#urwin

[shiraween]

That look ♡

[zlov989]

Kingsman: The Last Link (Chapter 1)

Part: Chapter 1 First Part: here Original Wattpad Part: here Part Summary: Is the offer Harry Hart makes too tempting the turndown...? They say you should never go knocking on death’s door, they never said anything about not talking to the man who answered your knocking...  Pairing (long run): Harry Hart x OC Fandom: Kingsman Warnings: language, mild violence, spoilers?? Author’s note: I don’t own the gif. If you’re interested in more of my work, I have more works and regular posts on Wattpad here. Word count: 2,635 

I woke with a start. My head pounding and my throat raw. A sharp pain erupted in my arms as I glance down to find my sudden movement had dislodged the drip in my arm. I breathed out in relief, I was alive to say the least. I pulled up the edge of my shirt to find a set of stiches up my side where the shard of glass had been buried. Lower on my stomach was dressing where bullet had broken through my flesh. I glanced around at the quiet hospital ward. Surgery recovery, I realised as I noticed all of the other unconscious figures. I reached out of the bed and grabbed my clothes from the chair. Yanking the drip from my arm, I made my way down the corridor and to the bathroom.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" One of the nurses questioned as I emerged from the bathroom. I glanced past her to see three police officers talking to a distressed nurse who gestured towards the bed I'd been lying in. Shit. "I'm fine." I stated simply. Moving past the nurse who stood in my way and walking towards the exit. "You're bleeding." The nurse insisted, I glanced down at my arm, a trail of dark blood leaked from the spot I'd ripped the drip out of. Glancing back up, I noticed another set of police officers standing just outside the ward exit. "I'm fine." I insisted, turning back to look at the nurse. Before she could push me any further, I turned and ran towards the fire exit. Grabbing a handful of wound dressing and a scalpel from the nurses' desk. I shoved it in my pocket before shoving the fire exit open and quickly scaling the steep stairs down to street level. An alarm began within the ward as the door swung shut. Landing roughly on the street, I pulled my jacket on and walked quickly past the hospital entrance, avoiding the next set of police officers who stormed up the central stairs. Steering clear, I quickly jogged down the east stairs and towards a side street. "Leaving so soon?" A voice sounded from my right. I froze mid step, my weight falling back onto my heel as I slowly turned to face the speaker. It was a man wearing a double breasted grey suit. He leant on his umbrella, watching me through his clear glasses. My fingers closed around the scalpel in my pocket, my senses screaming danger. "Who are you?" I questioned bluntly. "I'm the man who saved your life." He stated simply, unfazed by my curt mannerisms, my eyes narrowed as I sized up his claim. His appearance matched the man from the shipping yard, along with his voice. "What do you want?" I questioned, "Just a convocation." He stated, pushing himself up from where he leant on the side walk. "You're a hard person to track." I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the scalpel. "Where are you going to take me?" The man turned back to look at me surprise, an amused expression masking his features. "I was actually thinking a local bar, I could do with a drink. Got any suggestions?" I blinked back in surprise at his response. He wasn't here to interrogate me, perhaps he didn't even know who I really was. "There's one three blocks from here." I mumbled under my breath, relaxing slightly as I took a step down to the street, following the unnamed man. "Oh, and you won't be needing that scalpel." He called over his shoulder, not even looking back at me. I blinked back in surprise as I removed the half blunt blade from my pocket and looked down at it before glancing back at the man who leisurely strolled down the street. I knew it was a bad idea, the whole thing. But with a sigh, I dropped the scalpel into a trash can and walking after the well-dressed man. ―☂― "Why'd you save me?" I questioned, leaning back the seat to watch the man. "A little gratitude would be nice." The man responded simply. I watched his posture closely, taking note of how he sat straight and projected a combination of relaxed calm and keen alertness. "Who said I was thankful?" I replied in a challenging tone. He raised an eyebrow at my tone but when I didn't back down he nodded. "And you would have preferred I let that junkie put a pretty hole in your face?" He questioned, taking a relaxed sip of his drink. "Would've saved me this convocation, wouldn't it?" I replied bluntly, he choked on his drink as my words registered. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting the response I'd given. "Who even are you?" I questioned, relaxing my position. "Who are you?" The man responded with an equal challenge to what I'd given him earlier. Once upon a time, a smirk would have lit up my lips at the signs of a challenge. But I felt nothing, I just looked at him blankly. "You're one of them intelligence." I stated simply. The clashy speech of a street life making me cringe internally. But I needed to maintain it if I had any hopes of making sure this man had no idea who I was. "Of sorts." He nodded. "But so were you, once." My eyes narrowed instantly, but I leaned back, crossing my arms in front of me. "Don't even know what the word meant 'til last week." I stated, the man raised his eyebrow again, giving me the same unimpressed look. "You're lying, convincingly. But never the less, lying." He proclaimed, inspecting the detailing of his glass that lay on the table before him. Like he was satisfied by his analysis, he looked up at me, his gaze calm and collected. "You can drop the act, I know you were trained well." My eyes instantly narrowed at his comment, but I did as he said. "And how could you know that?" I questioned simply, swallowing as I let myself use the words that came to mind. Rather than putting up the act of a street life. "You just said I was intelligence, didn't you?" The man smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "How many red-headed, females, between the age bracket of eighteen to twenty-five, are in the United Kingdom Special Forces database?" He questioned simply. "Two." The simplicity of my answer caused him to blink back in surprise. "And the second holds one of the highest roles in our country's military." "Exactly." The man nodded. "Celaena London." I explained, looking down. "My file would have been redacted." "Dare I ask what lead to a redacted SRR file?" The man questioned, acknowledging that he knew exactly which file had been mine. "It would take an exceptional amount of trust, years of friendship and a few drinks to learn that." I stated simply, I saw him glance at the lack of alcohol in front of me before nodding. "How about we just start with names and an offer." He suggested. "Harry Hart." I looked down at his extended hand before hesitantly shaking it. "There is a position within the ranks of my organisation that just opened up. And each of the table's men has been asked to select a candidate." He explained, pausing to take a sip of his drink. "I would like to extend that offer to you." "What sort of position?" I questioned. "One that is in line with your skill set." He assured me, with a small nod. "You'll work in the shadows to protect the greater good of the world." "And the selection process?" "Nothing you haven't experienced before, in your previous line of work." I nodded in understanding. "Should you be interested, I assure you the details will be less vague." "And any conditions?" Mr. Hart chuckled at my question, taking the time to sip at his drink before responding. "That you don't go getting yourself killed in the meantime." Once upon a time, I would have laughed, even chuckled at his suggestion. But I didn't feel anything more than the pain of the stitches in my side. "If you are who you refuse to say you are, then I won't exist. I'll be another faceless force." I stated simply, my gaze, cold and truthful held his. He didn't blink back, no shook masked his expression. I could see in his eyes he knew what I was, what I could do. "You don't exist Celaena London." Mr. Hart stated simply. "You could die one day and you would be yet another nameless body in the gutters. I'm offering you the opportunity to do something better with your life. I don't know why your time in the UKSF ended, but I know it ended too soon for you." The bar door creaked open as five men walked in, my attention leaving Mr Hart and moving to the curled snake tattoo on one of the men's arms. "What is it?" Mr Hart asked as he followed my diverted attention to the five men. "They're part of that cult whose fake heroin I burnt to the ground." I explained. "Who also almost killed you? But then I did the polite and saved your sorry life." He added. "Are you always such an ass to people you just meet?" The words came out before I could think twice. "Well everyone has got to excel at something." He muttered, taking a sip of his drink, before turning his attention back to me. "I've met bigger asses." I muttered under my breath, glancing away from the group. "Who said that's what I excel at." Mr. Hart smirked. I shot him a glance, my eyebrow raised. "You just–" "Oi, that's the red-headed brat who blew up business." One of the men hissed, cutting me off mid-sentence. A grumbled agreement was heard from the four other men as they approached our booth. Sighing, I turned to look up at the man who'd spoken. "What do you want?" I questioned bluntly, my eyebrow raised in an impatient manner. "You're gonna regret not blowing yourself up with our shipment." The man spat, a few drops saliva flying from his mouth and landing on my cheek. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched Mr. Hart take a sip of his drink, an amused expression pulling at his features. I looked back up at the man, satisfaction pulled at me as I could see his anger almost boiling over, my slow calculated movements pushing him over breaking point. "I actually, am quite happy being alive." I stated simply. "Just give my friend here five minutes to finish his drink, and I'll make sure your sorry necks are broken." "You bitch–!" "I suggest you turn around and leave, now." Mr. Hart placed his drink down, cutting the brute off as he looked up at the five men. "I suggest you piss the fuck off silver ass, we wouldn't wanna get blood on that suit." The man hissed, I turned my gaze back to Mr. Hart, who raised his eyebrow at me. "Go on." I muttered, nodding to Mr. Hart. "I can handle myself." Taking a final sip of his drink, he picked up his umbrella and walked passed the five men and towards the doors. "Ain't he a little posh for you princess." The first man smirked leaning in to brush the hair from my cheek. I caught his hand and twisted it to the side and locking it. The man swore as his knees buckled. Yanking his hand from my grip he hugged it to his chest, glaring up at me from where he now knelt on the ground. "He's smarter than any of you could be." I stated simply. All five men turned to look at the door where Mr. Hart stood with his back to the bar. He reached up to the lock on the door, his hand hovering over as silence blanketed the room. "Manners." The first lock clicked in. "Maketh." The second lock clicked. "Man." The third lock clicked into place, I watched as Mr. Hart paused. One hand on his umbrella while the other resting on the door. "Do you know what that means?" Mr. Hart questioned, watching the reactions of the men in the reflection on the plaque. They glanced between one another, cracking their knuckles and moving towards Mr. Hart. I rose from my seat, moving behind them as they approached. "Then let me teach you a lesson." In one swift movement, Mr. Hart lowered his umbrella onto the table and flicked the glass back into the face of one of the men. He dropped to the ground unconscious, shattered glass surrounding him as the other four men turned to look at him in shock. One's knuckles turned white as he curled his fingers into a fist, another reached behind him for a bottle. Without waiting for them to gather their wits, I lunged forward, slamming my foot down the back of one of their knees. My hands finding one of the men's neck as I threw him backward, his head hitting the table we'd been sat at. Mr. Hart easily evaded a punch and hooked one of the men's collars with his umbrella, pulling him up as a body shield from the thrown bottle that sailed towards his chest. It shattered in the face of one of the men, knocking him to the ground. Mr. Hart smoothly ducked the punch of the second last man, shoving him in my direction, I caught his blind whirl of his fist, hocked him over my shoulder and flipped him to the ground. The man who'd been hit by the first glass let out a groan as he pushed himself up, reaching for the gun in his waistband. I lunged forward but one of the men grabbed the back of my collar. Spinning around I locked his arm in my elbow as he collapsed to one knee in an attempt to release the lock of his joint. Gunshots rang out as I glanced over my shoulder to watch Mr. Hart hid behind his umbrella, the bullets ricocheting off the surface. The man whose arm I held locked began to squirm, attempting to break free. Yanking him forward I hocked an arm around his throat, holding him still as I blocked his airways. I watched as Mr. Hart neatly disposed of the armed man with a projected slug from his umbrella. Slowly, he raised from his crouched position. Adjusting something with his watch before pointing at each man in turn, a small dark exiting his watch and piercing their skin. "I can handle myself." I announced, clearing my throat and reminding him I was still present. "You didn't need to step in, someone of us don't need flashy gadgets to do the job." Mr. Hart looked up at me as the last man in my arms lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground, proving my point further. "I know you can handle yourself. That's why I chose you as my candidate." He stated simply. "And the gadgets tend to make the job cleaner." He noted, glancing at the blood on one of my hands. I snorted at his comment before turning away, the smallest bit of satisfaction pulling at me, at least I'd gotten to punch one of them n the face. "I'll see you at the Kingsman Tailor Shop tonight, seven pm sharp." Mr. Hart announced, fixing his cuff before turning and opening the door to exit. "Mr. Hart." I called out after him, he paused mid-step, turning and glancing back at me. "Manners maketh man? You say that, but I'm not a man." "That is exactly what makes you so interesting." He stated simply with a small smile. "And Celaena, its Harry, not Mr. Hart."

