Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

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Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Mar 10, 2014 03:17 am

Some might recall that I had previously made mention as part of the Blood Wiki's sixth anniversary that I had plans to once again invest some of my time in an area of Blood fandom that I had formerly been quite involved in. To that end I present Scroll, a story I originally began in the summer of 2008 as a kind of retelling of the story behind Cryptic Passage in an attempt to bring it further in line with the main Blood canon. Designed to be published in multiple parts, I shall endeavour to release a new instalment of Scroll every Sunday from March 9th on until the story is complete.

Comments and suggestions are welcome, and may even affect how the story progresses if enough salient or inventive points are made.

Alongside the Transfusion Forums the instalments will also be mirrored on both the Blood Wiki and deviantArt, and each individual instalment shall be kept in the ordered list below for subsequent easy reference.

Table of Contents:
1. The Great Betrayer
2. Steady Rain
3. Boat Docks
4. Lanterns of the Dead
5. Cast in Stone
6. Rest for the Wicked
7. Strangers in the Night
8. Lost Monastery
9. Butchery Loves Company
10. Welcome To Your Life
11. They Are Here
12. Old Opera House
13. Faith Is The Key
14. Don't Fear The Reaper
15. Spare Parts
16. Catacombs
17. Head Soccer
18. No Life In You
19. Graveyard
20. I'll Sleep When I'm Dead
21. Gothic Library
22. Pursuit of Knowledge
23. As It Burns, It Burns
24. Steamboat
25. Kneel Before Me
26. Love You To Death
27. When The Time Comes
28. Smoke On The Water
29. Boggy Creek
30. If You're Blue And You Don't Know It
31. Mountain Pass
32. The Cold Rush
33. Cold, Cold Grave
34. Abysmal Mine
35. Desperados Under the Eaves
36. Castle
37. Excitable Boy
38. The Siege
39. Beyond The Rift
40. The Lord Of All Nightmares
41. Accidentally Like A Martyr
42. Loose Ends
43. The Word
Last edited by Tchernobog on Wed Dec 31, 2014 07:57 am, edited 36 times in total.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Mar 10, 2014 03:18 am

Part One: The Great Betrayer

A stone floor is stained red with blood. Gruesome and macabre artwork lines the walls, showing everything from fantastic creatures to bizarre rituals. Torches burn from their perches, illuminating the otherwise dark hall, revealing a permanently skewed face. All around the face are visions of other faces, staring up from prostate bodies lying limp and lifeless on the ground, their robes discoloured by viscera. A man also garbed in a robe stands in the middle of the chaos, observing the scene with a surprising air of solemnity. He clasps in his hands an elongated ochre staff, easily confused for a walking stick if not for the grimacing human skull embedded on one end. The man lifts the staff and taps one of the felled bodies, which falls over on its side like a sick rag doll.

The man lets out a frustrated sigh. All around him are the bodies of the dead, the bodies of the cult, the bodies of his comrades in arms. The man's grip on the staff weakens as his hands shake in anger. They all lie dead, dead for a reason he can not understand. Only one explanation rests in the troubled man's mind; they had all been betrayed. The glory of the cult had been cut down by one of their own. Their resources had been plundered by their own. Their numbers had been reduced by their own. Their god had been killed by their own.

“NO!” the cultist screams, relapsing into his original tongue, temporarily throwing off the prescribed language of the cult. He falls to his knees, still screaming, his fanatical loyalty to the cult turning into an utter despair. He remained wrapped in his torment for several long drawn out moments, before the emotional control that the cult so keenly required finally returned to the acolyte and allowed him to rise back to his feet. His sharp eyes then noticed something in the hands of one of the dead. He plucks it out from the dead man's grasp, and reads the words written on it aloud to himself, fully aware that there were no longer any other living ears left to hear them.

