RP death Theuderik
It had been another long and hard day for Theuderik in Taop. Preaching to the masses, often so hostile to him, had left him severely wounded for several times in the past month. He had endured kicks to his head, spine and groin and beating to all the rest of his body. Once he had been a holy man, an Emperor, meant by the Gods to lead the glorious Ibladeshian Empire – or not. Under his rule this once great, some say greatest, power came to fall. He had been hunted down, sought refuge with his old friends, but none would have him. He truly was a persona non grata on the old Continent.
This time his sermon went in relative peace. There had been some faithful with arms to protect him and apparently the sight of spears and axes was enough to keep the violent pagans away. He converted several of the peasantry but those were not the ones he was aiming for. Once he had the power of the word to convince even the most noble of men to dedicate their life to the Four. Now he was, as he felt, degraded to a common priest of a Church that mocked three of the Four. Only Sartan had a place here – only war. His own goddess, Kokini, was disrespected and unnoted. Some day this would turn against his current congregation, but not yet.
He returned to the small shack in Taop to do his private prayers, as he did every day. He would be once more blasphemous and pray not only to Sartan, but also to the others. They did not know though, the Cardinals and other Elders – he never told them, and made sure he was never seen doing so. Upon arriving in the temple the quite hit him like a bang. No people around… it was strange, for recently this place of worship had been buzzing with merchants trying to get into the favor of the lord, and peasants the same. Yet none were here now. Nevertheless he entered… the sanctity was his.
As soon as he entered the temple, the door flung shut and the sound of chains clinking could be heard. A tug on the door quickly confirmed his fears – the doors were sealed. A voice sounded from the shadows in front of him.
“Burneth the witch, the daimon, and the heretic, for their sight offends me, sayeth the Lietongue. Purge them of their sin and iniquity, lest the rot of his corruption spread.” the voice chanted. Theuderik quickly spun to his left, trying to evade the dark and threatening voice, and moved forward with long strides. He stopped short as he was suddenly greeted by yet another, new voice in front of him.
“Thou art the blessed of the shadow, for what light can be without darkness? Thou art a child of both, and my blessings are thine. Swiftly carry out my command, and send forth a river of the blood of the damned, sayeth the Lietongue.” a feminine voice chanted. Theuderik turned around and strode quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. Fear had grasped hold of his tongue and mouth, stopping him short from uttering any useful words. It was like his chest was clogged, barely unable to breath.
"Let not mercy stay thine hand, for thine foe shalt giveth none. Strike forth from the shadow, and let the wretched knoweth the justice of the Black Hand." said a third voice. In panic Theuderik darted for the door and slammed into it, in a futile attempt to crush it open – yet he was out of luck. The then turned to face the speakers, knowing he was trapped in his own House. Three figures emerged from the shadows, clad in black leather armor, hoods concealing their faces. They all carried long, curved silver blades which gleamed in the dim light. They struck out, smacking him with the flat sides of their blades. He stood no chance, he was old and frail and his opponents were simply too many and too skilled in their work. After only a short struggle he was drug to the altar and tied to a post. Books and broken pieces of pews littered the ground around him, and he could smell the kerosene.
“Hel awaits,” the leader of the three said, and struck a flame with a steel and flint. He slowly paced backwards as he watch the books and dry wooden pews catch fire. It spread quickly to Theuderik’s long robes, who caught fire not even a minute after the first spark. His screams echoed in the temple and beyond but received no answer, save for their own echoes. When the fire died and Theuderik with it, one of the figures stepped forward and removed the charred head with a blow from his sword and placed it in his sack.
“For the glory of the Seer and the Elders,” he said quietly, as the three vanished from the temple.
