Infernal Rage

((Something I cooked up for an RP. Not terribly original, good, nor bad.))

This was the result of consorting with the dark powers. Worse of all, it had to happen in the capital city. Well at least the corruption was contained within the palace grounds, sort of. Streke didn’t even know where to start and he was supposed to be the hero of the kingdom. Streke the Conqueror as he was known was the first to heed the call to arms once news of the horrors assaulting the capital from within reached his hometown where he had retired. The whole kingdom mobilised quickly to counteract the threat, well aware of what the ruinous powers were capable of.

It was to their collective horror when the true cause of calamity had revealed itself. Her Majesty the Queen had bargained for more than she could handle and the darkness had completely overtaken her. Streke remembered the last time they met. It was the first time he had stepped in to the capital since his glory days and he was shocked at what he saw. Her Majesty was still recognisable in the dark robe she wore underneath the royal mantle but from her attire emerged tendrils that corrupted at the touch. An unlucky few had mistook her as sane and safe but as they got within range of the tendrils their cries of agony from the mutation they suffered still rang within Streke’s mind. As if challenging the rest to follow, she beckoned before disappearing back in to the Royal Palace.

Common knowledge dictated that the way to banish the darkness was to cut off the source, which was where it was able to breach this world in the first place. Regicide was a capital crime but given the circumstances, the gathered had decided that it was better to live a short while in chaos as the succession fights ensued than have the very stuff of nightmares rule over them. Each week a new group of brave and/or foolhardy volunteers went in, few ever came out and even those that did were driven mad, recounting tales of the horrors they faced inside the mangled interior. Apparently, Her Majesty the Queen had hired a new interior decorator. Not even the descriptions of the survivors correlated leading to the conclusion that it was now a labyrinthine complex; only the truly worthy would face her.

Now it was his turn. Streke could no longer simply sit by idly and thus commenced the search for brave and worthy comrade in arms. Many answered his call but most were found wanting. It was not a test of arms but a gruelling set of trials. One trial consisted of diving in to the depths of a nearby lake to find a fresh-water pearl. Not only was the water ice cold, but the depth at which the fresh-water oysters lived was great since it was where the silt of the lake stood still making for great pearls. It was when he found out that these pearls were actually being sold at the lakeside by a local pearl diver that he went to confront this enterprising spirit. The pearl diver was a common woman of low-standing birth, who dived daily to fetch her wares and he offered her an opportunity to move to the next part of his trials. It was then that the peasant woman named Perrine seized the chance for adventure to better her condition and became the first comrade in arms of Streke the Conqueror.

The second man was a rather quiet man. Formerly a bandit of the lower steppes, a few years in the dungeons had mellowed him out by the time he escaped. He plied his trade with crossbow and pavise and upon hearing for the chance of a pardon for his crimes in vanquishing the darkness, he became eager to find a master worthy of himself. Borcha was what he introduced himself as, and with the base cunning and experience he had in fighting and evading the law, earned himself the second spot within Streke’s retinue.

The third to join Streke was a young Knight-Captain of the Royal Guard. A spitting image of Streke himself in his younger days, the young man known as Karl was determined. Many at the war camp had passed him off as little more as an overenthusiastic youth with no experience and hence never considered sending him in to the palace with the others. Nevertheless, it was his willpower that allowed him to succeed where others had failed. These were only but the first three to join Streke since there are too numerous to list and each and every one of them are noteworthy in their own way.

It was only the night before they set off that Streke would find the young Karl training whilst the others were bidding farewell to loved ones and enjoying perhaps their last night in the company of good men. As he observed Karl, Streke came to worry about him. Karl wielded a zweihander, a weapon reserved only for those with great strength or one with a clear disregard for personal safety. Each swing, thrust, even movement perfectly calculated and honed to an edge. It was in a sudden urge that Streke took out his spear and shield and ran up to the youth, intent on sparring. Karl was in mid swing as Streke closed in and seeing a new far more corporeal opponent, stepped inside Streke’s thrust and carried the momentum of his swing in full circle. Steel rang upon steel and Streke felt the power through the metal of his large round shield. Pulling back and adopting a defensive position, Streke issued his challenge; and it was, with more flowing swings, neither a pause nor gap in the attack. It was the ninth blow that dislodged his shield from his grip and he reached for his sidearm, a short sword. Though this unusual combination would see a more cautious warrior pause Karl did not hesitate and swung downwards. As Streke was once taught, a real fight lasts only two seconds before it is over and decided to teach the youth the same lesson. The downward swing is an easily caught move due to the zweihander’s weight. Unable to change direction quickly, Streke caught Karl’s blade with the hilt of his sword and his spear. The force of the blow was nearly enough to make him bleed from under his fingernails but he held firm. As the pain subsided, he used the zweihander’s weight against Karl, twisting his trap downwards and using his body to throw his opponent off balance. Falling back, the next thing Karl was aware of was the spears length that he looked along until he met Streke’s face.

“A real fight lasts only two seconds, use your time wisely,” Streke said.

The young man looked defiant and no less determined to even the score if given the chance.

“Easy now, you should save that for what awaits us beyond the palace gates,” Streke started as he lifted the spear away and offered a hand that was taken, “What are you fighting for that makes you so determined?”

From his pocket, Karl produced two matching rings. The sunlight from dawn that had silently crept up upon them reflected brilliantly on the ruby and the sapphire.

“For Her Majesty,” Karl replied a bit sullen but continued quickly before Streke could ask, “No, I fight for Her Majesty the Princess Genevieve. She is still inside, and she is still waiting for me.”

“Then let us not keep her waiting any longer,” Streke said, “Pick up your weapon, we are leaving.”

The proven men and women gathered around Streke and as small line of gathered wished them off. As the palace doors opened, all took the first step inside together. This was where Streke the Conqueror and his retinue walked out of the mortal plane and ascended in to legend. This was their story, the story known only as Infernal Rage.