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Monk. Episode IV

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Monk.  Episode IV Empty Monk. Episode IV

Post  ElectricMonk Tue Jan 31, 2012 7:12 pm

Honor can be an ugly thing. But you don't see that do you? Well, I cannot fault you for that. You haven't seen what I have. But, allow me to explain...

When I was young, Honor was a shining cavalry charge. As I grew older, Honor became ordering that charge, sending younger men to die for my Lord's "honor." Honor became listening to my Lord, and holding my tongue, for "honor" demanded loyalty at all costs.

And now, as an old man, honor is a dirty glass of cheap wine.

It's a small roadside Inn. Really, just a tavern with a lice ridden bed or two. It's the sort of place where people don't ask questions, and don't look askance at an old monk sitting at the corner table.

HE sits across from me. He's dressed plainly enough, but even here he wears them like royal vestments. His guards sit beside him, one on each hand. Another loiters outside. A clever man could tell who he was from any of these things, but even a fool could tell from his face.

It's the sneer. It lives under his eyes, and covers the lower half of his face in contempt. For his surroundings? No.. for the people. He always hated them.

He's been speaking, but I haven't been listening.

"...And the Duke of Orleis has pledged me his men. All I need now, is the money to hire some mercenaries. Nords, perhaps. What was it you used to say? 'Let the mercenaries do the dying?'" He truly smiles then, a ghastly feral thing. "See? I was always your best student. Soon all that was mine shall be so again. A little time, a little money... and a man to lead them.."


I stare into my glass. A gnat swims hopeless drowning circles in the wine. Dirty. Cheap.

"No." I push the wine away from myself. A shadow passes across his face, the corners of the sneer turn down into a scowl.

"NO? Did.. Did I hear that? Lest I remind you, Old Man, you swore an OATH to me."

"And I've sworn a new oath now-"

He laughs suddenly, interrupting me. "You... You really take this seriously, don't you? I'll admit, I thought it a clever place to hide, myself. I mean, when the peasants were screaming for all our heads. But I don't need a Monk, old man, I need... what was it they called you? The "Butcher of Tanae?"

Rage flickers to the surface of the calm persona I'd spent years forging. "That.. wasn't me. That was your order. Your sin."

He laughs again, a hollow mocking echo.
"You give me far too much credit, friend. Yes I gave the order.. But you executed it with such... FLAIR. How many prisoners did you execute at Tanae?... Don't remember? Do you?" He turns to one of his guards, a bald scarred fellow. "fifty and one hundred my Lord."
"One hundred and fifty! 'Decimation' Didn't you call it? One of every ten captives? But tell me truly, monk, how many more died when they were sent home.. without weapons, mounts, and with only what food they could carry with them?"

He sits back, the sneer having slithered back to it's home. God, how I hate him. What he'd become.

"Take your thugs and go, 'Prince' Tastamara. I'll be sure the brothers pray for your soul." I emphasize the word "prince," hoping to sting him. But his sneer doesn't falter.

"Do that, Butcher. Do that."

He's left now. I'm writing this in my journal now, to give him a few minutes head start. I do not wish to cross him on the road ahead. But it's growing late, and it's a long walk back to Monastery....

(the following is written in an urgent hand, large bold strokes that dig into the yellowed parchment)

"All I need is the money to hire Mercenaries..."

"A little time, a little money"

Oh Notch, how did I not see it.

Or at least, smelled the smoke.

I found Brother Mercy outside in the gardens. He had tried to run. Poor, gentle soul. The quarrel of bolts protruding from his back told the rest of the story. Brother Francis, Brother Justice... Dead. All dead.
The tapestries were taken, along with all the gold, silver. Everything down to the brass. He had never wanted my help. Just wanted me away for a while...

I sit where our fields of barley used to be, now a field of ash. I've been here for two days, and the last of the fires are only now dying. I haven't eaten, haven't slept. I've spent this time digging graves, with a piece of flat stone and my own hands. I'd warn someone he was coming, but by now it must be too late. He'd of never have risked foiling his plan. I taught him too well for that.

I've only now finished the Last Rites for the Brothers, and I've only one prayer left to ask, which I committ to this manuscript.

Notch... Grant me vengeance.

(the following is scrawled in the margins. "In the end, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Three days later, the fire fell from the sky.")


Last edited by ElectricMonk on Tue Jan 31, 2012 7:13 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : Grammar)
ElectricMonk
ElectricMonk

Posts : 43
Join date : 2011-12-31
Age : 40
Location : Seattle

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