Post by Loki on Nov 20, 2006 20:18:19 GMT -5
Pope Benedict the XII sat at his desk reading the dispatch that had just been delivered. Things were getting out of hand in England and all around Europe for that matter. This letter was the report of yet another attack by those abominations. Something had to be done, but what exactly? Benedict raised his eyes from the letter and studied the youth that had come with the message.
He could not have been more than a year or two out of childhood, and yet, times were desperate enough where even one so young was involved. Benedict wondered just how many children were serving as messengers, and how many more were serving on the battlefields of England.
Benedict dropped the letter on the desk and rubbed his eyes wearily. This war had been raging far too long. What to do, what to do? He clasped his hands on the desk and looked back to the youth.
“You are a brave young man for coming James. These abominations patrol the roads and harass travelers between England and Rome mercilessly.”
“Thank you your grace.”
“Tell King Edward that he will have my response in five days. Until then, I pray for your safe return.”
The boy bowed and crossed himself before turning and exiting the papal office. Benedict watched the door close behind before slumping back into his chair. What was he to do? There were no additional forces to allocate to help break the siege these freaks held over Britain. There was a knock at the door and Benedict sat back up. The door opened and Peter walked in.
“Yes Peter?”
“You’re Grace. I’m curious, what does the papacy plan to do about the situation in England? Surely we will not abandon them?”
“No Peter, England will not be abandoned. Not now, not ever. But I fear that the darkest of times have yet to befall us. If we are to strike against these hoards then the time to do it is now, before the last son is sired.”
“The last son your grace?”
“It is nothing of importance.”
“If your holiness says it is so, then I shall not fear it. But I still do fear for England, and for all of Europe. If we do not act soon then these unholy creatures will consume the whole of the world.”
“Have faith Peter, for I have a plan. And I pray that it works, for if it does not, then it shall be as you said. These unholy creatures will consume the world. Assemble the ranks of the Papal army, and from them choose three hundred of the best soldiers. They are not to be told why, just select them and have these elite assemble before me the day after the morrow.”
“Three hundred men, your Grace? What difference could only three hundred men make in a war against the very seed of evil?”
“Have faith Peter, do as I have instructed and I will show what only three hundred men can do.”
Benedict crossed Peter and sent him on his way. Day gave way to night which gave way to dawn. The next day passed just as quickly for Benedict the XII, all too quickly. Benedict shuffled about his office all the morning, trying to remain as busy as possible. The feeling of dread that had knotted his stomach since turning the young boy away the afternoon before last had risen from a small worry to great dread. This had to work, God help the world if it didn’t. He was shaken from his worries as Peter entered his office.
“Your Grace, they are ready.”
Benedict nodded and headed to his chambers. Donning his robes and papal crown, he gazed across the bed into the mirror. No this attire would not do for this situation. These men needed a leader, not a stuffy old man in robes. Stripping the robes and discarding them to his bed, he instead donned a breastplate with the emblem of the church on it. Benedict uttered a quick and solemn prayer before strapping on his sword and stepping onto the papal balcony to address his three hundred knights.
“I look before me and see three hundred pairs of questioning eyes. Three hundred curious faces. But I also see three hundred knights of the church. I ask that you allay your doubts and fears and fully put your trust in God and in me. Fore I no longer see three hundred knights of the cross. I see before me, three hundred Knights of Iscariot.”
*****
My life just seemed to be on a downhill slope this week. I had a match in a few hours against one of the best in the business, Justin “Stormm” Michaels. The guy was a hell of a wrestler; former genesis champion, number one contender for Grimm’s title, and one of the participants in the War Games match last week. But he was the least of my worries right now. No what worried me the most was the fact that I wasn’t dead. Less than a week ago my “best friend” had thrown me out of a window five stories above the street.
I woke up somewhere else though, and I awoke to the same old man that had warned me against pursuing Kaden. Guess I should have listened. The old man had told me that to pursue Kaden now was to throw my life away and that death would be a certainty. And the same old man that had told me all of this last week was now standing at my door.
“Your looking much better this week James.”
“Christ, you again. Look thanks for saving me last week but who the hell are you?”
“My name is Mathew, Mathew de Grey. You disappoint me though James, I told you last week that you are worth more to our organization alive than you are dead. I guess it’s true what they say about you wrestler, more brawn then brain.”