[zlov989]

Kingsman: The Last Link (Full Fan Fiction)

Part: Prologue Original Wattpad Part: here Summary: She understood her worth, which made her powerful. The world gravely needed a hero, so she became one. No superpowers, just a woman who could kick ass and took no shit from anyone... Ce lost her life as special forces, all of her training and skills, six years worth, were left to root as she was removed from history. Retired, they called her, twenty-four years old and retired from the field. But when recruited by Kingsman, her old skills prove to be the only way she can survive. Undercover spy rings, world domination through mobile phones, mass genocide with recreational drugs, what could the title of first female Kingsman agent possibly bring? Pairing (long run): Harry Hart x OC Fandom: Kingsman Warnings: language, blood, almost death? Author’s note: This is my first time posting my work on Tumblr so if you’re enjoying it please give it some love. Otherwise please enjoy, if you’re interested in more of my work, I have more works and regular posts on Wattpad here.  Word count: 570

The air was thick with smoke, the scent of fresh blood and burnt flesh blowing in the wind. The flickering golden light from the flames the only light in the shipping yard. A woman slowly pushed herself up from the ground, her fiery red hair blackened with soot. She was the only the that moved, her shallow breaths the only noise that echoed between the bloodied bodies. A large shard of glass protruded from the flesh below her ribs. Gritting her teeth, she covered the open wound with a hand, the pain burned away at her thoughts. But she felt no fear of dying, no relief from achievement, and no fear of what came next. All the surrounding guards were dead, their bodies littering the ground, and everything that an been here was now a pile of ash. Taking a deep breath, she took one staggering step after another, away from the billowing toxic smoke. Away from the dead bodies of the drug gang. Dark blood leaked from between her fingers, as the shard of glass slowly stained darker shades of red. She was thirty meters from the nearest vehicle, from her way out. 

The sound of a gun's safety clicking off echoed through the silence. She froze, the cold hard steel of a gun barrel pressed against the back of her head. "Turn around slowly." A man hissed, taking a pain-ridden breath, the woman turned to face him. Within seconds, she recognised him as the gang leader, She'd spent months scouting him, learning his schedule. "Do you know who I am?" She asked, her voice shaking as the blood continued to leak from between her fingers. "To me?" The man questioned with a snort that turned into a violent coughing. Without readjusting his aim from her head, he wiped a hand across his mouth, black mucus covering his fingers. "To me you're dead." Before she could react, the man lowered the gun and pulled the trigger. The woman staggered back, the impact to her stomach causing her to lose her breath. Another shot rang out in the silence, and the woman waited for the pain to hit. But no new impact came. Slowly, she looked up to find a dark hole in the man's head as blood began to leak out of it and run down his face. Staggering backwards, the blood beginning to gush from the hole in her stomach, she caught herself on a set of crates. Her legs began to go limp as the blood began to soak her shirt. Collapsing to the ground, with shaky hands, she desperately tried to apply pressure to the bullet wound but the blood continued to pool on the ground. Her vision began to blur as she looked around desperately, blue and red lights flashed in the distance but her focus wanned and her sight began to darken. The sound of material flapping in the wind forced her sight to a tall figure that appeared ahead, walking towards her limp body. Her breath began to slow as the pain took over. She collapsed back onto the ground fully, the pain so much she was barely breathing. "Shit." The man swore as he crouched down beside her. "You had to go and get yourself killed, didn't you?" "Who... who are you?" The woman whispered, but before she could hear his answer, the world around her blackened with pain and disappeared.

[hitechboy]

[cursedbarovia]

Chapitre V - White Light

As your group made their way down the Old Svalich Road towards the Town of Vallaki, you encountered a second search party of Vistani and Dusk Elf bandits who were looking for their leader’s missing daughter. Your group was less trusting of them, and your group decided to complete the rest of the trip off the main road and traveled down a side path that lay alongside Lake Zarovich. In passing, you noticed a man sitting on a small fishing boat in the middle of the lake, whistling out-of-tune to himself as he dropped a medium-sized knapsack into the water. Thinking nothing of it, your group continued west, eventually reaching a Vistani Camp.

