Yep. i get Emaille. lol
Here's the finished thing, for those that are actually interested... 10points for every Oblivion reference found! Let's see who wins!
Nathan Quarantillo
Young writers.
The Bloody Bag
In time long past, in a land not known to people of this day, there dwelt a people. There was nothing particularly bad about these people, but there wasn’t anything particularly good either. Quite average in most ways. They dwelt in a large city, had a king, and had a peaceable people. They had fair metalworking capacity, had a well trained city guard, and craftsmen of all sorts. On market day every Sunday after attending mass at their local church, everyone would go to the square and hawk their goods, and buy if they weren’t merchants.
The king’s name was Reman, and he was not known for anything special. Not of especial virtue, but not a bad ruler by any means. He was the product of a many generational dynasty in his family, and it was his primary concern that he continue his line. The local bishop was a very ambitious man, by the name of Ulrich. He was always looking to increase his own wealth and the size and grandeur of his church was of primary concern to him. It was whispered that he only achieved the position of bishop by very careful bribery of the prior of the local monastery that selected the bishop for the land.
The townspeople were generally happy. A town quite decent, not without its share of troubles, but what place isn’t? It was in general a good land, with prosperous people, a decent ruler, and fair harvests.
One day a man arrived, from a distant place. By ship, he said. His name was Lucien. He was quite different from the people, but what does one expect when a person is from a different land? He bought a house, after the man who owned it before died. Whilst chopping his meat for dinner, a slip of the hand caused the butcher’s blade to render his hand asunder from his wrist than to render his dinner fit to eat. Tragic incident really.
Well Lucien apparently had no profession. He wore a long flowing traveler’s cloak, black as midnight. During the day, he would sit and watch the people in the square. He would occasionally buy something, and was generally well off. He had a box also. He kept it locked in his house, and no one ever saw him get in it. Lucien never truly showed any emotion. No matter what was happening around him, Lucien’s face never changed, his voice was never raised, and he never lost his temper nor dropped a tear.
A bad harvest later, a few of the local village farmers, ailing under the harsh times, thought that he must have a very sizeable amount of money in this box. He never worked after all, how could he support himself? To those people, that could be the only thing he could be keeping in that box, that chest, of his.
So during the night, they, wearing blackened clothes, and moving silently as shadow, snuck into his house. They picked the lock on his door, and walked in. After some initial apprehension, they determined that Lucien was sound asleep. They entered the room with the box. The box, that chest that contained their salvation. That contained their money. After boldly breaking the lock, they opened the box.
The box contained no money, no jewels, no nice diamonds, gold rings, or bright necklaces and brooches. It had nothing of value. All that was inside was a bag. It was a rather nice bag, made of red velvet, with decorative black lining. One of the farmers, Jeffroe, took it. He thought that the man in the midnight cloaks luck, and money, had run out. He figured that he might take the bag, and that is exactly what he did.
He took the bag without the other’s knowledge, and when he arrived home, to his sleeping wife, (who knew nothing of the incident) and went to sleep. In the morning, he checked the bag, to see if maybe there might be something inside, that maybe it was something he missed in the darkness. He looked, and there still was nothing. He was furious. This could lead to his imprisonment if caught, and all for nothing!
As he went through the day, he had a foul mood. His compatriots also were not very happy. Lucien, on the other hand, was almost smirking that day. A sight never seen in the city before. Jeffroe thought that he was mocking him. But what could he do?
This infuriated Jeffroe. When he went home that day, he promptly got into a fight with his wife. During the fight, he in a rage struck her. The blow killed the poor woman, and Jeffroe was horrified. He had not meant to kill her, and was distraught. He was arrested by the city guard, and taken to prison. There, after months of sinking into despair, he hung himself. The city guard, upon searching his house, found nothing.
But one guard under the name of Bradon, found the bag. He noted it to look like there was something in the bottom. Something small, but it was a nice bag, he thought. He speculated that it might contain a key to a sum of money. He himself took it. Illegally, but no one was none the wiser.
Now Bradon had a hard life. Living in a poor little house, and living with his old father, he had little money. He sometimes accepted money, bribes, to be frank, to survive. He wouldn’t let anything serious slip by, but a drunk could shorten his time in stocks with ten coins. It always played on his conscience, but he knew he couldn’t make ends meet without it. However, the taking of the bag truly caused him to be guilty.
During the next few days and months, he viewed himself little better than the criminals he helped to arrest. He was feeling quite poorly, though he could still maintain some semblance of normality. He kept the bag with him, on his belt, but he couldn’t bring himself to look into it. It stayed shut with the drawstring cord of scarlet leather.
Bradon was feeling progressively worse every day. After a time, he grew to hate and resent himself. It was this feeling that made him lose his self respect and integrity. He began accepting bribes for more serious crimes. Not simply drunks, but cutpurses, thieves, burglars, even a wealthy murderer. Bradon was one day accepting money from a man who had got into a fair bit of trouble. He assaulted a priest, wounding the poor clergyman viciously. The priest had refused to give the man the annulment he was seeking. The man had already hated this priest, and all it took was a little alcohol to sway his hand from the quill to the dagger.