An evil snake-like smile appears on the man's dry cracked lips. The fool, the total and utter fool! For such power to come so close to the betrayer's reach and for him to miss it! The man leans his head back in a spree of maniacal laughter. The fool, the absolute bloody fool! He looks down again at the scroll which has brought him so much joy. This scroll would be their future; the power that it contained could still bring the Cabal back to glory, despite all the damage that had been done. The man's mind whirled as he plotted his next steps, the steps that would bring the Cabal back to dominance once again. There was nothing the betrayer could do, nothing that Caleb could do, to stop him. The man lets out another spree of laughter, before leaving the hall and all its grisly sights behind for good.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Mon Mar 10, 2014 09:12 pm

Woooo Hoooo! Heeeee ha he ha ho ho ha heeeee! :D

*Dances giddily amidst the viscera like a child enjoying his first heavy snow fall.*


Special request; A slightly different font size in a slightly different coloring, so that the actual FF will stand out from other commentary/ posts such as this one? 8) 8)
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Mar 10, 2014 11:37 pm

N0t_mINe wrote:Special request; A slightly different font size in a slightly different coloring, so that the actual FF will stand out from other commentary/ posts such as this one? 8) 8)


And done, with extreme prejudice. 8)
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Thu Mar 13, 2014 07:07 pm

So I have just made a fresh install of Blood so that I could play through Cryptic Passage again, as for some reason it became badly broken on my last install, probably due to playing Mods. At any rate, this time I have even gotten the CD Audio working due to my discovering of the "imgmount" command in DOSBox and my pointing it to an appropriately extracted Cue sheet. For someone who has spent most of his time playing the game with its MIDI music, it does make quite a change. :o

So far I have not rediscovered anything all that noteworthy, but I am enjoying going through the game again. There was one instance where both me and a Cultist threw a stick of dynamite at each other at the same time and we both managed to survive somehow. I might try and work that in here somewhere. ;)
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Sun Mar 16, 2014 04:49 am

So I just won Cryptic Passage for the first time in a long time, and the The Lord of All Nightmares turned out to be a major anticlimax. All I did was pick up the Akimbo powerup, set down my Life Leech, switched to my Tesla Cannons, let the Life Leech distract one of the Cerberi while I dealt with the other, and then finished the first one off. I only lost about 30 health in the process.

I honestly had more trouble with the three Stone Gargoyles just prior, which I also dealt with by setting down a Life Leech, killing one and distracting another long enough for me to dispatch the third with my Napalm Launcher after it got stuck in a level obstruction. Then using a combination of Naplam and Life Leech I managed to finally take down the second gargoyle, bringing me down to 23 health. The mother spider that made up the other component of the final boss challenge was just a simple matter of using the Naplam Launcher's alternative fire mode.

At any rate, Part Two is finished and ready to go for tomorrow. Keep watching this space! :D
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Sun Mar 16, 2014 09:20 pm

Part Two: Steady Rain

Rain pelted down on the long brim of Caleb's hat, water dripping off its sides and streaming down the back and shoulders of his long leather trench coat. The various shops and stores around him were empty; whether this had to do with the rain or Caleb's presence was unknown. The man stared grimly down at his own reflection in a puddle, his glowing red eyes starring back at him from the pool in as vacant a manner as they themselves had first been received. Caleb's face was ragged and unshaven, his hat ratty and worn. That hat had remained his best and most faithful friend in both life and death for decades now. His only friend it seemed.

A crack of thunder jolted Caleb from his memories. A few rain drops could be ignored, but not even Caleb wanted to be stuck out in the middle of a thunderstorm. He looked around at the various dark and empty buildings that lined the street about him, searching for somewhere warm and dry where he could be reasonably satisfied that his old and now moist flesh would not be left to rot. The light of a burning torch caught Caleb's eye, and he promptly moved to have a better look. The building from which the torch was perched definitely seemed out of place when compared to the others; it was lighten up warmly, almost cheerfully, and pervaded such an air of liveliness as to perk even the old gunslinger's often muted interest. Caleb drew closer, hoping to warm up by the heat of the fire, before almost immediately halting again upon seeing the shapes of moving figures coming from inside the still more illuminated building.

Caleb hid himself behind one of the large pillars that supported the overhanging eave that still managed to shield the torch's burning flame from the deluge of rain, and gazed cautiously inside. A congregation of cultists sat around an Elder sitting upon a large throne, his body cloaked in a crimson red robe. The Cabal had fragmented after Caleb's initial onslaught had cost them their god, and while they were all in theory still part of one larger organization, the cult was now further divided into new individual chapters that were given far greater autonomy than ever would have been allowed of back in Caleb's days of subservience and penance to the cult. The procession spoke English instead of the traditional Cultist, showing even more the naivety and inexperience of the fresh recruits that these new chapters were meant to ingratiate. Caleb slid open the building's window and tried his best to listen in on the aspiring group's conversation.