Unlike the small encampment where you had met with Madame Eva, this camp looked like a more permanent settlement and had a much more subdued atmosphere. Ouros, The Monk, and Venser were allowed entry after a brisk frisking by the Dusk Elf guards, but Venene became alarmed by the unsettling look given to her by the guards and conjured an Obscuring Mist to escape into the forest and away from their unwanted touches. Avon chose to follow suit and remained close by her while Arwen, Arya, and Ireena stayed in the wagon and continued tending to Zaref’s injuries.

Inside the main tent, the three adventurers walked in on Luvash, the leader of the bandits, mercilessly beating on a young Vistani man as punishment, as apparently he had abandoned his post to go drinking on the night of his daughter’s disappearance. At his side stood Arrigal, the camp’s second leader and the man who Ouros immediately recognized as the Vistani who initially gave your group the false letter that brought you all to this land. 

Venser stepped in and tried to reason with the enraged Luvash, but his bloodied captive protested against any leniency, for fear of appearing weak before his leader. Ouros, however, was not concerned with Vistani politics and instead went straight for Arrigal, taking him by the neck and demanding answers as to why they had been brought here. Arrigal laughed at his threats and explained that he had merely done as Strahd had requested, that his mission had been to lure in a random group of adventurers into this land, and that anything beyond that was Strahd’s business. 

Angered and unsatisfied by his confession, Ouros threatened to take the man’s life, a threat which the Vistani ridiculed, given the Vistani’s numbers against three would-be heroes. With neither man backing down, an alarm was eventually raised, rallying the Vistani and Dusk Elf bandits into action against the guests. Although several of the Vistani and Dusk elves were out searching for the missing girl, they still managed to raise a sizable defense numbering over a dozen able-bodied fighters. Having wanted no part in a senseless feud to begin with and seeing victory over the enemy as an impossibility, Venser withdrew from battle after sustaining several injuries, leaving his teammates to at the mercy of the attackers. 

The bandits had begun to make quick work of Ouros, their poison-drenched weapons crippling his defenses despite his final attempts at bargaining for his team’s lives. Before the bandits could finish the half-orc off, The Monk with No Name resolved to take everyone else down with him, knowing Ouros and he would be dead within moments. Taking his Staff of Power between his hands, he broke it at its center, unleashing the power that existed within it. A blinding light burst forth, surrounding the combatants in raw energy that could be seen for miles. Venene and Avon had come to Venser’s aid after hearing the alarm when the blast went off, and the three approached the site of the conflict to find that everything and everyone within the blast of light’s radius had been completely destroyed. Nothing, not even the bodies of the fallen, remained. And so, the surviving travelers naturally proceeded to loot anything valuable that they could find, taking a heavily locked golden wagon presumably filled with Vistani treasures with them as terrified children and elders looked on in horror.

What remained of your group eventually made it to the Town of Vallaki, where you were welcomed as Ireena’s escorting party. Entering the town, you found that it was a lot livelier and much more cheerful than any of the settlements you’d previously visited in this land. Aside from 'enemies of the well-being’ being punished and ridiculed in the town square, the guards and citizens were all smiles towards your group. A little unnervingly so, given the dreariness you had come to expect of this land thus far. After stopping by a general store that also served as a stockyard for wagons, your group decided to visit the town’s main tavern first, The Bluewater Inn, to gather more information. There, you met Urwin and Danika Martikov, co-owners of the establishment. They offered your group what little drink remained of their low supply of ale and wines, in addition to comfortable rooms in which to stay the night. Arwen and Arya helped Dragneel to his room as the rest of your group accompanied Ireena to the church, where she planned to stay while she figured out her living arrangements.

