel Crowley who spoke a great many truths. Suddenly a door opened and silence washed over the crowd, mouths were tightly shut and eyes were glued on a tall figure in dark blue robes with gold trims and pale yellow patterns etched across the fabrics. Rather than the unsettling masks of his comrades, Archpater Crowley revealed his face and smiled as he stood before the crowd, he was a charming man to say the least.
He had a slight olive coloured skin, indicating that he had some Luccan in his blood, and a dark brown curly hair to compliment his swarthy complexion. In addition he had the most captivating pale yellow eyes, like nothing Grigori had ever seen before. When he opened his mouth, the sweet waters of truth would flow freely from his words, only to be eagerly lapped up by those around him. "Some of you may be new here and many of you may not be," Samson heard him say, eyes wide with captivation. "Today we eschew the false idols worshiped by the church, those idols which set all of you down a path of destruction and despair. It wracks me with sorrow to know that such evils can be perpetrated by one who calls themselves an Archpriest."
Instantly he struck a chord with all the jaded souls in the room, all of the people whom had been struck by tragedy, cynicism or simply felt intellectually curious were now captivated by his oration. Grigori was no different, he listened to Crowley speak and offer them warmth and salvation, and a path to a true god. A god that really cares, a god who's gifts can be seen, a god who will not stand for these false idols which ravage the continent's hearts and souls. "Steel yourselves, brothers and sisters. Steel yourselves against the bigotry of the Church, of the Empire. Steel yourselves against the wild men of the North, but most of all steel yourselves against the idolatry that the Church peddles. And prepare yourself for their end, the Holy King in Yellow's coming, and your ascension to paradise."
Never in Samson's life had he found this much acceptance, this much happiness. He was ready to die for them.
Grigori Samson did not have the most enviable of lives. When he turned thirteen, his home nation of Dalmar declared war on Valikorlia, his father enlisted and was never heard from again. When he turned fourteen, he enlisted in the Dalmarite army and lay witness to countless war crimes to horrid to speak of. At age sixteen a great flash of light split the continent asunder and his whole family; mother, father, wife, children, all were never heard from again. At age nineteen he became a Valikorlian citizen, moved to Ganelon and remarried to a drunken whore of a dungsweeper's daughter. At twenty he became a swineherd and started to make a meager living while rebuilding his life.
For seventeen years he claws his way up from meaningless peasant to lower middle class with a small hovel near Ganelon's Port. Then the unthinkable occurs. The Vinmen, wild barbarian men of the far North, raid Ganelon and it's fate is sealed with a duel. Samson's son was killed while trying to defend Imperial soil, and his wife left him to be one of the Vinmen's salt wives. Now at age thirty three, he has nothing to show for where he came from or who he is. As a Dalmarite he never believed in the gods of the Church, but he knew that if they existed, they were either incompetent or apathetic to his plight.
This was a common sentiment shared by all at the time, almost all of the continent was disillusioned with the Church and with religion in general. They sought a comfortable alternative to the faith and lore of the corrupt establishments, and that was why the thirty seven year old Grigori Samson was here. As he fled from Ganelon to the city of Esthras, he came across an elderly man wearing a yellow priest's robe riding in a rickety old cart pulled by a grey ass.
When the priest offered to give Grigori a lift, Samson felt his anger boil over and he cursed the gods banefully in the old man's face. To his surprise the priest just smiled, "It is refreshing to meet another who feels this way." Samson was shocked, and even more shocked when after his outburst, the priest offered him a ride in his cart to Esthras. He gladly accepted, after all it was several days of journeying till he would've reached the capitol city on foot. Grigori and the old priest talked the entire way there about a multitude of topics the Dalmarite had never even heard of: theology, philosophy, art, sophistry, and still more strange topics that interested and intrigued the former swineherd.
Once they made it past the stone gates of Esthras, the priest in yellow extended an invitation to Grigori, "Care to meet several like minded fellows? You'll fit right in." Those were exactly the words Samson wanted to hear, he'd always been the odd one, and to hear of a place that would accept him made him ecstatic. It was somewhere he could share his grief, learn more of these topics, make friends and connections, and of course discuss their overwhelming hatred of the gods.
Grigori later met his friends in an abandoned orphanage to the far South of town. Nestled deep in the unsettling halls were several other men and women from all walks of life. There were peasants, scholars, soldiers, politicians, nobles, and still more. Samson noted the unsettling aura that the place had, it felt like being alone in the cold, thick darkness as a child. In addition to the plainly clothed folk there were several dressed up in the same yellow robes as the old priest. They stood around the walls with their hoods up over their heads while wearing unsettling porcelain masks. They all held the same position, standing erect and facing the entirety of the crowd like faceless soldiers guarding an unseen kingdom.
Despite the fear everyone felt, most everyone was excited and spoke to their fellows quietly. They spoke of the Archpater, a speaker named Abdiel Crowley who spoke a great many truths. Suddenly a door opened and silence washed over the crowd, mouths were tightly shut and eyes were glued on a tall figure in dark blue robes with gold trims and pale yellow patterns etched across the fabrics. Rather than the unsettling masks of his comrades, Archpater Crowley revealed his face and smiled as he stood before the crowd, he was a charming man to say the least.
He had a slight olive coloured skin, indicating that he had some Luccan in his blood, and a dark brown curly hair to compliment his swarthy complexion. In addition he had the most captivating pale yellow eyes, like nothing Grigori had ever seen before. When he opened his mouth, the sweet waters of truth would flow freely from his words, only to be eagerly lapped up by those around him. "Some of you may be new here and many of you may not be," Samson heard him say, eyes wide with captivation. "Today we eschew the false idols worshiped by the church, those idols which set all of you down a path of destruction and despair. It wracks me with sorrow to know that such evils can be perpetrated by one who calls themselves an Archpriest."
Instantly he struck a chord with all the jaded souls in the room, all of the people whom had been struck by tragedy, cynicism or simply felt intellectually curious were now captivated by his oration. Grigori was no different, he listened to Crowley speak and offer them warmth and salvation, and a path to a true god. A god that really cares, a god who's gifts can be seen, a god who will not stand for these false idols which ravage the continent's hearts and souls. "Steel yourselves, brothers and sisters. Steel yourselves against the bigotry of the Church, of the Empire. Steel yourselves against the wild men of the North, but most of all steel yourselves against the idolatry that the Church peddles. And prepare yourself for their end, the Holy King in Yellow's coming, and your ascension to paradise."
Never in Samson's life had he found this much acceptance, this much happiness. He was ready to die for them.
taco_barbarian:
I've really gotta add to this...