The Servant of Gelde: The Purging Ritual

The Servant of Gelde had never even heard of Corson’s Hovel, but his god guided him along the poorly maintained dirt roads and trails, in response to a prayer and promise of work. The surrounding land was sparsely wooded, filled with new growth trees; a small river flowed along the right side of the road in the direction The Servant continued his two day march.

Just ahead, smoke rose steadily and calmly to the sky, presumably warming a small house in the brisk chill of the new autumn. The Servant had been called by his master, the god Gelde, to the small milling town. He’d never heard of the town, and suspected very few others had either, but where his god called him, he travelled. It had been more than a few weeks since his last job, a simple protection job of a cowardly and fat nobleman too scared to leave the walls of his estate for a single night, so The Servant had grown impatient with nothing to occupy his time and progress his soul binding contract.

As the town approached on the old dirt road, two ragged men sat on the ground in the middle of the path facing the town, but as The Servant approached with his golden armor rattling loudly, they sprang to their jittering feet. The one on the right slapped the other in a nervous excitement, and he cackled like a man whose mind had left him long ago. When The Servant got close enough, he examined them closely. Their black and red clothes were ragged and tattered, atop their heads were conical hats draping over the back, their limbs were thin and gangly, as if they hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months, and their teeth had mostly fallen out with those that remained yellow and rotting. The one to the right reached into his waistband and drew a twisted and broken knife – one much too small to pose any real threat to The Servant. The man on the left saw his friend’s knife and suddenly remembered his own.

“Come closer, come closer, come closer!” Chattered one of the men, hopping between his feet. “He could use the meat!” Shouted the other.

The Servant didn’t think it was necessary to draw his sword, his strength would be enough to crush these madmen. He saw just behind the two was a white line scratched across the dirt, and it continued off to the side of the road, curving as if encircling the town. When he was within just a few steps, the man on the right lunged forward with his knife, but The Servant effortlessly grabbed his outstretched arm and threw him back, dragging against the dirt. Before the other man could even attempt a strike, The Servant kicked him back over the white line. In an instant, the sparse woods were filled with screams of agony, as if the man had been lit aflame or his skin was peeling slowly. The Servant paused, and curiously watched the man writhe in agony on the ground absent of any clear reason. A small punch could be felt from behind, and The Servant turned to see the other man looking confusedly at his now bent knife. With one quick move, The Servant’s gauntlet made its way around the man’s throat and closed, crushing everything in its grip. The Servant dropped the man’s lifeless corpse and returned to watching the other whose screaming was ceaseless. Mercy was granted with a quick stomp to his head, and The Servant continued forward leaving a gruesome scene for the next traveler who would happen upon the small milling town.

Rounding into view of the town itself, mill workers looked on in awe of the behemoth of a man strolling through in his shining gold armor. Besides the five wooden shacks barely large enough to sleep one, there was an open sawmill up a flight of stairs powered by the river, and a stone house – the source of the small amount of smoke rising from its chimney. The town reminded The Servant of his own home, lost to time and tragedy – an old mill converted into a water loom. This town, however, was a proper sawmill yet hardly a town deserving a name.

“Oi, Fernus!” Shouted one of the mill workers, wheeling a log up the ramp to the saw platform. “Your man is here!”

Quickly, the door to the stone house opened and out came an old man with a hunched back. “My who- oh yes, the Gelden! Welcome, sir, welcome! I am glad you have finally come. Please, enter, enter.” The old hunchbacked man waved The Servant inside.

The inside of the house was dark, but warm. A large black pot warmed, hanging on the fireplace off to the right, not far from a crowded dining table with benches along either side. To the left of the house was what looked to be someone’s own living area with a small well-made bed and a dresser.

“I would offer you some soup, but I’m afraid anything I could offer you would be too little for a large man such as yourself. But, please, make yourself at home.” Fernus said, clearing a spot at the table for The Servant to sit. “I apologize, we were just about to call it for the day, and I feed my men in here. They’re good boys – hard workers – it’s the least I could do for them. But, of course, you don’t want to hear about this. I’ve heard you Gelden are men of business.”

The Servant declined to correct Fernus’s incorrect terminology. A Gelden would be one who completed his contract with Gelde; he was a Servant of Gelde.

Fernus walked to his side of the house, and pulled a small chest from beneath his bed. “Seventy-five gold, just as I offered your god. I suppose I did the ritual right, if you’re here. This is satisfactory?”

The Servant could feel Gelde’s approval, and nodded silently to the old man.

“A man of few words.” Fernus murmured. “I suppose you know the job, then.”

The Servant shook his head slowly.

“Ah, then allow me to explain. I suppose you would have met some scary men on the road. Real cretins, they are.”

The Servant nodded affirmatively.

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware of Sogha and Krogh.”

The Servant nodded. Sogha and Krogh, two gods themselves; siblings. As the story goes, Sogha was the older sibling, and she was widely worshipped by many. Her worshippers saw her as the best of the gods in every facet and assigned to her every virtue which they valued – enough to where her original temperament had long been forgotten. Krogh, the younger brother, had his own followers and found himself more active in the lives of his worshippers, often empowering his followers to do good for their communities. But, no matter what his followers did, Krogh’s approval from the masses never surpassed his sister’s, and over years he grew resentful and envious. He commanded his followers to not just do good but to create evil to solve to look good. Soon, they would burn homes to save children from the blaze, or commit murder and turn in an innocent man, claiming Krogh had given them the information himself. With the corruption of his followers, Krogh too became a twisted version of who he was. With time, the good stopped entirely and the madness set in. Followers of Krogh were hedonistic, selfish, and amoral. They cared for little more than greatness at their own expense. Many feel empowered by Krogh’s blessing, and rise quickly within their chosen trade, before descending into madness and corruption themselves. In hindsight, the men on the road displayed obvious signs of corruption by Krogh. For all The Servant knew, they could have been fine craftsman once at the top of their trade. They would have believed themselves resistant to the madness that came with Krogh’s blessing, accepted it and rose even higher before their descent into the creatures they died as.