"What is this we hear about a special object coming into our possession?" one of the cultists inquired, an almost comically youthful excitement in his voice.

"You speak of the scroll young one?" the man on the throne responded, significant age and a more than fair amount of wisdom discernible in his voice. This was obviously the leader of the group.

"What can this scroll accomplish Elder?" another cultist interjected, altogether too much excitement and eagerness in his voice. It all seemed like kindergarten as far as Caleb was concerned.

"Patience is a virtue I expect you all to learn!" the Elder proclaimed, his intimidating eyes gazing across the room at all those who attended his presence, including inadvertently Caleb. Not wishing to betray his position, and still fully cognizant of the fact that he remained the scariest thing in and around the room, Caleb became the only one present not to actively shy away from the old man's reproach. "Let us return to the matter at hand..." the Elder continued, finally allowing his severity to drop enough for his followers to begin to let their guards down once again. "We have recently been entrusted with a most sacred and empowering object, one that can control even the process of life and death itself." A mummer of hushed voices echoed through the crowd

"Where did this artifact originate Elder?" one of the brighter cultists asked, one of the few in the group more interested in the significance of the object rather than the prestige that its possession would obviously confer upon them.

"It had long been kept in Lord Tchernobog's great Hall of Epiphany, originally to be placed in the hand's of his Chosen one" the Elder answered slowly, the group absorbing his every word. "Only recently after the fall of our Lord has the scroll been placed in mortal hands."

"What will we do with it!?" another cultist exclaimed, once again far too eager.

"Silence when I am speaking!" the Elder called out, once again freezing everyone in the entire room with the exception of their ever so quiet eavesdropper. After a few more long drawn out moments, the Elder began to speak again, finally satisfied with the overall deportment of the now suitably cowed assemblage. "The scroll is to be kept in a nearby Castle, where no one other than the Highest Elders of the Cabal is to be permitted access to it" the Elder explained, his voice still caustic.

"Then why was it sent to us great Elder?" one of the cultists called out, disappointment evident in his voice. Another flash of lightning crashed down somewhere into the far distant ground, briefly illuminating the entrance of a dark figure into the building, an event which was still nonetheless not noticed or remarked upon by anyone else in the room.

"To keep it out of the hands of the Betrayer" the Elder stated, a deep burning hatred in his tone.

"Who happened to be listening to every word!" Caleb's deep gravely voice boomed out, cutting through the room. All the cultists turned to see the old gunslinger standing in the doorway, his hands grasping his sawed-off shotgun tightly, demonstrating beyond a doubt that he still had at least one more trusted friend on his person after all.

"Today we witness the fall of the Great Betrayer!" the Elder enthused, as weapons appeared out of every robe in the building. Caleb immediately started firing round after round of shells into the group, loading and unloading his favoured weapon at an almost impossible speed, his aim as exact and precise as only someone who has been shooting for more than one lifetime can. The cultists, in comparison, were all new and barely trained recruits, who tried their meagre best to fight off Caleb's viscous onslaught. The violent scene was over almost before it had began, and before long only one other living soul remained in the building.

"My scroll please Elder..." Caleb demanded menacingly, his shotgun pressed against the man's throat. The Elder held the scroll under his robes in clenched hands, fear in his ancient eyes. To Caleb's surprise the man's expression suddenly changed to that of a deep smile. Caleb turned too late to see the gargoyle behind him, as it suddenly pushed him into the wall with a force that could only be made possible by muscles of stone. Caleb quickly pulled himself together and turned around, only to see the gargoyle flying off into the suddenly clear moonlight, the scroll in its talons.

"Better luck next time betrayer!" the Elder sneered. Caleb was in no mood, and dismissively fired a few shells into the Elder before turning to leave. The rain having finally stopped outside, Caleb walked out into the moist gloom.

