Tale of the Fallen Crusader

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

Tale of the Fallen Crusader is the story of what happens after a paladin falls. No real setting, looks like generic fantasy land.

Content

Part One

Well shit. I killed him. The man that lay before me was truly, absolutely, and definitely dead. I don't think this can be covered up either, I'm just about the only suspect here; the only one who wanted him gone. I had, at most, a night. Maybe less. I sat down in the man's chair, pondering my next move, what would become of me now as a murderer. I'm a paladin for God's sake! We only have two damned rules! Always do what's right, check. Never EVER murder an unarmed man... Not so much.

I must have Fallen... I've failed my duties, my promise to the God Crom was broken. I wondered if I had fallen, could I still draw from his power? Now, as one of the Fallen, one of the greatest sinners? Maybe the kill was justified. He HAD just sold his daughter as a slave. He was without question evil. Maybe I could bring him back if I still have my gifts...

No such luck. The golden flames that once shone through my fingers and weaved through the air, smiting the dark, healing the injured, would not come. I sighed, a tear threatening at the corner of my eye. I picked my blade from the man's chest, the blade that so efficiently sought to end this man's life. I picked up some cloth to wipe down the blade scrubbing away at the red mess. A heavy knock rapped at the door. No, I have less time than I thought! Escape! Left. Right. Nothing. Window! As I tumbled through the windowsill I wondered if anyone I knew would forgive me, would I be accepted back home? Surely not. Would the church forgive? No, 'never forgiven' are the only words spoken for the Fallen. Then the guillotine falls.

One year later...

I was walking through yet another traveler's town, I believe it was called Alric or something to that flavor. My hood covered my head, casting itself far enough forward to lay a blanket of shade over my eyes, hopefully leaving me incognito. I walked until I reached the bulletin board in the cross ways of the town, where people placed their adds of want, and job offers. Recently I've taken to doing a few of these odd jobs, the occasional thief, the common problems with wolves and dire rats. Paid well enough for a night in an inn or a warm meal, a welcome reprieve from camping and eating stolen scraps.

I rose my eyes slowly, passing over every job and reward posted. A large reward caught my eye; fifty gold coins! Hell, I'd do any job for that much! It was a find indeed, some nobleman or other influential body must have an elusive enemy. My eyes scanned over to see the man worth such a bounty, he had a healthy, youthful appearance, nothing like myself today. My gaze came to follow the letters at the top, above the man's name: "Enemy of the state, and of the church of Crom." When I read the name it resounded in my head again and again. "Abel."

I was stunned in silence, I almost let out a whimper as the volley of realizations hit me. Dead or alive stuck out under my name. The tattered and old poster told its own story as well. I was being hunted for some time now. And I didn't even recognize the face. It made me sick to my stomach to think of my sunken eyes and empty, pale cheeks.

An armored hand slapped a new, white poster on top of that one. The reward on this new one: one hundred gold pieces. The feeling of a cold, steel blade touching my throat told me the name on it. I turned to my attacker, and the group that was with him. He was young, long black hair tied back from his face. He wore dark blue clothing under his plate armor, his chest plate bearing a golden insignia of a cracked shield.

"Hi, I'm Greyson, I'll be your captor this evening." He said mockingly, a smirk shining on his face. I figured that's what he normally wore, judging from first impressions. I looked onto his group, amateurs to say the least. A roguish man with a thin, clean shaven face, wore a black tunic, a green shirt beneath. A short sword hung from his side, though from looks it was just for looks. There was another armorer warrior in the group, he looked a lot like Greyson, save for his shorter hair, and the heavy looking hammer he carried with both hands. They must be brothers or something.

There were two women in the group as well, a cleric of Crom in a hooded white robe, gold designs decorating her sleeves and a similar color of hair dangling out of her hood. The other was a freckled redhead, wearing a red tunic under a chain mail shirt. She held a crossbow with both hands, clumsily attempting to load it. A spear was leaning against a house next to her, I think it was her's, but that's an awfully newbie thing to do, she must be a wreck for this party.

"Boy, if you lower your weapon now, I will leave quietly. I cannot ensure your survival otherwise." I said this hiding my eyes in darkness, hoping they wouldn't see them darting around. I maintained a smile, though I don't think it really reassured them.

"You're in no position to make that claim, you have no weapons, and no armor. A Fallen has no holy magic to aid him." That Cleric is starting to sound like a real bitch right about now.

"Who said anything about my magic being holy?" Their eyes widened in a delightful unison, Greyson moving to slash my throat. I flourished my fingers, a smokey purple spark shone from my palm, a push of black and purple light rebounding off of Greyson's chest plate, smashing the seal to an unrecognizable shape, and throwing he and his blade away from me. The redhead's crossbow fired a bolt, that found a new home in the bulletin board, barely missing my shoulder. The hammer wielding warrior rushed me, attempting a distraction as the rogue dove behind the board behind me.