“My family, we’ve been loyal servants of Sogha for generations. She’s protected our home for just as long. But, my grandson, he defied us. He turned away from Sogha, he wanted more than she would offer. I’m afraid he turned to Krogh. It started with small things, some feats of strength, and smarts, it was sudden. But I thought nothing of it. Then, he became irritable, and confused. He would refuse to listen or obey my orders. It became obvious to me with some time what he had done, the pact he had made.” Fernus paused and rubbed his bald head. “It’s my fault, nothing he did was enough for me. I always asked more. I did the same with his father – crushed trying to move a massive log on his own. I should have known there it was my fault.” Tears began to form in Fernus’s eyes, and he held his head low in silence for a few moments. “You’re not here to listen to me pity myself. I called a cleric of Sogha to discuss what could be done for Laines and he came quickly, but with no good word to share. He says to me it’s no corruption, but possession. It’s rare, he says, very rare. As such, it is no good, no good at all. He tells me Laines will begin attracting the corrupted, calling them to help him with ascension. Dangerous to the world. So, he draws the ward to keep them out, and sure enough they start coming. Dozens of them by my count so far. They wait on the roads, hide in the woods. They make it hard to get trees.” Fernus paused. “Not for you, not for you. He says we need to get Laines to the Order of Cleansing; they can purge Krogh from him. Save him. I tell him I can’t do that, none of us can do that. He tells me to hire someone, and he tells me about you, or you Geldens. About what you do, and how to get you. I buy a cage, a big metal one, I throw it on an old cart I have. It’s behind the house. You, you take him. You get him to the foot of Hillstead, there’s a village there, and a cleansing chapel. You get him there. You keep him safe. You keep him alive, and they will purge the demon from his soul. Please. Please. I can’t lose another one. I cannot lose him.” Fernus began to weep; holding his face in his hand he sat on the bench silently crying into his hands.

“Where is Laines?” The Servant asked plainly.

“I can take you to him.” Said a man leaning in the doorway. “Leave Fernus be, he’s been unable to hold it together for weeks now. Come, follow me.” The man waved The Servant through the door and spoke as he led him to one of the wooden shacks. “We’ve kept him chained up in here, give him some food a few times a day, and always have someone watching in case he gets out.” He pulled out a key and unlocked the door to the shack. “Be prepared, he sometimes gets out of his chains. Couldn’t tell you how, we make sure they’re locked tight, but he slithers out some way.” The man slowly pushed the door open illuminating the inside of the small windowless shack, revealing a young man sat on the wooden floor chains wrapped around his arms.

The young man looked up at The Servant, weak and weary.

“He can walk?” The Servant asked.

“He can, but good luck getting him to. We can get the cart over here and help you put him in the cage.” The man answered.

“No need.” Said The Servant, stepping in. Laines scrambled back in a panic as the enormous man approached. The Servant effortlessly picked Laines up and threw him over his shoulder. “Where is the cart?”

The man, after a quick moment of surprise, pointed to the house. “Behind the house, there’s a small stable. I’ll work on getting the horse on it.”

The Servant carried Laines behind Fernus’s house to see a makeshift prisoner carriage, little more than a flat cart with a small metal cage, one far too small to fully stand in. He pulled open the door and placed Laines in, to which the young man began to thrash violently, but his efforts were futile as the chains held strong.

I can get the horse on the cart while you go speak to Fernus about your payment.” Said the man, leading the horse to the cart.

“Not necessary. Yoke the horse, and I’ll be off.” Said The Servant, closing the cage and attaching the padlock to the latch, putting its key into the leather pouch he kept on his hip.

“What do you mean not necessary? You’re getting paid, aren’t you?” The man asked.

“I already have. The gold’s with Gelde, has been since I was called.” The Servant answered.

“You get paid in advance? Wish I could get a job like that.” The man laughed. “What if you decided not to do it?”

“I cannot decline a job, so long as Gelde accepts the price. Should I fail, the gold will be returned in full.” The Servant said.

“Please, don’t fail. Laines, he was a good boy, but Fernus was hard on him, he doesn’t deserve this fate. And Fernus, well I care about the old man. I don’t think he could take it if Laines were to die. Fernus has lost everyone in his family. Laines is all he has. Please, don’t fail.” The man looked solemn as he spoke.

“I do not intend to fail.” The Servant responded.

“’Course you don’t.” The man said, tightening the straps on the horse. “That should be it, then. Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright then, I suppose you’d want to get off quickly. Be careful in those woods, the followers of Krogh, they’re vicious.” The man said before putting his hand out. “The name’s Marus, by the way. Should you ever pass through again, say hello. I’d love to speak to you about your god. Oh, and don’t worry about returning the cart; Laines will make his way back.”

The Servant nodded, not intending to ever pass through again, and set off on the road to Hillstead, a walled city a little less than one day away. A simple escort a short distance for seventy-five gold was a well worth it job – even with the threat of emaciated lunatics on the road. He guided the horse from Corson’s Hovel, what he now knew to not even be a town but just a mill – likely not far from a real town nearby. The wheels of the cart squeaked, and the metal of the cage rattled as he proceeded over the bumpy dirt road. Just as he saw when he entered, two men stood just outside of the ward line along the dirt road. One carried a stick, while the other looked to be unarmed. They hollered as he approached, their god chained in the cage slowly coming toward them.

Laines began to thrash in his chains. “My children! My children! Come to me my children! Free me from these clutches!” He shouted as he rolled around on the bottom of the cage.