“Well Mathew, very nice to meet you. But I’ve got my own life to live. I don’t want any part in your little, whatever it is.”
“I see. Well ok James; it is your choice to say no. Take care.”
He walked up to me, taking one hand from inside his coat and clapping me on the shoulder. The smile of camaraderie that he wore never left his face as he withdrew his other hand from the coat. The coat slid from his shoulders as his stance changed and before I knew what was happening I was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“It is your choice to say no James, but given the circumstances, maybe you had better rethink your choice. Now James, were going to go for a little ride and I’m going to introduce you to the people that saved your life.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t wait for my answer before telling me we were going somewhere. He must have been certain that I was going to change from no to yes. Well when you’ve got a gun inches from your head, your perspectives tend to change a little, mine certainly did. He motioned towards the stairs with the gun and I started walking.
We walked down to street level and right out the front door. I was able to sneak a look behind me and found the coat neatly folded over his arms. There was a slight bulge in it and I wasn’t enough of a gambler or an idiot to think that I could get away. Besides, what good would it do, this guy, Mathew, already knew where I lived. There was a Rolls parked out front and a man in a neat little uniform standing next to it.
Wait did I say little? This guy looked like he could have taken out the entire PCW locker room with a hand tied behind his back. Yet he treated this old guy like he was the Pope or something. He even crossed himself after opening the car door. The car ride was short and quiet, in a word, uncomfortable. Mathew sat there with a knowing smile, his coat still folded over his hands and the gun.
I couldn’t see out of the heavily tinted windows so I had no clue where I was. I sure hoped these guys planned on giving me a ride back. The car came to a stop and the chauffer opened the door. Mathew motioned me out car and as I stepped out I was in awe. I may have come from a rich family, but our place had been a shack compared to this. The old man stepped out of the car behind me, his coat back on and the gun vanished. I still wasn’t taking any chances though.
“Beautiful isn’t it James?”
“Yah, yah it is. Where are we?”
“Ah but it is not where we are that is important, it is where we are going.”
I continued to stare at this giant palace, completely dumbfounded. “Uhh, ok and where exactly are we going?”
Mathew grinned and clapped me on the shoulder again and started walking towards the door, calling behind him. “Were about to descend into the very pits of hell Mr. Keenan. Welcome to Iscariot.”
He could not have been more than a year or two out of childhood, and yet, times were desperate enough where even one so young was involved. Benedict wondered just how many children were serving as messengers, and how many more were serving on the battlefields of England.
Benedict dropped the letter on the desk and rubbed his eyes wearily. This war had been raging far too long. What to do, what to do? He clasped his hands on the desk and looked back to the youth.
“You are a brave young man for coming James. These abominations patrol the roads and harass travelers between England and Rome mercilessly.”
“Thank you your grace.”
“Tell King Edward that he will have my response in five days. Until then, I pray for your safe return.”
The boy bowed and crossed himself before turning and exiting the papal office. Benedict watched the door close behind before slumping back into his chair. What was he to do? There were no additional forces to allocate to help break the siege these freaks held over Britain. There was a knock at the door and Benedict sat back up. The door opened and Peter walked in.
“Yes Peter?”
“You’re Grace. I’m curious, what does the papacy plan to do about the situation in England? Surely we will not abandon them?”
“No Peter, England will not be abandoned. Not now, not ever. But I fear that the darkest of times have yet to befall us. If we are to strike against these hoards then the time to do it is now, before the last son is sired.”
“The last son your grace?”
“It is nothing of importance.”
“If your holiness says it is so, then I shall not fear it. But I still do fear for England, and for all of Europe. If we do not act soon then these unholy creatures will consume the whole of the world.”
“Have faith Peter, for I have a plan. And I pray that it works, for if it does not, then it shall be as you said. These unholy creatures will consume the world. Assemble the ranks of the Papal army, and from them choose three hundred of the best soldiers. They are not to be told why, just select them and have these elite assemble before me the day after the morrow.”
“Three hundred men, your Grace? What difference could only three hundred men make in a war against the very seed of evil?”
“Have faith Peter, do as I have instructed and I will show what only three hundred men can do.”