As Bradon was accepting the payment, seventy five silver pieces, a contingent of the guard burst through the door. They had received a tip, and arrested Bradon. He was stripped of his guard rank, and thrown into the streets. The guards didn’t take the money, knowing Bradon’s poverty. When he arrived home, his elderly, but drunk father knew what had happened. However, he wasn’t mad because of Bradon’s corruption, but of the paltry sum he had brought home. His father had taken to spending the bribe money on alcohol, and seventy five silvers were merely enough to supply him for the week!
Bradon’s father began to berate him, calling him a thief, a cutpurse, and a wretch. Poor Bradon’s conscience was broken. He could not handle this type of acute abuse, especially from his own father, whom he contempted so. He drew his blade. Hearing the steel hiss from its wooden scabbard, his father instinctively drew his iron knife. As Bradon lunged true, severing the elderly man’s spine, his father turned. This turn placed his sharpened knife right in Bradon’s path. His own momentum carried him into the slender blade, transfixing it just under his jawbone. This severed his carotid artery, emptying the poor soul like a fountain. Both fell dead, falling in one last, eternal and fatal embrace between father and son.
The life that was given from one to the other at the moment of conception manifested itself as scarlet life-blood. Once again intermingled, as the father, the giver’s blood was taken, and he who it was gifted on the night on conception was the taker. Poetic in a way.
The bodies were discovered a fortnight later. The funeral masses were given by an old monsignor. During the preparations for the mass, the old monsignor, in a moment of mental confusion, thought the bag for what he thought was rightfully his. He took this bag, which seemed an irregular pattern of scarlet and burgundy. One supposed difference from the years since it had been supposedly given. After returning to his parish, and serving out his years, he retired to the local monastery. He was subsequently voted Prior because of his many years of service to the church and integrity. Unfortunately, it was this integrity that got him into trouble with, Ulrich, the ambitious Bishop. Ulrich was asking for another sum of money for some nice things to decorate his grand cathedral. Of course, these nice things happened to be for the Bishop’s residence. They money also was coming out of the fund for retirement of parish priests who didn’t enter the monastery.
The Prior, the old Monsignor refused to give the money to Ulrich, who had already outstripped his budget far. This infuriated the Bishop, and he marched to the monastery, and right into the Prior’s living quarters to berate him. The old Monsignor, knowing of and not standing for Ulrich’s corruption, promptly returned fire. He called Ulrich out on his corruption, over-spending, and greed.
The old Monsignor told the Bishop to leave his quarters. As the old Monsignor turned, Ulrich closed to door, drew his silver dagger, and stabbed. The old Monsignor, the new Prior of barely a month, died without a sound. Ulrich saw on the newly-deceased Prior’s corpse a very nice bag. He took it, seeing to be about mid-way full. As he untied the scarlet cord, the thought to himself “Maybe the old pious fool should have not wasted the money I wanted on pretty trinkets such as this!” He thought it certainly looked nice, so he strung it about his belt, and left.
Of the young brothers who handled the dead Monsignor’s corpse, one’s clergy stipend was increased five-fold. The other died in his sleep within a week. The official cause of death for the old Monsignor was a heart attack.
So, the Bishop, with his nice new bag, had to find another source of wealth for his interests. He went to one of the king’s nephews, of whom was a third child and slated to become a priest. The various houses and families with blood invested in the king, or part of the royal bloodline, were always equipped with deep pockets.
So, after much cajolery, the Bishop finally got his gold. However, after the two other brothers returned, from a quite costly war, they all exploded in a fury of conflict. The eldest brother, also the head of the family since the father’s death, was completely against the giving of a large amount of the family’s funds to Ulrich, whose ambition and greed was well known to him. The second and third brothers agreed to give even more of the family’s money to the Bishop. The second brother resented that his elder brother had more power over him, and he took his side simply to be against him. The third brother, always the baby, simply let the two fight it out. After a fierce exchange of hot words, the younger brother, a notorious drunk, drew his sword and swung at his unarmed brother. The elder brother, being an experienced warrior whose prowess was well-known, simply side-stepped his drunken brother’s clumsy swing, and grasped his sword arm. After a well executed throw took the man over his older brother’s shoulder, the elder brother transfixed his adversary with his own blade.
This was an outrage to the other houses and noble families of the bloodline. They all knew quite well the circumstances within the family, the younger brother’s drunkenness and hot temper, but they were jealous of the elder brother’s inheritance. The elder brother, whose name was Thadon, was the heir to the throne. King Reman had no son, his Queen had died, and he was too heartbroken to marry another. Thadon was intelligent, cunning, and an excellent warrior. A king like him would see the kingdom stretch its borders far.
So the houses and noble families jumped on the chance to accuse him as a murderer. This led to much warring and anarchy in the streets, as Thadon claimed innocence and was prepared to defend himself from the other families’ ambitions.