Hearing the call, the unarmed follower roared and charged over the ward line, immediately collapsing onto the dirt, his screams bellowing from his raspy throat. The Servant continued on calmly, leading the horse which seemed to empathize with his guide’s apathy to the screams and shouts. As The Servant passed the man writhing in agony, he quickly drew his sword and slit the man’s throat, instantly quieting the screams. The remaining follower prepared himself for a fight, thrashing his stick in the air in front of him. The Servant, unfazed by what he presumed to be intimidation drew a golden dagger attached to his left thigh, and thew it forward straight into the man’s heart. The follower of Krogh looked down at the knife in his heart, back up to The Servant, fell backward in death.

Without skipping a step, The Servant grabbed his dagger from his enemy’s chest, wiped the blood off on the dead man’s clothes and returned the dagger to its place on his thigh.

“Gelde. I see.” Growled who The Servant had determined was truly Krogh.

The Servant paid him no heed as they continued forward.

“You’ve made enough on this quest to at least release me from these chains. Allow me to sit. Human bodies, they’re… uncomfortable.” Said Krogh.

The Servant remained silent.

“There’s a gold piece in my pocket. It’s yours, should you at least unlock the chains. Give me respite before you purge me from the realm. You and I both know I pose no danger in this form.”

Krogh spoke truly, and Gelde seemed to agree, urging The Servant to accept the offer, but not commanding. The Servant considered it. One gold piece was not much, but every piece added to his mound somewhere, and Krogh in the body of Laines before ascension was little more than a man. The Servant stopped the cart and turned back to the cage.

“A good man. A smart man.” Said Krogh in the cage.

The Servant unlocked the cage and placed Krogh onto his belly, crushing links in the chain with one of his hands. Krogh calmly released himself from the now useless chains and sat up, then pulled a gold piece from his pocket.

“Why do you have this?” Asked The Servant.

“The boy always kept it on him. Was his mother’s.” Said Krogh, offering it to The Servant, but as he reached his hand out the gold shot up quickly from his hand and disappeared into seemingly nothing.

The Servant felt the sting of of regret for allowing Laines’s keepsake, a memory of his mother, to be taken by his god – but there was nothing he could have done then; Gelde had no sense of sentimentality. He grabbed the chains from the cage, then closed and locked it.

“Your god really is all they say, huh?” Krogh said, smirking. “Even the cheapest whore would hesitate to accept a single gold piece.”

The Servant brushed off the comment and felt no response from Gelde. He tugged the reigns of the horse and once again began to guide it forward.

“Come on, aren’t you bored? I take it you don’t often have a travel companion; wouldn’t you prefer to take this opportunity to discuss… anything? It’s not often you get to speak to a god. Well, not often most people do. But Gelde isn’t much of a conversationalist, so I’ve been told. Surely, you have some questions about what it’s like to be me. Some questions about this world beyond the eyes of man.”

The Servant listened to the corrupted god’s words but paid them no mind as he continued.

“Incurious, I see. Well, I know men – and I know men cannot resist talking about themselves. So, what is your name?” Krogh asked casually.

The Servant ignored the question.

“Come on, we both know you’ve got one. I know! I’ll start saying names, and you tell me when I get it right. Aurelis, Kashtin, Wert, Pierce, Shaemus-“

“Enough.” Boomed The Servant. “I have no name. I am a servant of Gelde, that is who and what I am.”

“Is that what his rule is, then? Lose your name, gain your strength? Serve until your debt is paid or you die, whichever comes first? I understand why no gods commune with Gelde. A strange one, he is. Do you like music? I love music. I’m ashamed we didn’t create it before man. I hope to learn to play an instrument while in this body, unfortunately the gods have no craftsman of the sort. Perhaps I could learn in this realm and do it myself.”

“You intend to return?” The Servant asked.

“It speaks!” Shouted Krogh. “Intend? No, nothing like that. But, I know I’m not eternal in this realm. I’m no fool to think I could rule these people on my own forever. I’ll ascend, my followers with me, and we will rule for some time. But dissidence will arise in time, and conspiracies against me will win small victories until finally I am expelled. It’s as bound as destiny.”

“Why do you do it, then – if you know you’ll be sent back?” Asked the Servant.

“Ambition, excitement, a change of pace. We each have our vices. Gelde, he has gold. Me, I have this. Whatever this is. Surely, you’re no different. You get something you want out of your bargain, surely. So, what is it?”

The Servant grunted, signaling is displeasure in the question.

“Oh, a sore spot, is it? I won’t pester you. You are my captor. I am at your mercy.” Krogh smiled mischievously. “You could slit my throat, crush my ribcage, gut me… be rid of me oh so quickly – and no one would know. You were ambushed, you could say; highwaymen assaulted us and took me as a hostage. You fought valiantly, bravely! But, it wasn’t enough. And after all of it, you’ll get your gold, and you’ll be ever closer to what you seek.” Krogh turned his voice to a mocking whisper. “You can tell me; I won’t tell anyone else. It’s something depraved, isn’t it?”

The Servant gritted his teeth and bit his tongue. He felt no shame in the terms of his deal with Gelde; he knew many would even find it a noble goal. But it wasn’t for others to know. It was his family that he lost. It was his family he would earn back. It was his family which Krogh insulted.

“I’m not sure what I would seek out from Gelde. I do suppose I could ask very little of him. In this body, though, I understand why you would. I feel weak; powerless even.” Krogh smiled. “I do retain some otherworldly senses, though.”

Just as Krogh finished speaking, The Servant understood what the emasculated god meant. Closing in from the forest were a gang of Krogh’s followers, being drawn to him. By the sound of their footsteps, they were many, but disorganized. The Servant stopped the horse and peered deep into the woods to spot any movement. Figures of men could be seen through the trees, curiously shambling. They didn’t know why they were called forward, he could use this to his advantage early, maybe even overpower the calling with fear. He looked to his feet, searching for stones, finding the perfect one on the edge of the dirt. Just smaller than his palm, it was round and smooth, perfect for throwing. He drew his arm back, and listened intently, scoping out the perfect path for the throw. Just as one began to fall in line, he threw his arm forward, the stone flying from his hand clean and true. The throw was so hard the stone hardly arced – seemingly unaffected by gravity. It cracked through the forehead of Krogh’s follower, whose body was lifted from the ground as he flew backward carried by the stone now imbedded in his skull. The surrounding followers ducked into the trees and scattered quickly in every direction.