Benedict crossed Peter and sent him on his way. Day gave way to night which gave way to dawn. The next day passed just as quickly for Benedict the XII, all too quickly. Benedict shuffled about his office all the morning, trying to remain as busy as possible. The feeling of dread that had knotted his stomach since turning the young boy away the afternoon before last had risen from a small worry to great dread. This had to work, God help the world if it didn’t. He was shaken from his worries as Peter entered his office.
“Your Grace, they are ready.”
Benedict nodded and headed to his chambers. Donning his robes and papal crown, he gazed across the bed into the mirror. No this attire would not do for this situation. These men needed a leader, not a stuffy old man in robes. Stripping the robes and discarding them to his bed, he instead donned a breastplate with the emblem of the church on it. Benedict uttered a quick and solemn prayer before strapping on his sword and stepping onto the papal balcony to address his three hundred knights.
“I look before me and see three hundred pairs of questioning eyes. Three hundred curious faces. But I also see three hundred knights of the church. I ask that you allay your doubts and fears and fully put your trust in God and in me. Fore I no longer see three hundred knights of the cross. I see before me, three hundred Knights of Iscariot.”
*****
My life just seemed to be on a downhill slope this week. I had a match in a few hours against one of the best in the business, Justin “Stormm” Michaels. The guy was a hell of a wrestler; former genesis champion, number one contender for Grimm’s title, and one of the participants in the War Games match last week. But he was the least of my worries right now. No what worried me the most was the fact that I wasn’t dead. Less than a week ago my “best friend” had thrown me out of a window five stories above the street.
I woke up somewhere else though, and I awoke to the same old man that had warned me against pursuing Kaden. Guess I should have listened. The old man had told me that to pursue Kaden now was to throw my life away and that death would be a certainty. And the same old man that had told me all of this last week was now standing at my door.
“Your looking much better this week James.”
“Christ, you again. Look thanks for saving me last week but who the hell are you?”
“My name is Mathew, Mathew de Grey. You disappoint me though James, I told you last week that you are worth more to our organization alive than you are dead. I guess it’s true what they say about you wrestler, more brawn then brain.”
“Well Mathew, very nice to meet you. But I’ve got my own life to live. I don’t want any part in your little, whatever it is.”
“I see. Well ok James; it is your choice to say no. Take care.”
He walked up to me, taking one hand from inside his coat and clapping me on the shoulder. The smile of camaraderie that he wore never left his face as he withdrew his other hand from the coat. The coat slid from his shoulders as his stance changed and before I knew what was happening I was staring down the barrel of a gun.
“It is your choice to say no James, but given the circumstances, maybe you had better rethink your choice. Now James, were going to go for a little ride and I’m going to introduce you to the people that saved your life.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t wait for my answer before telling me we were going somewhere. He must have been certain that I was going to change from no to yes. Well when you’ve got a gun inches from your head, your perspectives tend to change a little, mine certainly did. He motioned towards the stairs with the gun and I started walking.
We walked down to street level and right out the front door. I was able to sneak a look behind me and found the coat neatly folded over his arms. There was a slight bulge in it and I wasn’t enough of a gambler or an idiot to think that I could get away. Besides, what good would it do, this guy, Mathew, already knew where I lived. There was a Rolls parked out front and a man in a neat little uniform standing next to it.
Wait did I say little? This guy looked like he could have taken out the entire PCW locker room with a hand tied behind his back. Yet he treated this old guy like he was the Pope or something. He even crossed himself after opening the car door. The car ride was short and quiet, in a word, uncomfortable. Mathew sat there with a knowing smile, his coat still folded over his hands and the gun.
I couldn’t see out of the heavily tinted windows so I had no clue where I was. I sure hoped these guys planned on giving me a ride back. The car came to a stop and the chauffer opened the door. Mathew motioned me out car and as I stepped out I was in awe. I may have come from a rich family, but our place had been a shack compared to this. The old man stepped out of the car behind me, his coat back on and the gun vanished. I still wasn’t taking any chances though.
“Beautiful isn’t it James?”
“Yah, yah it is. Where are we?”
“Ah but it is not where we are that is important, it is where we are going.”
I continued to stare at this giant palace, completely dumbfounded. “Uhh, ok and where exactly are we going?”
Mathew grinned and clapped me on the shoulder again and started walking towards the door, calling behind him. “Were about to descend into the very pits of hell Mr. Keenan. Welcome to Iscariot.”
