The Shores of Night

[Aroukar]

I.e. Gay fantasy fanfic. I just had to get it out of my system before my will to do so dissipated. I am open to outside participation as long as it is believable.
1.
Cardyn Locus, a novice of the priesthood of the Divinity stood before the large brass doors. Within, awaited the elder monks of the order, and the Chosen himself. He had no doubts about the reason he had been called; It was a remarkable thing after all. Extending a hand just above his head, he waited. An orb of light appeared just behind his head, and from within it a slender effete hand glided out to grasp Cardyn's hand gently. The radiant hand, neither warm or cold, comforted him with its steady grip.

"A messenger of the Divinity has graced me. I am unworthy, but I accept it." He said quietly to himself again. Humility was his foremost virtue and he strived to maintain it with these simple words. He had not been the only one. Many emissaries of the Divinity had appeared over the ages, and even now a handful of the order's most devoted could call upon a Messenger. The Chosen was of course among them. The Divinity had bestowed upon him a grim being called The Contemptor. A four-armed gray behemoth who murdered anything with just a whisper from the Chosen.

Cardyn was exceptional, because he was still a novice of the Order. The Messengers usually appeared after decades of intense prayer and reflection. Even then, most of them were little more than an aura of light or an eye. The whole manifestation of a Messenger was usually the sign of the next Chosen.

 

[Scumhook]

feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed meeeeeeeeeeee

 

[Aroukar]

(Thanks for the motivation Scumhook)

He was shaken from his thoughts by a whisper close to his ear. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his forehead even as the arm lovingly wiped it away. "The message...it wants to be fed...but how?" He muttered to himself. It had not been the first time he had heard these words, and he was sure he would hear them again. Just then the large doors opened with a groan, and a brother silently beckoned him inside.

The vault like chamber, deep below ground, was once a prison for heretics, but now it served as an impromptu court. By the far wall stood the four elder priests and just behind them leaning against the wall, the Chosen.

"Cardyn Locus."

He stepped forward.

 

[Scumhook]

Standing before the assembled court, Cardyn's thoughts jumped back to his childhood, growing up on the farm.

His earliest memories were of shouts in the background, noise, heat and movement. Years later, his adoptive parents told him the story of how he escaped certain death (which, by definition, made it not-certain) thanks to Juillana, the voluptuous Spanish wet-nurse who attached him to her breast and fled through the nightmare that was the Orc assault upon his birth-parent's homestead.

She fled all thru the day and all thru the night
Then she taught him to love and taught him to fight
He grew into a man and came into his might
Then realised her was not very tight

Juillana left Cardyn with a childless couple who had, as previously inferred, a farm. They had always wanted children, and on occasion, they had paid Julliana to be a wet-nurse for Steven (the father) while Chemda (the mother) hastily drew sketches of the sordid scene while trying to masturbate and keep track of her pastel crayons.

Cardyn thought back fondly to the days of hard but honest work on the farm, and the nights of eating dinner with his adoptive parents, then drifting off to sleep while the sounds of their increasingly depraved lovemaking made their way into his malleable subconscious...

 

[Aroukar]

He was smiling fondly, lost in the remembrances of youth, when he was shaken roughly into the present. It was the words they had spoken a moment earlier that had caused him to sink into the past. They sympathetically repeated them for his benefit. "You have been found guilty of heresy; the sentence is death."

There was no use arguing his case. The word of the Chosen was law. Not that he ever heard him speak. The Chosen only whispered and the elder brothers ever repeated his words. Stepping forward from behind his stooges, he walked up to Cardyn. Extending an arm to the side, the Contemptor appeared, menacing.

At this distance, Cardyn was able to hear the Chosen mutter: "Kill him." He closed his eyes and prayed it would be over quickly. After a long silence, the other monks began to talk amongst themselves. He opened his eyes and he was still alive. He realized the reason was that the arm behind his head had appeared and with a gesture had forbade the Contemptor from acting.

The Chosen had been made to look like a fool, but his composure didn't falter. "Clap him in irons and send him to the Isle of Skulls." He spoke. An isolated island made of bones, the priesthood sometimes sent heretics here as an alternative punishment. With no food or water he would soon wither to death.

Cardyn was cuffed and made to leave that room. "Oh Juillana...how am I gonna get out of this one?" He said to himself.