I easily sidestepped his swing, grabbing the brute's shoulder with a similar smoking spark in hand. He didn't make another swing, his body paralyzed by my touch. Another bolt flew from the crossbow, singing past my head. Her aim was obviously not redhead's strong suit. The cleric was chanting in growing volume, glaring angrily at me as yellow flames licked past her fingertips. Chains of light wrapped themselves around me, embedding themselves in the ground as she finished chanting, effectively "preventing" me from defending myself.

The rogue stepped out from behind the board to face me. A look of triumph on his face. "Hm, looks like you're done." He said gloatingly and arrogant.

"Does it?" I inhaled in a great breath, wisps of black and purple energies were sucked in as well. I let out the breath through my mouth in the form of scattered flames, letting the forceful blast hit the man. He was blasted backwards, not badly burned, but his brow singed and his face smudged black.

'Truly I am a terrible foe for these up and coming "heroes".' I thought, breaking through the chains of light with a display of brute force. I grabbed the cleric by the throat before she could again start chanting. I sapped her strength, as a paladin this ability could harmlessly weaken a foe, but this was different. I felt her strength flowing into me, making me...stronger! I still sapped her, she was long past threatening, but it felt so... great!

I felt the coldness and the motion of the blade before I felt any pain. I held onto the base of where Greyson's blade stuck from my chest.

"Ouch," was all I could say before my sight darkened. All I could think before my thoughts faded. All I could do before my body failed me.

"Ouch."

My thoughts came back before I could feel anything, which sadly followed rather quickly. A searing pain shot through chest, the constant rustling and shuffling under me only irritating it. Wait, I was moving? Am I in a cart? I was tied, hand bound to my feet, my cloak used as a makeshift rope. They must have anticipated my survival. My eyes slowly got used to the darkness, the cart had no roof, and judging by the stars in the sky it was night. I looked to my chest to see just how shoddy a job the cleric did patching up that little sword wond.

They left the sword in me! They left the damn sword in my back! I wriggled angrily, attempting to writhe out of my bonds. "You can't escape." I heard a condescending voice from a the opposite of the cart. The Cleric. In the murky darkness, lit only slightly by a glimmer of magic, I saw the reflective shimmer of her blonde hair, and the green tint in her eye. In my rage, flames licked at my breaths as I snarled at her. The odd spark and smoke of the flames bent and flattened, as if hitting an invisible wall.

"You could have really hurt some one back there..." She said, rubbing at the light bruises I left at her neck.

"Damn, I was going for kill." I glared at her, a look she gladly returned.

"We drew an anti-magic circle around you with manticore urine, none of your darkness can leave that circle." She said, a condescending matter-of-fact inflection in her words.

"You got manticore... piss... how exactly?"

"I- th-that doesn't matter! You'll be dead in a little while. Shut up and lay there, Fallen." I thought for a moment at her words. I don't quite like the sound of dying, and from the looks of that cleric, it would be the church doing the execution.

"Wait," I said, "None of my magic can leave this circle?"

"Yes. Now quiet!" I smiled at her, rolling to my left and standing up on my knees, still well within the circle, and arched my back. She yelped in fear as she saw my magic wrap around the hilt of the sword, drawing it from my back as if by the force of an invisible hand. It rose from the wound, dripping blood.

"N-no magic propelled object can leave either!"

"Who're you tryin to convince?" I leaned back and sat with my bonded limbs in front of me. I maneuvered the sword and it easily sliced through my restraints. I stood shakily, black sparks weaving the wound in my chest and through my back shut. I crossed the length of the cart, barely keeping balance on the cart, till I was looming over the frightened cleric, who was panicking chanting a prayer.

"Boo!" She screamed in terror as I chuckled, she really thought I was some sort of monster among men! I snapped my fingers and was gone in a flash.

Cutting a hole in the floor of a moving vehicle isn't the best idea. As my tumble slowed to a stop, I began wondering what came next. I wiped blood from my forehead, I guess I COULD return to town, only Greyson recognized me, and he and his were on carts heading into the horizon. I could easily re-disguise myself, though I did destroy my one cloak in my 'grand escape.' Shit.

Well, I've been managing some sort of magic this past year, and I like to think I've become rather adept at it. I've seen some wizards conjure water in the past, could I do something similar? Maybe a six inch square of cloth?

I concentrated and blocked out thought, thinking this would be easier than it was turning out. Seconds passed and nothing. I sighed and breathed deeply. I'm not in composure, I just need calm. A teeny tiny square of cloth! That's it! Cloth... Cloth... CLOTH! Nothing. I breathed ragged, somehow tired by doing nothing. I looked back towards the path opposite the way the carts took. No town in sight. I looked at my opening hand, and smiled, a single thread laid across my palm.