“They’ll be back, you know?” Said Krogh. “You’ve bought yourself just a few minutes, surely.” The caged god didn’t sound confident in his threat.

The Servant knew Krogh likely spoke true, but he was pleased with his throw more than the ultimate effectiveness of his plan. The followers posed no true threat; he’d fought off just as many well-trained soldiers many times before, but finding new ways to win was always a pleasant feeling. It was rare he had any chance to be creative in his profession.

“Yes, they’re fools. But they’re my fools. They’d die for me.” Krogh giggled. “Power is quite nice, isn’t it?” His eyes narrowed on The Servant as they continued forward. “You want power, too. Don’t hide it. I see it in you. You love the strength; the speed – you love it all. You love to know you could take over this world. I see it in you. The way you killed that man. You felt joy knowing he was helpless to stop it, and that no one else could have done it the same way. You revel in the slaughter-“

“Enough!” Shouted The Servant, dropping his stoic demeanor for just a moment. It had been so long since he had raised his voice, it hurt his throat for the words to leave his mouth.

Krogh cowered back slightly in his cage before raising an eyebrow. “So that’s what it is for you. You do enjoy this. You just want to pretend you’re better than the rest of us; that you don’t crave power. It would be a mark on your honor to admit you enjoy spilling the blood and the power you hold over everyone you come across. Don’t feel ashamed, we are all the same after all. You don’t have to do this to yourself, I’m sure. So long as the gold continues to flow, you can be any man you’d like. Command an army of thieves, and Gelde would reward you. It would surely be faster than what you’re doing now.”

The Servant’s anger rose in his chest, but he suppressed it. He would not allow the god’s words to stray him from his path. In just a few hours he’d be rid of it, and be ever closer to fulfilling his contract.

Krogh slumped in the cage, visibly disappointed he couldn’t get another rise from his captor.

After a few hours of silent walking, the cart horse began to slow, and struggled to continue forward. Despite The Servant’s frustration, he allowed the creature to rest. Guided to the side of the road, the horse was hitched and allowed to sleep. The Servant sat on the cold ground in meditation and was quickly brought to his old home.

He opened his eyes to the dim and foggy realm where Gelde took his mind. He knew it to be an illusion, but it felt as real as anything else he’d experienced. His linen clothes felt freeing – as if he floated without his golden armor. The old millhouse converted into a river powered loom was quiet and cold, and as he always had he quickly started a fire to warm the main room. The black cat, Strangers, leapt from a tall shelf to intwine itself in his legs, its black fur turning it into little more than a shadow as his feet. It was always lonely in his home, and there was always a slight chill, but it seemed in the moment colder and more empty than usual. He knew he had made progress, but the end felt no closer. The Servant grabbed from the counter beside him an old wooden tankard, and with a scream, threw it at the far wall. The cat scrambled away out of sight as the cup hit the cold floor, and The Servant stood taking heavy breaths. Everything was taken from him in a single moment; his family, his home, his name, and after years of effort it was still not returned.

He knew, of course, Gelde was an honest god, and he had simply not fulfilled his end of the bargain. It would come some day; perhaps even at the end of this day – but it still felt so far beyond him. He stood alone in his quiet home, trying to remember how to calm himself. It had been a long time since he had felt true anger, or frustration. It was a feeling he had known well in the past, but a feeling he had consciously avoided for decades.

When his shoulders relaxed and his breathing calmed, he focused himself to return to the true world; sitting in his own mind would get him nowhere. It was early morning, and the horse had broken into a small bag of feed in the back of the cart. Krogh slept curled up in his cage, snoring quietly. The Servant stood and yoked the horse to the cart to set off again, stirring Krogh awake in the process.

“Off already?” Groaned Krogh. “Sleep, that is a strange need. Yet another thing I can hardly get used to about this body. And no matter how much I sleep, I still feel tired all the time.”

The Servant grunted as he led the horse back onto the road.

“I see my followers didn’t disturb us. Strange, to say the least, but perhaps it’s for the best. I guess I wouldn’t want them to die for nothing.” Said Krogh. “Will we be stopping to eat? It’s been some time, and I feel starved.”

“You’ll live.” Said The Servant.

“I’ll live? Is that any way to treat your captive? I am a man, and I am being denied the bare minimum to survive, here. I am skinny enough as is, as you can see.”

“You’ll live.” Repeated The Servant.

“Oh, will I? Do you know the last time I ate? I do, and I’m not so sure I will live.” Protested Krogh.

“I am sure.” Said The Servant.

“Fine, allow me to starve. Return this boy’s emaciated corpse to his grandfather.” Krogh said, dramatically rubbing his belly.

The forest eventually cleared into open and hilly fields, but the sun hardly warmed the chilly autumn air. The grasses around the road were dry and brown, a clear sign of drought in the region. Krogh, to the Servant’s displeasure, had taken to singing – but knew the words to no songs, so instead poorly mimicked instruments which he had heard. A god of music, he was not, and The Servant hoped he’d never become. That would truly be the greatest evil Krogh could unleash upon the realm. And yet, the poorly crafted songs were still better than incessant talking.

As the sun neared its apex, The Servant could see the city of Hillstead; as its name suggested, it was built on top of the top of a large hill. It was a capital city, so it had an impressive wall along the bottom of the hill, and a braggadocious keep at its rounded peak. Where the Order of Cleansing sat, The Servant wasn’t sure, but he was sure he’d find it. They were making spectacular time, and his quest would be finished before the day was over, even before sundown, and seventy-five gold pieces would be added to Gelde’s pile for good.