"Looks like there's killing to do" he commented to himself, before proactively reloading his sawed-off.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Mon Mar 17, 2014 11:54 pm

Some tremendous creative output here Tcherno. It's fun to put Caleb in familiar-ish settings, isn't it?
Funny thing about working a night shift btw, it really does dull one's commitment to personal hobbies. I wish I could work days. :cry:

Glad you were able to finish cryptic. I fought all the way to the monastery level. What a strange level to crash on.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Mar 24, 2014 05:51 am

I deserve a lot of credit for getting this one out this week; the past four days have taken me through hell and back, and have not granted the best of outcomes.

Part Three: Boat Docks

A cold gale cut through the damp air, a stern warning against any would be travellers to stay home and leave their troubles alone for a while. Caleb reached out a gruff hand and caught his hat just before it would have been blown across the lake and deposited on the opposite eroding shore. His resolve had not been the least bit shaken by the blustering whispers of the wind. Caleb hated the water, and he had more than a few good reasons to justify this ire. Nasty things lived in the water, be they natural or one of the new experimental creatures that the Cabal was so fond of envisioning these days. Caleb gave a good long stern glare down into the murky depths, looking for any signs of movement. There were none, and Caleb, somewhat satisfied, climbed into the row boat that was so conveniently tied down to a stake embedded in the rocky shoreline nearby. He had to follow that gargoyle, even if he did not like the look of this lake. He picked up the oars and started paddling.

"Life and death..." he mused to himself, remembering the words that the Elder had used to describe that which was rightfully his. Caleb was of course quite familiar with death; the anguished faces of his victims, the power that another death brings, and his very own experiences six-feet under made it a very persistent subject to him. Death was something that Caleb was comfortable with controlling. Life, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. Caleb had seen zombies be resurrected by the Cabal, old flesh and muscle flexing anew, forced into the motions of the living by wills not their own. Caleb shuddered at the thought in spite of himself; that certainly was not life, at least, not in the traditional sense. All you had there were mindless walking corpses; the closest thing they had to volition was blood lust. It was not at all like bringing back someone you really knew from the dead, someone with a personality, someone you cared about.

Caleb put down the oars and dug into his pocket. He slowly and carefully drew out a small picture and gazed at it sadly in the moonlight, the wind at his back, protectively shielding the image from the storm. On it were depicted the familiar features of Ophelia, somewhat faded by the effects of time and age. Not that her image seemed aged; it still retained the youthful glow of when the picture was first taken so many years ago. Caleb pressed a finger over the picture, almost as if he were trying to straighten the red bangs that fell messily over his beloved's eyes. "Sleep Ophelia" Caleb whispered softly, almost expecting the picture to respond. To his disappointment all that could be heard, besides the howling of the wind, was silence. "If only I could bring you back..." Caleb commented woefully. "Maybe I can bring you back..."

Caleb pocketed the photograph and picked up the oars again. He did not know if he could find the scroll, or even if he could that he would be able to use it if he tried, but if it had even the slightest possibility of bringing her back, Caleb knew that it would be worth a try. A torrent of rain began to fall from the sky again, the wind's bleak warnings turning to premonition. Caleb knew that he would not be able to navigate the lake on his own much longer. He rowed with determination, his eyes set towards the upcoming shore, the wind somehow still blowing him straight and on course. It was almost as if some other worldly force was protecting him, and was set on depositing him on one of the lake's other ancient shores. The rain's violent tumult started subsiding just as soon as the boat began to reach its final destination, pattering out almost as suddenly it had originally began just moments before. Fate was on the old gunslinger's side.

Caleb saw various small wooden platforms ahead, with one or two boats already docked. A path led out to a tunnel carved into a cliff face. Wherever the gargoyle had gone, it must have had something to do with this place. Caleb rowed up quickly and promptly moored his boat against the wharf, intent on completing his task. Upon doing so he felt something whiz past the side of his head, just as he was bending up from tying the boat to the pier. Caleb immediately stopped and looked around, but failed to see anything that could have caused the phenomenon. A flash of light caught his eye, and then he saw, from behind a tree, the figure of a cultist. Before Caleb could properly react, the cultist chucked a recently lit stick of dynamite in Caleb's direction, forcing Caleb to jump back. The explosion tore across the dock, forcing Caleb twirling into the air. His hat was once again sent flying into the sky, and was only stopped by the quick force of his ever unrelenting grip.

