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My Brother, My Killer PDF Print
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Article Index
My Brother, My Killer
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Chapter One: A Long Way From Home

 "Go ahead, finish it! End my wretched life of misery and pain.” His grating and deep voice boomed through the tent of leathery hides. In his eyes burned a fiery madness, -the kind only the corrupt gods can invoke- but deep inside the turmoil of his warring pupil lay a deeper emotion: a begging weariness. From within the cage of his former life it looked as if he was pleading for mercy. The young knight hesitated, torn between his own sanity and adrenalin-fuelled anger. Is this man, my brother, really devoured by the corruption? Shall I never again see his calm smile? Is  the gentleness of his eyes truly devoured by evil? His heart had become a stone just mere hours ago, bent on the destruction of this terror. The grotesque mutations, granted by the fearsome power of pestilence, had deformed that smile into a grim mass of flesh, boils and rotten teeth. The one eye not overgrown by a green pus, was bloodshot and dotted with darkish blue and purple spots; it most certainly held no gentleness. The torture of this shell of despair could be ended right here, right now, by his righteous hand but somewhere deep within, hidden beneath the layers of decaying flesh, was the man he once knew, travelled with, respected. So he did what every man would do; his hand stayed. Can a man find true redemption for his greatest sins?

From the entrance of the fiendish pavilion a silent witness watched as the man she once loved lay at sword tip on the ground, the handle held by the man her heart now belonged to. Whatever the outcome, a part of her would die today. Are there any true winners when fighting these powers? It's easy to discard these turned warriors as human, to demonise their existence and end their misery without a wink, a thought or a tear. In the end whoever this tainted creature was, once it was just a man or woman who had the misfortune to stray too far out of ignorance, guilt or sadness. The lure is just too great for us mere mortals. Once a father, a mother, a brother or sister. It's easy to freeze our emotions for these malignant beings when their face is an unknown one, their history not ours and their existence diminished to a passing event.

"Oh, brother, how did it come to this?" A lone tear ran down the young knight's cheek, more clouding his vision. "Speak to me once more, friend, for I long to hear that wisdom again. Pray, tell me, everything will be fine."
The creature grinned its wicked smile and its answer drove an icy and poisonous dagger in the knight's heart. "I ought to thank you, brother." The bloated shell stressed a lot of hatred and sarcasm in that last word before he continued. "Your betrayal threw me in the arms of the true gods, opened my eyes for the true powers. The truth: your treachery and hers made me embrace the pure forces of this world." It threw a baleful glance at the woman in the entrance who did not return the gaze but guilt-ridden averted her eyes from her former lover. "How does it feel to know what you really are? How does it.." The knight never gave the creature to finish its last sentence as the sword finally drove through the layers of pus, fat and flesh until it pierced its windpipe.

Instantly a change trespassed in the eye: it turned back to that sorrowful pearl the young knight had come to know. It is known that true redemption lies beneath that black veil of death. It is said that the last breath of the deceased hold truths and words to console or warn their beloved. Whatever monster he had become, now it were the words of a broken man, hackled by spasms of pain and gurgles of the nearing end. "And what can I tell you? My brother? My killer? What can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you. I guess I forgive you. I'm glad you stood in my way." A few more pathetic spasms and its eye turned upward, the nightmare no more. Whatever solace his last words would be in the years to come to the young knight, it made the entire situation worse at that moment. Tired of fighting, of losing and of the pain life gives us all, the once proud knight wept bitter tears for his fallen brother, memories fouling his attempts to regain his composure. How did it come to this?



Last Updated ( Saturday, 31 January 2009 )
 
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For technical and legal reasons, the Round Table of Bretonnia has shut down operations. For inquiries and questions, please contact the admin at webmaster@roundtable-bretonnia.org
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