It was night by the time your group arrived at St. Andral’s Church. Upon entering, you found a group of townsfolk gathered for nightly prayer, under the guidance of Father Lucian. There, you were also surprised to find Ouros, alive but not whole. His bloodshot eye seemed clouded over and his sense of hearing seemed lost, so communicating with him proved difficult. At his side stood a Vistani half-elf that you had encountered earlier, and who had also presumably perished in The Monk’s explosion. The young man did not seem to recognize your group, and he appeared to be in a slight daze, but he remained by Ouros’s side. Both were wrapped in blankets, borrowed from the church, and carried none of their previous belongings with them.

Father Lucian explained that some of the townspeople had discovered the two a short distance from each other, wandering naked through the Svalich Woods close to the town and brought here for the time being.

Although you are not sure how it was possible that the two now stood before you, or whether the Monk had somehow survived as well, you decided to save the questions for after you accomplished what you came here for; to deliver Ireena to safety and try to discover a way to return to your home world.

[squirrelwrangler]

Urwin Beginning Draft

Back when I wrote this, here’s the rest of what I had written. It was the start to a NaNoWriMo, so maybe we’ll just blame that November is approaching. (’Course, by the time the month gets here, I’ll have burned out this compulsion to write snatches for Rose Red and gone back to finishing Silm fic, maybe). So this is maybe the first half/third to what would be the first chapter. Again having almost one of the names for fantasy alternative papacy and political and clerical structures is a hassle (this time I’m not writing around formal names for the same reason I normally do). But does give a better grounding to what the hell any of this is.

Hound Prologue

"Where is the lord of this place?" Urwin asked, unwilling to mask the irritation in his voice and the impatience he felt.

The castle was in the old style, a tall wall of stacked stone atop a bit of raised earthwork not quite enough to be labeled a hill. This inner wall encircled a collection of buildings that Urwin could reasonably estimate would together be no larger than the plaza in front of a minor temple back in the capital. From what Urwin could see peaking above the simple fortifications, the buildings looked to be constructed mostly of wood, the roofs of which were fresh unpainted shingles. A carved bird of some sort capped the main roofline, the blue and green and red of its painted wings and long tail providing a splash of unexpected color. Urwin wondered if the piece had once adorned another building somewhere else, brought to give this refurbished outpost a hint of style. The village surrounding the castle was on the small side as well, with at least half the buildings of new construction. They were long wooden houses with high pointed roofs same as the castle, the style which still looked peculiar to the young man raised in the holy capital of Staffansgrave. The wall that surrounded the village was thicker than the castle wall but not any higher, an earthen bulwark with wooden stakes bristling like a hedgehog riddled with bald patches. The patchiness spoke of how unconcerned the inhabitants were at the possibility of anyone reaching their valley with a hostile army. Formality was observed, but the village gate was only a deterrent to bears and other wild animals, and Urwin had yet to see anyone armed or who would qualify as a guard. He could not think of a reason someone would attack this valley, for there was no important route and the land while fertile was not large enough to tempt an army. Urwin was not sure why the castle and its village had been so recently rebuilt and what had attracted a lord of the House of the Antlered Crow to move to this remote location and a handful of families follow him.

The villager Urwin interviewed admitted that there were only twelve or so families in the village, seven of which were native to this valley, though two had been trappers and wood-collectors up in the slopes of the mountains, and all so intermarried through cousins and generations that it would be more accurate to call them one large clan. Most worked now in the castle, which held both a manor house and the round temple complex where a priestess and attendants lived. There was a section of the village cleared for the eventual construction of a proper temple, and Urwin could see the white rope tied to a large circle of sticks in the ground that showed where the central apse of the temple would be. The lord was a member of the House of Teotuila, an actual blood relative of the clan and not just a retainer, which Urwin found surprising and suspicious. Another red banner with the antlered crow in black hung next to the gate leading into the castle. A loose milch cow was eyeing it speculatively.

"Lord Tovias?"

The old farmer, who may or may not have been the owner of the cow but at least knew whom that cow belonged to and if nothing else had an obligation to stop that disobedient bovine from devouring the official symbol of the lord who governed and protected the farmer and any livestock he owned, scratched at the wisps of white hair on his chin. Urwin twitched. He could see the cow sniffing at that flag, an insolent long pink tongue. The young priest had little experience with animals, but he doubted something as expensive as a healthy-looking cow would be allowed to wander free and threaten the integrity of banners. He counted it a small blessing that the gate into the castle complex was closed. Otherwise Urwin imagined all manner of barnyard creatures would be free to roam inside its halls and into the chapels, grazing at their leisure.