After a few seconds, Caleb surveyed the carnage. The explosion had completely destroyed the wharf, boats and all. All that was left was the tiny section which Caleb was now standing on. There was no going back now. Caleb looked around, but there was still no sign of the cultist. "Must have gone to tell his superiors" Caleb muttered through clenched teeth, before jumping over the now gaping hole in the pier and landing onto the hard ground of the nearby shore. He saw the path, illuminated by lanterns, stretch out before him. This must have been where the cultist had gone; there was nothing for it but to follow him. Caleb could hear his footsteps echo through the shadowy tunnel, an apparent warning to whoever or whatever was ahead. "I've got a bad feeling about this" he grumbled, noticing the lanterns becoming farther apart, causing the tunnel to gradually become even darker.

"For the love of!" Caleb exclaimed as he fell over. He waited a few moments to re-orientate himself, and then looked to see what it was that he had tripped on. The grisly face of a corpse stared back at him, a lantern enclosed in its dead fingers. "I guess I am not the only old dead guy down here" Caleb observed calmly, used to seeing all kinds of disturbing and stomach churning sights. He gingerly snatched the lamp from the corpse's cold dead clenched fingers. Before moving forward, he looked down at the face of the corpse one last time. It almost seemed as if it were smiling at him. Why did that make him feel uneasy? Caleb shrugged and continued down the passageway undeterred.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Mar 31, 2014 03:45 am

Part Four: Lanterns of the Dead

Echoing footsteps filled the tiny stone passageway as Caleb walked forward, holding the lantern out stiffly in front of him. The minute sounds of small feet sneaking their way across the floor were also audible, as was the noise produced by the gentle flame that was enclosed by the lantern. "The acoustics in this place are quite remarkable" Caleb noted to himself, adding the sound of slow dripping water somewhere off in the distance to his observed list of noises. Maybe that was what made this place so eerie. He could literally pick up on every single sound produced around him, and yet what was the main thing that he heard? Silence. Cold... Dead... Silence. At least when you were in a firefight you always knew who you were with and what it was that they intended to do with you. Down here, it could be anyone's guess.

"Strangers in the night... exchanging glances..." Caleb sang tentatively to himself, now being guided solely by the light produced by the lantern. He had picked up the habit of singing show tunes and popular songs back in the days when he was a gunfighter. His excuse was that it made him seem more cavalierly threatening. In reality, he sang when he was nervous, although he would never admit that to any other soul, living or dead. Back in the day it drove Gabriel and Ishmael nuts. He had always thought that Ophelia found it cute, but that could have just been his own deranged imagination. Caleb shook himself from his memories and stopped, cocking his head slightly. He had heard a low gentle noise coming from somewhere directly ahead of him in the passageway. It seemed to be a soft, diffuse, crackly type of noise. Caleb knew that he had heard it somewhere before. He looked at his lamp absently, trying to divine what the noise actually was.

"Of course!" Caleb realized finally. "Fire!" The acoustics of the place had made the sounds seem distorted, changed. Sure enough, up ahead Caleb saw the inviting glow of a roaring flame in the distance. He walked forward purposefully but cautiously; after all, who knew what horrors could be awaiting him by the camp fire? Upon finally reaching the place, Caleb peered into the large opening in the wall that housed the fire. A figure sat, his back turned against Caleb, roasting weenies on a stick. "Hello" Caleb whispered, but no reply from the figure was ushered. "Hello?" Caleb repeated, this time louder and more forceful. Silence. Caleb walked up and tapped the man on the shoulder. Its head and torso slumped forward, falling straight into the open flame. Caleb instinctively reached for the body, forcing it to slump onto the bottom of his trench coat, starting a small blaze.

"Curses!" Caleb exclaimed as he stamped out the flames on both his person and the corpse. Once extinguished, Caleb sat down wearily and leaned himself against the cave wall, placing his hat over his eyes. After a contented few moments of peace, he took off his hat again, tossed it to the ground, and moved over to the corpse. It was presently still staring blankly at the roof of the passageway. It had one eye gouged out, with the other bearing a deep red scratch mark. Its mouth hanged open in a look of fear and agony, while its torso was bruised and scratched, one of its arms almost bitten clean off. "Shocking" Caleb muttered to himself. Then he saw it. A sudden flash from the fire finally allowed Caleb to see the shape somewhere in his peripheral vision. Caleb moved his head closer to the dead man's chest. Etched out of flesh and blood was a symbol. On one side was the clenched fist of a man, the other the clawed grasp of a gargoyle.