Three men, heavily armored approached on horses from ahead. One carried a banner to denote a lordship – a brown acorn stitched onto a field of checkered yellow and black. The Servant wasn’t familiar with the banner and had no intention to learn who it represented – it was little more than politics of which he had no interest.

The three men drew closer, and the man at the front, with his hand, called for The Servant to halt. “Hail, sir.” Said the man at the front with a smile.

The Servant nodded politely, but said nothing.

“Do you do well, this fine day? It is a beautiful one, is it not?” Asked the man. He looked to be an older man, but in fine shape. He wore an open-faced bascinet atop a full set of steel plate armor. The man holding the banner wore similar plate armor, but covered his face in a full helm. The third was a young man in a chain shirt and open-faced bascinet. He looked to be hardly past puberty with a sparse and patchy beard – as if he missed a few spots shaving.

“May I ask your name, good sir?” Asked the man at the front. But the Servant ignored the request.

“His Lordship Harlan Oaktree has addressed you sir, you will respond!” Shouted the man carrying the banner.

Lord Oaktree waved his hand at his man. “If he does not wish to give me his name, so is his right.” He turned to The Servant. “I would so appreciate it though, a gentlemanly request.”

“I am a servant of Gelde.” Responded The Servant.

“Gelde? I have not heard of this lord, is he under Hammar Willison?” Asked Lord Oaktree.

“He’s a god, you idiot.” Groaned Krogh from his cage.

Before the bannerman could react, his lord calmed him. “A god. I see. Well, forgive my ignorance, I have never been much into religion. Well, I am Harlan Oaktree, Warden of the Paths, servant of Hammar Gwythe of Hillstead.”

“Warden of the paths?” Krogh laughed. “The paths? Is that what they gave you command over? Was the warden of the cloud title already taken? How about the warden of the flowers? Not even the warden of trees?”

Lord Oaktree shook off the insults, but The Servant could tell the man was self-conscious of his silly title. No man secure in himself would patrol roads holding a banner and speaking to passersby. “Are you bringing him to Hillstead?” Asked the lord.

The Servant nodded.

“Very good, I do not wish to impede you. I’ll simply see your writ of capture and you may be on your way.” The Lord said, pleasantly but affirmatively.

“Writ of capture?” The Servant asked; he’d never heard of any such thing, and certainly never been asked for one.

“Yes, of course. No one is allowed to transport a prisoner on the roads under Hammar Gwythe’s control without a writ of capture. Am I to understand you do not bear a writ?” The lord accused The Servant.

“No! No! He doesn’t!” Shouted Krogh, excitedly in the cage, hopping on his feet in a crouch. “You must free me, your lordship! He bears no writ! He has kept me in here illegally! I am wrongfully imprisoned!”

“Sir, Servant of… Gelde… I command you as Warden of the Paths to produce a writ of capture or submit to arrest by order of Hammar Gwythe.” The lord said, reaching his hand to the hilt of his sword at his hip.

“Sir, I have no quarrel with you or your Hammar. I ask you to consider the choice you are making. I will not hesitate to cut all three of you down before you can draw your weapons.” The Servant said, putting his hand on his sword’s hilt.

“By the order of Hammar Gwythe I command you to submit to arrest.” Lord Oaktree said, his voice cracking nervously. Even upon his horse he was hardly taller than the monstrous Servant of Gelde.

“I give you one final chance to allow me to go on my way. I implore you to accept this mercy, your lordship” The Servant said.

The lord began to pull his sword from its scabbard, but The Servant was much quicker. The lord’s left arm fell to the dirt, and he screamed as he collapsed off the other side of his horse. The bannerman threw the banner to the side of the road and reached for his sword, but The Servant was once again steps ahead; the man’s head fell to the ground with a metal clank on the dry dirt. The boy in the chain shirt sat frozen for a few moments as he shared a look with The Servant. He quickly turned his horse and fled back toward Hillstead. The Servant chose to spare the poor boy’s life – he had too much life to have wasted by his lord’s foolish posturing of fake titles.

“You just killed in cold blood.” Said a shocked Krogh from his cage. “You deserve a cage much more than I. I’m sure you’ll find it eventually.”

“We continue.” The Servant said, cleaning the blood from his sword and confirming Lord Oaktree had died. The Lord’s neck looked to have broken when he fell from his horse.

“Those men, they had families. They had friends. Wives, daughters, sons, and fathers. Whatever you bargained for, do you truly think it’s worth this? Killing and bloodshed, it’s all you’re good for, is it? You aren’t even putting them to the side of the road, let alone burying them.”

“Someone else will find and bury them. Someone else will know the banner, and they’ll be put to rest properly.” Said the Servant, pulling the horse ahead toward the city.

“You may as well spit on their corpses.” Krogh said.

The Servant brushed off Krogh’s comments. All of this bloodshed, it was worth it; to him. One day, it would pay off – as was the promise of Gelde.

The surrounding villages of Hillstead were a sight. It was rare the outside of a city’s walls looked so wealthy and well maintained. Well dressed and well-fed children played on paved streets, many interested in the man and his prisoner as they went down the streets. Adults walked leisurely, though few looked like nobility; they were simply well-off commoners. They would glance at The Servant as he cut through the stone street, but none paid him any real attention.

A guardsman draped in an orange cloak concealing steel armor stood on a corner, in front of a cobbler’s shop proudly displaying new sets of shoes for sale. The Servant approached the guard. “I am look for the Order of Cleansing.” He stated to the guard who curiously examined the man.

“You’ve got the wrong town, you’re looking for Fenningyr. Just head east around the city walls. He need purging?” The guard asked, pointing to Krogh in the cage.

“He does.” Answered the Servant. “Thank you.”

“He’s not getting out of that cage, right? I don’t want some demon roaming my town.” The guard strained his neck to look past The Servant at Krogh in the cage.