The city guards, led by members of the various families, were powerless to stop the anarchy and bloodshed. Ulrich and the last brother barred themselves in the cathedral as brother turned against brother, neighbor turned against neighbor, and father turned against son. Amid it all, the mysterious man, Lucien, who had been having increasing signs of emotion, was reveling in the chaos. Wielding a long, sharp blade, he cut own marauder, faction fighter, and terrified townsperson alike. His faction was his own. He seemed to be laughing.
Houses burned, livestock were slaughtered, corpses littered the streets, and anarchy seized the city. Great man and commoner alike were cut down in the violence. Families were eradicated. Not just the men, but any individual who carried its blood. This was a war of extermination.
The king, Reman, barred the gates, and let the violence sprawl around him. His only concern was survival of himself and his line, through Thadon. Thadon, after eliminating many of the most powerful families, found Ulrich and his brother cowering in the Cathedral. After smashing the door, he marched in. He first transfixed his sniveling brother between the eyes with his finely crafted steel blade. The long, slender, graceful point burst out the back of his thin cranium, and the darkness descended over his eyes.
Ulrich, the ambitious coward, begged for mercy. He promised Thadon riches, absolution, counsel, but Thadon’s mind would not be turned. He advanced, paused, raised his fell blade, and rendered asunder Ulrich’s head from its shoulders. As Ulrich’s body lay there, he noticed a fine bag tied around his belt. It seemed almost quite full. The knot was tight, it seems not to have been untied since it was wrapped around that belt. Thadon strapped it around his own belt.
He then proceeded to the castle, to try to end this nightmare. As the gates were barred, he gained entry through a small hidden sally port, of which only few knew existed. He silently made his way through the castle, as the guards were ordered to attack anyone from the outside on sight. Leaving hardly a sound, and several dead guards sprawled throughout the halls, he made his way into the palace.
Inside, he found Reman, and several nobles arranged around him, all of which were Thadon’s sworn enemies, and all members of the royal bloodline. In fact, in that room on that day, were all those who contained the blood of a king. On King Reman’s lap, sat a parchment. Directly above his wax seal, were orders to have Thadon executed as a murderer, and to have members of those noble families arranged around the throne as the ruling body for the land.
King Reman sat in his throne, his royal feet surrounded by copious amounts of gold, in various money sacks bearing the arms of the various nobles around him. Those who looked carefully could see a single tear dripping down the king’s face.
Those nobles, those traitorous wretches, drew daggers and swords and rushed Thadon. Thadon, whose sword was already drawn, was able to dispatch two with quick cuts at a distance to the neck before they were upon him. During the scuffle, by virtue of his agility, prowess, and the well forged rivets of his Haubergeon (a short coat of Maille) he suffered few wounds.
Those with daggers fell as wheat before the scythe before Thadon’s blade. Those who came equipped for battle, with swords and armour were more of a challenge. Towards the end of the fight, with three dead at his feet, and two dead about three paces away, and two more engaged fighting, he was stabbed. The ringleader, whom had cowardly stayed back and watched, crept up behind Thadon.
The coward then transfixed Thadon through the square of his back with his long, cruel dagger. The wound was mortal, but it was compounded by the fact that the blade was poisoned. Thadon had just minutes of life left in him. With the tip of the dagger still protruding from his torso, Thadon, in a quick motion rendered the limbs from one man, and the head of the other.
King Reman stood up from his throne, and approached the scene. Thadon, with his last movements on this earth, untied the scarlet leather cord from around his belt and handed the King a very, but not quite full bag. As the bewildered King Reman tied the bag around his belt, Thadon died. There Thadon lay, surrounded by dead, and with a dagger still transfixed through his chest.
Reman looked about in shock. What he was bred to do, what centuries of intrigue and arranged marriages tried to do, was all dashed. The blood he was supposed to pass on to the next generation was now passed between bodies on the floor and the tables and chairs and pillars of his palace. His land, his kingdom, was a smoking ruin. His subjects, lying dead in the street. No stone was left unturned, none atop the other.
All was ruin. He knew what he must do. He then climbed to the highest tower in his castle, and tied a rope around the grand flag standing erect from the vertical stonework. Then, with one final gasp of air, his royal soul sped on to the after life, to join his subjects, rope and gravity joining together to put an end to the man.
As his body underwent the final spasms of death, a strange thing happened. The scarlet cord around his belt suddenly became untied. Then a very full bag, of red velvet, with a fine black lining fell to the ground. It fell at the feet of an ecstatic Lucien. As it landed, it the drawstring scarlet cord loosened, and the bag opened. Out from the bag came nothing but a strange smoke-like substance. While the bag looked as if filled with something heavy, like gold, this smoke was lighter than air. It was a pale grey in colour, and as it was expelled from the bag, one could hear what sounded like screams, curses and fighting. The sounds were very faint though, almost enough to make one question himself if they heard anything at all.
After almost a minute, the bag was completely empty and limp. It lied on the ground. An expressionless Lucien picked it up. He tied it around his waist, sheathed his sword, and flourished his cloak as he left for another kingdom, to start the process of the Bloody Bag anew.