This symbol had been around for a long time, even during Caleb's own days as a good and honest member of the cult. It was the symbol above it that actually interested Caleb. Two cylinders were carefully placed in an "X" position, with an bloody "K" emblazoned on top. This symbol was new to him. It was probably new to the cult. Caleb pulled his head back and once again leaned against the cave wall. The corpse held in its grasp one last possession, a small glass bottle. Caleb grabbed it and read the label. "Blood Beer" he commented, taking off the lid before nonchalantly taking a swig. He then simply sat there for a little while, contemplating the symbol and swigging from his beer until not one last drop remained. Caleb sighed, pushed himself up, and reached for his hat. "I must say I have had a wonderful time here with you" he commented dryly to his felled friend. "The conversation could have been better though." With that remark, Caleb once again continued on with his long march through the darkness.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Apr 07, 2014 03:40 am

Part Five: Cast in Stone

Things were growing increasingly dark. From this point on there were absolutely no signs of any visible light; no lamps, no campfires, nothing. The path ahead was now only sparsely illuminated by the lantern which Caleb had retrieved earlier, something which he now held tightly in his own cold clenched hands. There were also at present no signs of any other human or even animal habitation; not even the faintest noises of scurrying rodents or fluttering bats could be heard anymore. Caleb allowed himself to release a very deep sigh. Here he was, undead demigod and hardy gunfighter, going on a wild goose chase after a stray gargoyle through the dank, dark, bowels of the earth. For some strange reason thinking about it all actually did very little to raise the old gunslinger's spirits.

Then that he saw it. Caleb immediately halted and squinted in the dark. There was a faint glint of light ahead, shining forth like a welcoming beacon. Caleb walked on with a far greater urgency than he had done before. Bright moonlight was finally beginning to illuminate the shadowy passageway, starting to show a way out of the labyrinth. Caleb now rushed forward, his eyes irritated slightly by the sudden change in light level. Outside he could see tall trees and even a lengthy stone pathway leading off into the distance. A pillar of chimney smoke could be seen rising from a large building at the end of the path. It all seemed very inviting. Caleb had not realized that he had started running, and upon doing so finally stopped, having at last reached the end of the long gloomy passageway. Glimmering starlight shown above him, and he finally began to feel at peace again.

Caleb suddenly found himself thrown against the hard ground as something heavy landed on top of him, forcing him face first into the rough stone pathway. He could hear the familiar sound of growls in his ear as he quickly scrambled to pull himself back onto his feet. Unfortunately for him, Caleb then felt the force of two very strong arms pinning him further to the ground. Caleb released another very weary sigh. "Hello again gargoyle" he commented dryly, now harbouring no doubts as to the true identity of his present attacker. Caleb cringed as the foul scent of the gargoyle's breath reached his nose, more of which was released every time the creature opened its obscene mouth to growl. Caleb slowly worked his arms towards the thigh of his right leg, placing his fingers around a familiar handle.

"It's time you learned some manners!" Caleb shouted, shoving the knife deep into the gargoyle's underbelly. Although constituting only a minor pin prick in the eyes of the gargoyle, it did prove to be enough of a distraction to allow Caleb to finally free himself from the gargoyle's clutches and roll out from underneath its scaly body. With lightning quick reflexes, Caleb grabbed his sawed-off from where it was thrown from his interior trench coat pocket during the scuffle and promptly shot back up to his feet, pointing the weapon directly at the gargoyle's reptilian head. "The choice is yours, fly now and live, stay and die!" he taunted, having gained something of a competitive advantage again. The gargoyle simply looked back at him, almost amused by his outburst.