“If he does, I will handle it. You would have no need to even move from your mark.” The Servant said, turning to leave.

“Yes. I’m sure you will handle it.” The guard replied, dropping the issue. He eyed Krogh in the cage as they left, Krogh flashing him a disconcerting smile.

“So, this will be it, soon. I will be honest; I don’t think this was worth my effort. It takes a lot to find a host, and even more to get a handle on them. And once I’m in, it’s not fun being human.” Krogh rubbed his lower back. “There sure are a lot of pains.”

“Take it as a lesson. Don’t do it again.” The Servant Said.

“You know I have to. I’ve ascended once, and I must say it is a treat. It’s worth the failures.” Krogh closed his eyes, reminiscing.

“Then don’t complain. You’ve made your choice to chase that power.” Said The Servant.

Krogh paused, and his head perked up. “Do you know something I’ve never done in all my time? Have a drink. You know, a real drink. It always seemed to be a waste of my precious time here. But, my expulsion has never been so drawn out yet assured such as this. I suppose with the end coming, now is as good a time as any.”

The Servant let the request pass him by, he’d not delay.

“I may regret this, but… please. Please allow me to have a drink. Just one. Something good.” Krogh pleaded, he sounded pathetic but genuine in his request.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t have the coin.” The Servant said.

Krogh frowned, looking truly disappointed. “Yes. I’m afraid that is true. Perhaps next time, that’s something I will prioritize.”

The Servant nodded. Despite the fact that Krogh was a god known for his cruelty and wickedness, The Servant felt some pity for the god. He’d felt only the pain and disappointments of being human, and none of its pleasures. Krogh was bound to suffer, even if it were by his own choice.

When The Servant saw a small tavern along his way, he couldn’t help but stop. He had an idea of how he’d get a drink but could only hope it would work. He silently stopped the horse and hitched it just outside.

“What’s this?” Krogh asked, excitedly.

The Servant ignored the question and stepped inside the tavern, leaving Krogh and the horse just out front. The drunken patrons seemed to not notice the massive gold clad individual as he walked in. Each of the tables was surrounded by men, young and old, happily drinking their beer and spirits. The Servant stepped to the middle of the floor and cleared his throat loud enough to get the attention of some people sitting in the immediate tables. “Attention!” He boomed, quickly silencing the room. “I find myself short of coin at the moment, but would very much enjoy a drink. And so, I offer a wager to any man with the coin for a bottle of any spirit you choose. Compete against me in a contest of your choice. Should I win, you will purchase for me a bottle of liquor. Should you win, you will receive my helm. It is of pure gold, worth a sum greater than many of your entire worths I suspect. Should any man here care to risk a few coins for such a stupendous return?”

The room studied him curiously, wary of the offer which seemed too good to be true. But a few seemed excited by the prospect of a helm pure gold, it truly was worth more than everything most of them owned combined.

“I’ll do it.” Announced a man sitting on the bench along the right wall. He had a round head with dark and greasy long hair. His rough and chalky hand was raised in the air above his head as he spoke, and then stood slightly, his knees awkwardly bent just below the table

The Servant turned and walked toward the man. “And to what contest to you challenge me?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything I could beat you in, but I know that helm would do me much good. I couldn’t beat you physically, I’m sure. And I don’t know if you’re a clever man. I suppose a game of chance. Dice should suffice.” The man said, nervously sitting back down after realizing just how large The Servant was when the armored man approached.

“Dice, then.” The Servant said, taking a seat across from the man. “Do you have dice?”

“I do!” Shot in an old man missing most of his teeth and a lazy eye while pulling a set from his table where his game with another man had been cut short, to the relief of the other man who looked to be losing.

“And these dice are fair?” Asked The Servant.

“You calling me a cheat?” The old man asked angrily.

“Are you a cheat?” The Servant asked in response.

“As honest as they come.” The old man answered with a gummy smile.

“He’s honest. No cheat would lose as much as he does.” Said the man who had challenged The Servant.

“Good. We will play, then. One game. You may go first.” Said The Servant.

The challenger grabbed the cup of dice and shook it quickly before tossing them onto the table. With a one and a five, the challenger started off well, pulling the one as his first scoring die, The challenger smiled as he tossed the five other dice, getting a set of twos, then pulling one of them. His third toss yielded no results, ending his turn with no points. He begrudgingly passed the set across the table.

The Servant, for his turn, decided he would take no chances, he’d hoped anyone would be confidently drunk enough to challenge him to a feat of strength. He tossed the dice from the cup, and with a touch of magic from his free hand beneath the table, he too rolled a one. On his second turn, he once again turned a single die to a one, lucking out himself with a second one as well. In a very strong position, he rolled again with the four remaining dice, once again manipulating for a one.

The challenger squinted at the dice curiously, but seemed to accept the result, even if he looked frustrated in the mysterious man’s stupendous luck.

The Servant cast his fourth roll, landing a one once again, and ending the game within his first turn.

The challenger stood and threw the wooden dice cup at The Servant’s chest. “You’re the fucking cheat!” The man shouted, his face deep red in anger.

The Servant did not deny the accusation, and heavily regretted his lack of subtlety. He’d rather not start a fight. He stood quickly to remind the patrons how large and imposing he was. “Accuse me again.” He commanded.

The challenger sat back down, cowering into the wooden bench. “You’ll play me again.” His eyes refused to meet The Servant’s.

“That was not our wager. One game. You lost, you pay.” The Servant stated plainly.

The challenger looked to consider his options before pinching his forehead. “Give him his swill. It’s on me. The real cheap shit you wouldn’t even give to the pigs.”

The tavern keeper quickly grabbed a bottle of amber liquor from beneath the shelf and handed it to The Servant, looking to avoid any outbreak of violence. The Servant accepted the bottle and walked out. The other patrons looked angry on the challenger’s behalf, but recognized they were all helpless. “And don’t come back!” Shouted someone from inside, but no one chose to confront him as he left.

