Post by Mammon on Jun 6, 2017 6:47:53 GMT
| Damned if you do, damned if you don’t |
Nostalgia
“You should laugh every moment you live, for you'll find it decidedly difficult afterwards.”
― Joe Abercrombie, Best Served Cold
The silence fell on him like a chill winter wind, going straight to the marrow and. It had been one hell of a day, he died today and now he was sitting in some blasted hellscape with nobody to talk to and no body, he began to drift pulling out old memories like a veteran his medals and wondering if he had the chance to do it all again what he’d do differently.
Prelude
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It was a different time, it was a different place. It was a universe of terrible creatures and their terrible wars, it was the flip side the demonic realm. And on one world there lived-
It was the tread of a thousand feet, it was the sound of steel on steel, bodies shoved into the press grinding up against each other in the greatest pastime ever known. WAR. Mammon charged through the trees, chest thumping with the sheer thrill of it all his bare feet slipping out from under him on the wet ground, the slush spraying into the air the scent of pine needles thick on his nose, his breath came out rasping his heart thumping. “Could this get any worse.” and the universe took this as a challenge.
There was a spear coming at him. A cruel-looking spear, coming at him fast with a demon on the other end of it.
A boy - It was a large estate in the traditional gothic style, it had arched windows with slanting black slate roofs with the occasional grotesque or gargoyle hanging from the them, it gave it the look and feel of a murder house, someone died in there and the killer probably still lived inside. “Why must we do this father?” the scene was a panorama of violence, sprawled up against the wall was a small serving girl in a white shaul her head lolling to one side, an ugly purple bruise on one side of her cheek. “Why must we punish her for one tiny spill?” asked a small figure he had long white hair with two little hornlets crowning his head, he looked up at a mirror image of himself just aged and given to grow an evil goatee as all self respecting demons should.
“Cause we can, because we are better than them.”
“Greater than they can ever be, never forget that my son.”
It was just another day in the great house, another servant received a beating and their cruel masters enjoyed breakfast. It was the daily ritual for Mammon since he could remember it, watch as his parents abused the servants, watch out for attempted murder from your siblings and you got to go to the breakfast table. Of course everything was coated in a loving layer of poison but everyone kept up their immunities by consuming the stuff in degrees, poison yourself and live or get poisoned and die. The choice was easy.“Did you get to see the hangings?”
“Damned peasants think they own the place.”
“What should we wear to court, I hear this season's fashion-”They were off to court, now I have to explain a bit before we continue. Now when you think feudal society you think maidens in long dresses and knights, well that isn’t entirely wrong it just isn’t correct. If someone hadn’t died of poison, two assassins hanged a revolution put down it was considered a slow day. It was court intrigue on steroids, and when they walked into that den of debauchery the first thing you’d see were the statues, they were quite life like. In fact they were alive at one point. The monarch had a funny way with people who displeased him in court, the scene was laid out before them like naked dead body. One big throne with one giant red demon in the traditional style of demons, he had cloven feet and a goat's back legs until they climbed up to his chest where they ended off in corded muscle with thick red skin and and a head covered in glossy black hair with two large horns coming off him like he was try to catch a radio signal.
“The peasants think they can overthrow me, look at their hero! Look in horror and awe.”
A man dressed in a mock jesters costume walked into the room, he limped and swayed like he was about to topple over, and did so with a ‘thud’ and ‘crash’ knocking over a vase. He was missing both his thumbs one eye and his foot, it was mismatch of what was there and what wasn’t. It was awful enough it could make you laugh or cry, the court laughed.
“Look upon the face of a traitor.”
They looked and were all disgusted, after all in his face they saw their own. It would only take one misstep in their careful planning to join him or the statues out front, all of them plotted against one enough and this was reality for each and every one of them.
A Youth - It faded again another scene replacing the one before it, it was of a market stall taken by fighting, bushels of wheat and food were scattered across the ground with stalls leaning dangerously to one side, a knife was planted in his knee while he throttled a women. “So you think you can get away with this.” he said snarling out through clenched teeth as he dragged her kicking and screaming to the town's well. “Don’t let the door hit you too hard on your journey to the next life.” he dropped her and down she fell, he had killed this woman because she wanted revenge for taking her husband in a fight previously, life was cheap here.
They had orders from their lord to despatch the village in its entirety, someone smelt a revolt and whether it was true it was now starting to smell of smoke, they rode through it on black steeds turning mud on the ground to slush and people under hoof into much the same only slightly more red and more people looking slush, they tore through it all throwing torches at thatched houses and making a mockery of this hamlets quiet existence. To say any more would be to go too far, just know this that they came through here like a nightmare, those they didn’t kill they enslaved and those that died, died brutally.
A man - A sudden jolt of pain rocketed through Mammon’s body. His stomach turned his arm’s lost their strength, and he began to ache all over, the spear had pierced him on his right side making a clean gash in the pale flesh. He rolled the spear coming down for a second time but missing him by a hair’s width, he bought up his legs kicking the demon back and stood facing him there. Lowered himself into a fighter's crouch and held a long cruel knife in either hand as they began to circle each other.
“C’mon!”
And they met he took the spear again and buried his knives to their hilt in the nape of its neck, and both of them laid there in a cold embrace in the slush, the mud, and wet.
A spirit - He sat there letting memories pass him by like flocks of birds, great and small. The last memory played through his head of the red giant.
“Glad someone finally put one of you down."
How dare he, in his time of need he might’ve changed with an ounce of kindness, maybe a better luck next time? He wasn’t asking for forgiveness but the chance of redemption, but no the red giant was glad he was dead, that his life was so small and insignificant. He’d get even with the lot of them, he’d find a way back put the majin to the sword and make the great slug pay for this, and that red giant he’d fill the line with souls even if it was a petty vengeance he’d gladly give it.
“I shall laugh to think of it, I shall laugh until I die, and I shall die whole in body revenged upon thee! I will have it if it takes me to the end of time."