It was not until then that Caleb had actually been granted a proper opportunity to have a good look at his opponent in decent light, and now that he had been given this opportunity he kind of wished that he did not have to. Its skin was thick and grey, the colour of royalty, and its rock hewn form was simply staggering in terms of scale. Caleb gulped reflexively. He had not picked a fight with just any gargoyle; he was now facing off against a tougher, meaner, stone gargoyle, the leaders of their race. The gargoyle continued to just stare at Caleb, releasing what could only be described as an amused growl. Caleb carefully loaded a few more shells into his shotgun and then pointed the weapon proactively at his opponent once more. He would wipe the smirk of the creature's face soon enough.

It was the gargoyle that made the first move, striking forth quickly and decisively, attempting to throw the weapon out of Caleb's hands again. Caleb was simply too quick for it however, swiftly rolling behind the cover of a nearby tree before releasing both barrels into the creatures abdomen. The gargoyle, still relatively unperturbed by its recent injuries, rushed forward to try and disable Caleb again, pushing its significant mass against the tree that the old gunslinger was now using as his cover. A loud crack echoed through the night as it began to fall right where Caleb was standing. Caleb may be quick, but this time he was simply not quick enough. The bottom of his long trench coat became caught underneath the fallen tree, trapping him once more with a large gargoyle starring him right in the face.

Thinking fast, Caleb rummaged through his pockets but to no avail. The gargoyle slowly moved one of its sharpest claws delicately before its victims eyes, showing quite clearly what it intended to have done. It was going to cut Caleb's throat. He had only one option left. Caleb closed his eyes, adrenaline flowing though his body, and pulled. He heard a loud ripping noise as the fabric of his trench coat was torn in two. Now free of the tree, he turned, still running on pure adrenaline, and aimed his shotgun. He then started firing repeatedly, aggressively, angrily, manically, the only thing still audible above the stream of shells being his own maniacal laughter. Suddenly the firing stopped and the smoke cleared. The gargoyle laid in a rubble heap on the ground. It was dead.

Caleb sat down on a nearby rock and breathed. His whole body ached from the strain that the contest had inflicted on him. He simply sat, too tired to speak, too tired to taunt, too tired to breathe. Nothing else could weigh on his mind now. Then he remembered the scroll. It was the whole reason he was here, the whole reason he had fought the creature, the whole reason that so many had to die in order for him to meet his ends. The object should now be somewhere before him, clasped in one of the gargoyle's dead talons. Caleb got up painfully and kneeled down by his victim's corpse, searching for the scroll. Maybe if he was not so tired he would have noticed the figures behind him. Maybe if he was not so tired he would have heard the sounds of their footsteps approaching. Alas for him he did not, and now they had the advantage. Something hit Caleb on the back of the head hard, and then all for him was blackness.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Apr 14, 2014 02:47 am

Part Six: Rest for the Wicked

When Caleb did finally open his eye's again he had trouble realizing that in fact he had. There seemed to be nothing else around him but blackness. Nothing could be heard besides the muffled rustling of chains somewhere nearby, and nothing appeared to either stir or move anywhere in the near vicinity of his person. The only light it seemed was being provided by Caleb himself, and that was just the cold red illumination provided by the bloodlust that his eye's could never properly conceal anymore. Caleb tried his best to remember where he was and how he had got here, but his mind kept drawing a complete blank. For all he knew he could have just been out drinking too hard and all this was just the hangover. He rested his arms by his sides and inadvertently felt for knife that he always kept strapped to his right leg, but found the weapon to be missing. Now concerned, Caleb searched the interior of his trench coat for his most prized of possessions.

His sawed-off was not there either. All of his friends seemed to have deserted him. Caleb quickly shot a hand up to his face and felt for the brim of his hat. He found it, thankfully, and now felt relieved that he had saved the search for his best friend for last; at least this way he still felt compelled to count his blessings. With that thought, others began to spill into his head, as a clearer recollection of the happenings of the previous night suddenly flooded into the old gunslinger's mind. Caleb released a very deep and a profoundly annoyed sigh. This caused something to shuffle in the corner of the room opposite from where Caleb was sitting. Maybe he was not as alone as he thought. Caleb quickly turned only to see a huge pair of petrified eyes starring right back at him.

"What?" Caleb asked incredulously. Something about the way the person gawped seemed to him to be disrespectful somehow.