“What happened in there?” Asked Krogh.

“I won.” The Servant said, passing the bottle through the top bars of the cage.

“I thank you.” Krogh said, almost graciously. “Would you like any for yourself?” He asked, pulling at the cork in the top of the bottle.

“It would do nothing for me.” Said the Servant, unhitching the horse, as they set off again. “I have been blessed with strong resistance to toxins.”

Krogh smiled and put the bottle to his lips, taking a big swig before spitting it out with a pained his. “This is terrible!” He shouted. “You drink this? It burns. Why would you drink something that burns?”

“I remember it being quite pleasant when you drank enough.” Said The Servant.

“It will stop burning?” Asked Krogh, examining the bottle.

“Somewhat. You’ll learn to like it. But you’re really seeking what it does to you. You’ll be relaxed, calmed.” The Servant knew exactly what alcohol did, he remembered it well, and he had no idea whether it would do anything to him now, he’d not tried any since his contract was made. He vowed to not touch another drink until his contract was fulfilled, and his family was returned to him. He spent years seeking out the bottom of a bottle, and he wouldn’t put himself through that again.

“Relaxed and calm?” Krogh studied the bottle intently. “I’ve heard much about what men do when drunk, and calm doesn’t seem to match it.”

“You stop thinking. It calmed me.” The Servant said.

“A lot going on in that large head of yours, it seems.” Krogh took another gulp before entering a fit of coughing and wheezing.

“Sip it, you idiot.” The Servant asserted. “Let it sit in your mouth for some time.”

Krogh, stifling his coughs, took a small sip and washed it around in his mouth. “I still don’t get it.”

“You will.”

“Why did you get the drink for me? You could have left it alone and it wouldn’t have really mattered.” Krogh asked.

“You’re pathetic. I pity you. You have the knowledge and experience of a god. You predate this world, I presume. And yet, you have the naivety of a child. You seek power like a toddler fighting with his father, knowing it will lead to nothing at best, and punishment at worst. You admit you’ll lose; be sent back a failure. Yet, you try and try, over and over. Even now, I’m sure you’re plotting on how you can escape your cage and get out of my grasp. You know I can’t harm you, so you’ll try to force me to make the choice between seriously injuring you, thus breaking my contract with the boy’s grandfather and letting you escape. You’ll fail, of course, but you still like to think you’ll succeed. And so, I’ll give you some of the power you seek. I did something for you for nothing in return. Simply to make you happy. It is the last time it will happen for centuries; I suspect. A simple kindness of man.”

Krogh thought over The Servant’s words for a moment. “You do know how to put a damper on things, don’t you? I still appreciate it.”

The Servant nodded as they continued through the paved streets of the villages surrounding Hillstead. Krogh made it half way through the bottle before he could hardly lift it to his mouth, and soon after fell fast asleep.

The cleansing chapel was the tallest building in the village it sat. Its clean white marble walls rose high above the wood and clay roofs below. The horse’s hooves clopped on the smooth gray stones below, and Krogh snored quietly in his rattling cage. The town was quiet, and the sun sat low in the late autumn sky when The Servant broke the silent stillness with a knock on the tall heavy wooden doors at the front of the chapel, which opened a short moment later.

“I’ve a boy, here, in need of purging.” The Servant stated to the blue cloaked man inside.

“Purging of what?” The cloaked man asked, a brother of the Order of Cleansing.

“Krogh.”

The brother pursed his lips. “Very well. We will fetch him, simply unlock the cage.” Said the cloaked man.

“No need.” The Servant said. He unlocked the cage and lifted the unconscious Krogh over his shoulder, carrying him back to the entrance.

“Ah, very good, then. Please, bring him to the center of the room; to the center of the mark.” The man in the cloak said, guiding The Servant in. “You, you’re no normal man, are you?”

“In what way?” The Servant asked.

“I can sense it in you. You yourself serve a god.” The man was trying to sound polite, but his disgust was clear. The Order of Cleansing abhorred religion; especially the gods. No matter the god, it was a corruption to be purged when they meddled in the affairs of man. They offered the service of purging to any who asked, breaking any blessings or possessions – which was most often the possessions by demons who made use of those seeking a connection with their respective patrons. As such, they had a strenuous alliance with the larger religious orders who often made use of the Order of Cleansing in their fight against the evils of godhood and demons.

“Gelde.” The Servant said to the brother.

“Gelde.” The man repeated while shook his head disappointedly. “I do not judge you for your mistakes, but I offer you freedom from his clutches. You must simply accept it.”

The Servant could feel Gelde’s rage burning into him, like a branding iron on the back of his neck, commanding him not to sever their tie. The Servant never even considered it, and Gelde knew that, but the idea was itself enough to anger the god often taken by jealousy.

“I’m here for the boy. Purge him, leave him unharmed, and I will leave with no intention to return.”

The man in the cloak bowed his head. “Very well. Set him down, and we can commence. Allow me a moment to gather the other brothers.”

The Servant gently placed the unconscious body of Laines, housing Krogh, onto the center of the hexagonal symbol painted on the white stone floor in the center. After some time, the cloaked man returned with two other men dressed in the same cloak. Each carried with them a staff, bearing a three-dimensional carving of the same symbol as painted on the floor.

“Please, step away from the boy. Wait to the side, preferably even outside. The process disturbs many.” The man from the door said as they each took their positions around the symbol on the floor.

“I will wait here to ensure you do not harm the boy.”

“Very well. But understand, this process is extremely painful for both the boy and his corrupter. Like a surgery. And like a surgery, he will be the better for it.”

“I understand.” Said The Servant. In his many decades, he’d never seen a purging ritual, and was curious to what it involved.