"Is Lord Tovias the name of the noble of House of the Antlered Crow who owns this valley?" Urwin asked, measuring his words to sound calmer than he felt. Just because this old man was not the seneschal Urwin wished to speak to was not leeway to offer him discourtesy. A priest was humble and even in his treatment to all Imperial citizens and believers of the faith, another commandment found in every holy text.

"That he is," said the old man. "Young fellow. Very pleasant. Arrived here with the priestess. Pale foreigners, can't miss 'em."

A remnant of the younger, less dutiful boy Urwin had been wanted to laugh at the last comment, for compared to the cosmopolitan people in the center of the Holy Empire, the half-heretical yokels of the rim regions like this dismal little valley were pale and strange and too close to the taint.

"The priestess?"

The old man's face brightened into an enthusiastic smile. "O'yes, a very comely young lady. One of the sancter-priests and not just here for singing the Star-days chants and blessing the babies and weddings. Used to have an old man for that, but then he died last year and we had to walk to the next valley over for that. Frightful worry that was, to not have a priest on hand for rites. Did our best to recite the words, but you know how that holds. Wild taint was starting to creep into the fields, and there was talk about moving away if we didn't get a holy one. Then the good sires send us the m'Lord Tovias himself and that young priestess, and she a shining one."

The reply confirmed four things for Urwin. The first was how powerful the taint was, the memory of malice from unspoken ones that hated creation and sought to corrupt it, how left untended the taint crept from the wilds. In civilized regions one could forget how powerful the taint was, or how virulent to could be.

The second was that the villagers, as was expected of the northern hinder-region, were followers of Saer's school of thought that an individual was responsible for the daily purification of the forest-taint, which aside from the patently false belief that any individual was capable of expelling the taint had a dangerous opening into unorthodoxy. Such attitudes could skirt into heresy by opposing the authority of trained and appointed priests. In remote regions, where any priest was difficult to find and the wandering circuits for the incantation-priests covered large areas that made administration of necessary rituals a possibly only once or twice a year, this was to be expected. Distasteful, certainly, but sadly while any large and long-settled city might have hundreds of priests to apply the daily blessings and the trained sancter-priests and priestesses who could banish the shadow of taint and unsacred malice from the world with holy word and song, they were hard to find in the places where they were needed most. But to lack even the lay-priest for the tending of simple needs was unacceptable. Urwin mentally recited the first catechism, that the light of the Life-brighter saw all even when Her manifest as the Sun-in-Glory did not illuminate, that all shadow was illusion, that this glaring absence had been seen and corrected. The clerical bureaucracy was slow and riddled with human corruption, as Waleran's nephew well knew, but could reach out from the highest of priestly cities to this miserable remote rural spot. A priestess had been sent before the irreversible occurred. It was not Urwin's duty to fix. Anyway, doctrinal errors in the attitudes of peasants were to be tolerated, especially as long as it was Saeric philosophy or the Horse-rider Branch who, while those denominations structured the administration of their temples and monasteries oddly and emphasized different portions and interpretations of the holy texts, at least gave some nominal deference to the principal temple in the capital. Theological conclaves cropped up every few years where the differences were debated, and Urwin dimly remembered his uncles and their various allies and confederates among the upper-priests complaining of how the fiefdoms in the Yewwood, Horse-river, and Northfall, as well as the free charter cities, rarely paid the necessary tithes and refused to accept the primacy of their authority in Staffansgrave as the voice of the Sun-in-Glory among the people. Urwin recalled his uncle's favorite saying, that the authority of the great temples came as the hand's shadow behind that of the Emperor; to swing one was to swing the other, and where Imperial power, or at least its roads, did not go, then neither could its priests. True heresy, to deny the authority of the Vessel in the Mirror Realm, or the Pure Ones revolt, was to be guarded against. But one could ignore the harmless practices of peasants trying to survive with the daily threat of the forest-taint.