"Your.. your.. eyes" an evidently male voice stuttered out, sliding even further back into the corner of what Caleb had now finally taken to be their cell. Upon seeing this, Caleb's thoughts on the boy turned into a far gentler feeling of amusement.

"Oh, that's just my fiery personalty" Caleb answered sarcastically, before casually reaching into one of his trench coat pockets. There were still a few other treasured objects which he had previously had on his person that he had yet to actively vet.

"You're... not one of them are you?" his cell mate blurted out, actually starting to fear for his own life at this point. Caleb's hands froze, and he smiled wickedly as he extracted a small metallic object from one of the pockets. With one swift motion he flipped off the lid of his lighter and flicked the small metal box alight.

"Now, if I was one of them, you would already be dead, wouldn't you?" Caleb commented, his face now ominously illuminated by the small yellow flame. Even though it only gave out a small amount of light, it was still enough to allow Caleb to attain a better view of his new found compatriot. Though young, the boy was already covered in scars and bruises; his clothes were ripped and torn, and he convulsed into shivers every time a draft blew in from under the large heavy cell door. Caleb knew the type quite well. It was just another young man turned Cabal prisoner. Caleb promptly flicked his lighter shut again, not wanting to waste its valuable butane fuel. "Nice living you have here" Caleb observed dryly, leaning his hat over his eyes in a supremely relaxed fashion.

"Who... who are you?" the man responded, still unsure of what to make of his new visitor.

"You don't know, and you shouldn't care" Caleb replied, growing weary of talking. "All you need to know is that I am your best reason to be afraid." He relaxed, sprawling himself across the stone floor, his hat falling to one side. His red eye's dimmed, and then disappeared into the darkness of the cell. After a long while had passed, the man across the room took in a tentative breath. He slowly inched forward, being very cautious as to not make a sound, and finally found himself beside his fellow prisoner. He outstretched his arm, and reached for a small object that had fallen out of the sleeping red eyed man's pocket. His eye's were better adjusted to the dark than Caleb's was, and he studied the object hopeful for some answers. It was a photograph.

"For Caleb" he whispered, reading out loud the writing that was scrawled on the back. On the other side was a picture of young red haired woman, smiling what could best be described as a devious smile towards the photographer. She appeared to be wearing brown pants and shirt with a flowing green cape, although what trace of colour that remained in the already sepia image had long been subject to age and general degradation. For some reason the name sounded familiar to him; he recalled hearing his captors referring to it at times, and he could actually remember hearing them shouting it soon after he arrived. He remembered cultists running frantically around the place, arming themselves, and running in and out of the Cabal stronghold. They had just captured him as an afterthought. This must have been the man that they were really looking for.

Suddenly Caleb's eyes opened a harsh red, as he reared up his head and looked around the room. The man quickly dropped the photograph and just as quickly crawled back to his corner of the cell, fearful that Caleb had noticed him. The next few moments seemed to take an eternity as Caleb continued to look inquisitively around the room, trying to discern what it was that had awoken him. Right when the man felt that his nerve was about to give way Caleb finally relaxed, grabbing his hat and pulling it down over his eyes once again. "What good is sitting alone in your room? Life is a cabaret..." Caleb sang off key, before closing his eyes once more and drifting back off into sleep again. In the corner of the cell, the man simply shivered.
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby dosgamer000 » Mon Apr 14, 2014 04:54 am

Very good reads, my friend. I can only expect things to get better. :D
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Tchernobog
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby Tchernobog » Mon Apr 14, 2014 04:38 pm

dosgamer000 wrote:Very good reads, my friend. I can only expect things to get better. :D

Currently it is all actually content I wrote in 2008 and 2009 that I have just been cleaning up and expanding. It will be quite a few more weeks until I start actually putting out completely new writing. :)
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Re: Scroll - Blood Fiction in Weekly Parts

Postby N0t_mINe » Tue Apr 15, 2014 12:42 am

Tchernobog wrote:Currently it is all actually content I wrote in 2008 and 2009 that I have just been cleaning up and expanding. It will be quite a few more weeks until I start actually putting out completely new writing. :)




FanFic tease, complete.
:(

I was starting to warm up to this in a big way too.

Tcherno, once you go public, you gotta go all the way man.

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