Part Two

Alric was one of my more preferred towns, nice people, the occasional work, and hey, all the foxes I could hunt sat right outside! I haven't been back there since the first time I was captured though, by Greyson and his group. I've heard they're still after me, holding some vendetta or some such nonsense. Doesn't really matter, they won't catch me again.

Blackley was a town full of prospects for people like me. Nice, urban area, crime abound, and many a man willing to pay to see his belongings back. No one really noticed me here, even with my face on wanted posters they didn't have a chance at it. You see, my captors... capturing, taught me a very important lesson about myself. Holy magic and the flames of Crom were gone to me, though more eldritch means were WELL within my abilities. Some called it black magic, I prefer to just call it helpful.

My hood covered my eyes, a bandanna over my mouth now, to ensure that no foolhardy 'hero' would see me for who I am. I've taken to wearing a black, hooded longcoat. It didn't really serve any purpose, but it certainly made me feel like the monster among man that the cleric saw me as. A total bad ass.

For all the criminals in its catacombs, Blackley was a rather quiet city. If anything, I'd guess that would be on purpose, its hard to be loud AND evil without a good laugh. I stepped into the Bread & Bed inn, a name known round the countryside as a quality place to stay, and in this town, it wasn't bad in comparison. "Evening, Clarke," came the innkeepers voice as I walked by, placing the night's pay for my room in front of him. I never liked that name, but it was the first to come to mind as an alias. I made my way for the tavern/main lobby of the Bread & Bed, taking a seat at the bar and motioning for a drink from the bartender. He wordlessly filled a flagon and slid it in front of me, accepting the few coins I set down for him. I sighed into my drink.

"Excuse me, sir. Have we met? I think I know you from somewhere." I heard another patron sit next to me, tapping my shoulder with the question.

"Probably not. I just have that kind of face."

"No, I KNOW you. Take off that hood so I can get a look at you." I sighed and prepared to get up to leave, before my hood was jerked from my head, pulling hair with it, the powerful hand twisted me to face its owner. "Abel." Oh shit. I looked at the white clothed man, a circle within a square pendant hung from his neck. The symbol of a paladin of Crom. OH SHIT.

"I- uh, don't know any Abel, you have the wrong-"

"No, I know your face, Fallen. I've been looking for you for some time." He drew the arming sword at his hip, jabbing its point painfully against my chest over my heart. "And now, Crom will have retribution."

"I've never known Crom to be a very vengeful-" I was cut off as he twisted and tug his sword into my shirt, tearing the fabric and drawing a trickle of blood. "Look, just calm down and let me explain." The entire tavern was cowering at this point, after all, crossing a paladin of Crom in his duties would get them the same treatment.

"Explain what? Your sickness doesn't concern me. You murdered a man in cold blood and-"

"And now, you're here to do the same?" The paladin's sneer contorted in rage. He drew back, readying to sting forward and take my life. He thrust his blade, though it reached a sudden stop before it could meet me, caught in my draining flagon. I twisted the cup away, flinging his sword away from me, though his grip was stronger than I thought.

I kicked him with both legs in the chest, pushing him backwards and flipping myself over the bar. 'God damn that was bad ass.' I thought, looking for an escape route from my hiding place under the bar's counter. The paladin's sword pierced the bar, digging itself right beside my hunched form. I dove from under the counter, making way for the storeroom door at the other end of the bar.

"Don't run, Fallen!" His voice came from behind me, standing on the bar over where I was hidden. I grabbed the doorknob to the store room. I REALLY hope there's a back door in there. Just as I dragged it open, golden flames brought my grip away, engulfing the door in a holy inferno. I looked back to the smug paladin, who had retrieved his sword, holding the similarly burning blade ready to smite.

"This is your end. Don't run again, accept your fate and accept retribution. Maybe you won't suffer in his wrath for eternity. Purgatory isn't out of the question..." I smiled as he stepped in some of the remnants of spilled booze, many bottles having fallen during my 'great escape.' I sucked in a great breath, his smile fading as I did so.

The fire wasn't hot, I couldn't muster anything lethal, but it was more than enough to ignite such flammable liquid. He danced back as my breath brought life to the flames, his shoes and bottom of his pants legs catching fire as he did.

"Dragon breath? You've turned to black magic in desperation? YOU WILL BURN IN CROM'S WRATH." He shouted over the crackle of my flames as his holy inferno on his blade and covering the door went out, leaving no burns on the tavern. I fled into the store room.

As it turns out, the store room has no actual escape routes. I say ACTUAL escape routes, because it wasn't difficult to make one. The room I rented in the Bread & Bed actually sat right above the store room. I shut and locked the storeroom door behind me, hopefully buying a few seconds. Now I just have to get through the ceiling, and into my room!