“Good.” The brother turned to the others and nodded. They placed their staves on the ground in front of them, locking into small grooves carved into the marble, then began to chant in a language The Servant did not recognize. The red painted symbol on the floor began to glow, illuminating the white room with a red hue. Laines’s body rose from its spot on the floor, and he jolted awake with a pain filled groan. As he rose higher, his pain seemed to grow, and screams echoed off of the clean white walls. An impossibly black tendril emerged from Laines’s mouth, stifling his screams and choking him as he convulsed in panic and agony.

As the ritual proceeded with the Servant watching curiously, the wooden door at the front of the chapel swung open angrily, and armed soldiers shuffled in to form two lines facing The Servant. They took their position at the front of the chapel, aiming crossbows at the man armored in pure gold. Behind the line stood the boy from the road that The Servant let flee, speaking to the commander who stood behind the lines. He looked to identify The Servant to the commander. “Servant of Gelde!” The commander shouted. “You have been accused of murder of a lord, murder in the cold blood, and the transporting of a prisoner without leave. Submit to arrest so you may be tried before a magister permitted by The Hammar Gwythe of Hillstead!”

The Servant pulled his shield from his back, preparing himself for the fight. “I have no quarrel with you men. Allow the purging ritual to complete, and I will leave your land with no intention to return. I will not hesitate to kill every last one of you. Think of your families, and consider whether they are worth less than your laws.”

“Servant of Gelde, you have been accused of murder of a lord, murder in the cold blood, and the transporting of a prisoner without leave. Submit to arrest so you may be tried before a magister permitted by The Hammar Gwythe of Hillstead!” The commander repeated.

“Stand down, and none of your lives are forfeit.” The Servant threatened, pulling his sword from its sheath at his hip.

One man in the front line began to shake, terrified by the promise of death The Servant told. His crossbow fired, and the bolt glanced gently off of The Servant’s shoulder redirecting into the ribs of the nearest brother of the order who fell in a quick death. In an instant, the other brothers looked to lose control of their staves, and the tendrils emerging from Laines’s mouth shot back into his body. The boy looked relieved as the pain seemed to wash away before tendrils burst from his abdomen, throwing blood and viscera across the chapel, staining its once clean white walls and floors. A monster forming into an ever growing mass of incomprehensible tendrils emerged from the body of Laines, tearing him apart, each half of his body falling to the side of the growing creature. The ground shook, and the air around the room swirled as if being swallowed into the void now opened.

The line of soldiers turned their attention toward the monster growing in the center of the chapel. The commander shouted orders, and they each fired their crossbows into the dark mass of tendrils flowing in and out of each other seemingly beyond the realm which they now inhabited. The crossbow bolts pierced into the swirling monster, but were quickly consumed. Responding to the attack, the monster threw its limbs out toward the line; its strikes quick and powerful, it easily threw each man it attacked against the stone behind them, the impact quickly killing each.

One tendril attacked The Servant, and he raised his shield to block the attack. Its force was greater than any other attack he’d ever defended, but The Servant stood strong enough, his feet cracking into the marble below. Krogh attacked once again, but this time The Servant side stepped the strike, and returned with a slash of his own sword – slicing the impossibly black limb in two. The fallen piece disintegrated the moment it hit the ground, and the attached arm regrew the piece it lost. The raging god was unkillable by all of The Servant’s estimates, but he knew he couldn’t allow the evil to rampage further.

The soldiers attempted to fight off the strikes by the monster, but they were merely pests to the god who swatted them away easily. The Order of Cleansing held firm with their staves and looked to be protected by some arcane shield unseen. However, they struggled to maintain the control of their staves, as if tethered to the angry god. The Servant, devoid of any concrete options charged to the body of the dead member of the Order of Cleansing, dodging an attack by the monster that shattered the stone floor, and grabbed the ritual staff from the dead man’s clutches.

The Servant mimicked the position of the others, and instantly felt himself gain some control over Krogh who struggled against the ritual’s restraints. The god pulled against its ethereal chains, and while the others maintained their steady posture and strange chants, The Servant exerted all of the strength Gelde had granted him.

The immense strength of Krogh pushed The Servant near to his limits, but he was granted just enough. Even as he exhausted himself, The Servant felt he was in control. Krogh, too, was getting weaker, and seemed to be getting smaller. The ritual was working, The Servant just had to hold on further and allow the brothers’ curious ritual to continue. Krogh’s strength continued to wane, and The Servant’s struggle lessened until the incomprehensible mass of flowing darkness collapsed further inward and finally entirely disappeared from the realm.

The Servant fell to a knee as he tossed the ritual staff to the floor below. The white marble floor was littered with cracks, bodies, and blood. The room was silent, save the heavy breathing of the survivors. The Servant pushed himself to his feet, and stepped to the piece of Laines’s body that had fallen closest. Torn between the legs, and up through the neck, his entire head remained intact – his face forever frozen in unimaginable pain. The Servant knelt down, and closed the young man’s eyes. The damned fools killed the boy. A coward couldn’t control his own hands, firing off a bolt that cost everyone their lives. Despite it all, Gelde was satisfied, deal with Fernus was complete once the ritual began.

“Leave, at once.” One of the brothers spat.

“I will stay and assist you in removing the bodies.” The Servant responded.

“No. You and your corruption will leave this place, and never return. Your horrid god cost this boy his life; you cost this boy his life.” The blue cloaked man kneeled beside his dead brother. “You cost all of these men their lives.” He gestured to the pile of dead soldiers strewn about.

The Servant wanted to protest, but chose silence, and walked out of the front door. People from the town had gathered outside, a murmur rising in the crowd as he stepped away from the chapel. He pushed through the crowd, many admiring him in awe and fear as the marched down the road to nowhere in particular, waiting for Gelde’s next command. These people didn’t know the gruesome scene that awaited them inside, and he wanted to ensure he was out of sight when they learned. As with so many of his job’s, Gelde was satisfied as his servant left a pile of bodies in his wake.