Third confirmation was that the priestess had been responsible for the touch Urwin had felt over the valley and upon the barrier-stones. Not every priest could imbue their chants or songs with the power to wash away the malice of the unspoken ones, though incantation-priests were taught from childhood the rituals and could imbue at least some will and intent to stall the growth of taint until it could be banished. One could not complete even the most rudimentary seminars of a lay-priest without accomplishing that feat. Yet to feel the touch of a single priestess's efforts from a ritual that was likely weeks if not months past all the way to the edge of the valley spoke of an uncommonly strong talent, one that was rarely sent to an isolated and unimportant little fief.

Last, the envy Urwin felt for a fully-recognized sancter-priest had not disappeared. This realization was most galling. He needed personal reflection to determine if his envy or his arrogance in thinking he had overcome that flaw was more unbecoming. Mentally he listed the verses for righteous attitude and the admonitions for envy, a topic of lectures he was rarely personally subjected to as a child, but given much attention to in Otker's third volume. The instructor of Urwin's last seminar had been fond of Otker's fifth volume, as the material was most useful to a captain-general. Still, the old desire lingered, adding more resentment on a tiring load. The family had many nephews to place in key positions in the church hierarchy, and Urwin's uncles had decided before he reached puberty that this particular nephew was best served by grooming his talents to eventually take over one of the martial orders. He had the promise to become a saucter-priest, the innate skill to load his chants with the power to remove that musty cold feeling that spoke of in-creeping taint. But even a strong gift for purification was not rare enough to shift his intended fate, so Senior Guardian Waleran's nephew was given the full instruction for all incantation-priests to receive their beads and nothing more.

His instructors praised him as brilliant, and not because they had to. Stuffed with all the pride of a preteen boy, Urwin accepted that praise as due course, and he had enjoyed the drills, the lessons on swordsmanship and archery, the body conditioning and running. Well, the running and winning the practice bouts, that he was not one of the trainees with perpetually sprained wrists and smacked fingers, how easy the answers had come to him when quizzed over old battles, that he had excelled. He would have excelled as a captain-general of the clergy, but also if he had been allowed to further his talents with spiritual purification.

[squirrelwrangler]

after the end

Cheating a bit and going with the end of Urwin’s flashback arc story, which is about seventeen years before Rohese, and has as framing all this ‘dealing with the aftermath’ away…

Urwin directed the survivors back to the battlefield, crawling over the chunks of the taint-beasts and the mixed corpses of the necromancer’s army and the valley’s defenders until they found Lord Tovias where Urwin had left him. Tovias’s body was as Urwin last saw it, his handsome once-human form transformed into something as heinously unnatural as the monsters slain around him, the lower half lengthened into the spindly legs of deer with mud and blood of the taint-beast caked in a stinking mire on the hooves, the final gash from shoulder to navel emptying what little blood remained to make his unmarked flesh as white as the underbelly of a fish, the long pale antlers curved out unbroken from either side of Tovias’s head tilting the head at an angle that would have dislocated his neck had he breathed, and the left arm nothing but bare bone from the elbow down, which fell off the body when Urwin moved to shift the corpse onto the makeshift stretcher. At that the young man broke into yet another round of howling sobs, and the old women awkwardly circled around him stepped back to give his grief and shame what privacy they could. A comfort, Urwin thought, in the part of him trying to detach from reality, that he had closed Tovias’s dead eyes before fleeing the battlefield on that last, ultimately hopeless, chance to fulfill his lord’s final command. He did not need to see the tar-like holes where Tovias’s eyes would be, the aftermath of someone slain in the grip of the forest-taint. As with the priestess, only Urwin was willing to ignore the gruesome evidence of the bodies to handle them without fear of corruption, to place Lord Tovias’s twisted remains on the undyed linen of the stretcher and pick each of the tiny white hand bones from the mud and place them atop the ruined chain mail coat. The survivors wanted to burn the bodies. Urwin demanded they be buried, and no word was spoken aloud of how they were found.

[micdousmi]

JPMorgan to Shift Executives at Corporate and Investment Bank

JPMorgan to Shift Executives at Corporate and Investment Bank

Read More

View On WordPress