Purple sparks glowed at my fingers and I blasted at the ceiling, however I was only rewarded with the sounds of creaking floorboards. Black magic my ass, this was useless magic! I looked around panicked, and was finally met with some good luck, a window! I strained at the window, grunting at its resistance to my efforts. It simply would not budge. Thinking quickly, I wrapped my coat around my hand, punching through the glass window with ease, clearing off any remaining shards. I leaped through the opening, ready to make a run for freedom.

The paladin burst through the door, sword once again blazing with his wrath. It quickly went out as soon as he saw all that remained in the store room. All he could see, was a pair of wriggling legs attempting to force themselves through the wall, his top half nowhere to be found. His ass was stuck in the window. The paladin stifled a chuckle as he exited the Bread & Bed, circling around to where his top half struggled for freedom. And there he found him, pulling at the long grass as an anchor in an attempt to release his legs, though to no avail. The paladin stood in front of him, sword resting on his shoulder.

"I thought that you might want to face me head on when I take your life." He readied his sword again, as a muffled voice came from behind Abel.

'Don't worry, Clarke, I got ya!' As the paladin's sword came down, it only dug into the grass and earth, Abel pulled inside by his legs, and out of harm's way. "What the hell were ya doin' in mah window?" Asked the innkeeper of the Bread & Bed.

"Thank Crom, my friend. I was attempting to escape, I beat that man out there at cards, and believe you me: he is a SORE loser."

"Ah, ya need a place tah stay, I got it, I'll move yer room so he can't find ya." He sneaked Abel upstairs, the paladin busying himself with questioning of bar patrons, all of whom claimed Abel had run out right before he got there. 'Maybe Blackley isn't so bad,' I thought.

The sounds of screaming roared in the streets, terror and panic flooding through the roadways. Abel covered his head with his pillow in an effort to fall back asleep, an attempt in vain, as the screaming only intensified, the sounds of a bestial screech blasting through the air. After a few minutes enduring the chaos, he sat up, throwing his blanket to the side. "What's a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here..."

He stepped outside, looking left and right for the source of the commotion, or even the paladin's familiarly murderous face. No paladin anywhere. 'Probably off screaming with the rest of these blasted peasants,' I thought. The charred corpse, cooked in its armor, hitting the cobblestone next to me told me otherwise. He sighed, pulling on his longcoat with an overly theatrical swipe, hoping anyone who saw thought he looked as cool as he did. He covered his mouth with a bandanna to protect his lungs from smoke, running into the streets to see the cause of the evident destruction. The cause flew over his head twice now without his notice, however.

A dragon, its scales a golden and red hue in the light from the flames engulfing the buildings. He was easily fifteen feet long, from nose to tail, its wingspan almost twice that. Jets of flames spattered against building and into the crowds running from the city, scattering them and collapsing buildings. Abel sighed again as it spotted him, heading towards the lone figure, flames licking at its maw. "Looks like I'm done sleeping tonight." A jet of flame stung towards him.

He leaped aside, flames barely catching the tail of his coat, which he promptly rolled to put out, landing on his stomach. "Get DOWN here." He flourished his hand, a spark of smoking purple exploding under the beasts wing, a plume knocking into the membrane. It struggled in the air, desperate to regain altitude that it was rapidly losing. However, its floundering efforts only led to it smashing down into the street, tearing the thin membrane that gave the dragon lift. It looked to its torn appendages and looked almost offended back at Abel, as he casually made his way towards the dragon, stopping off at the well to take the bucket from it.

It roared at him, flames belching lightly into the air. Abel only responded by sloshing the bucket of water. It fired a blast to him, and he threw the bucket, a purple energy flowing from his hands into the water, changing the water from a splash into a torrent of electrified purple hose. It easily dowsed the flames, and forced its way into the dragon's jaws, dowsing its lungs of flame.

It coughed and sputtered, smoke coming in thick black heaves from its mouth and nose. Abel smiled, trying to think of all the ways he could 'take care of' this dragon. 'Wait,' he thought. 'I don't KNOW how to kill it! My fire breath can barely hurt a human, and I only heated up the air under its wing to bring it down, this water had already done all the damage it can do. I don't even have my old sword, I left it behind when I fell. I can't even conjure a new one, I can only make cloth!' A horrid realization hit him like a ton of bricks. 'I don't actually know any lethal spells.' An idea crossed his rushing mind, and he flourished his hand, a sword appearing there. The dragon's eyes widened, as he continually stepped menacingly towards it.

The tail of the dragon snaked its way out of sight into the wilderness around Blackley, and Abel smiled at his effective plan. 'The cloth wrapped in a sword shape made an excellent silhouette in the smokey darkness and firelight! Good enough to fool a dragon, at least.' The fires were going out on the homes and stores, and the rising sun did little to stop the looters. 'I think it's about time to get out of Blackley.'