The Cleric of The North
Well what do ya know? Another story for another series. This time I hope that I'll be able to finish this one! This one is less of a smut for smut as much as it is getting in depth of the story unfolding. Hope you enjoy!
The Adventurer stepped past the throne room where the Hero was and crept into the dining room. While, a bit more robust, that same delicate touch of luxury still loomed through the room. Sigils, shields, and tapestries, forged in gold. The table showing a color of cherry wood. The candles of incense that hid the smells of the castle.
Upon glance, a man, clocked in brown robes, stood by the table. While pale, his complexity showed no age. Like a porcelain doll propped up and displayed. However, the hint of red in his eyes, did show the weariness. Had to probably stand tall and hold ground.
The Adventurer pulled the chair and sat. He kept eyeing the man. Waiting for the silence to break.
"Greetings!" the man said.
"Hello. You might be?"
"Ah, my manners. I'm the Cleric. Have come from a noble monastery up in the North. There was word about spirits of the dead drifting into town and so I came to have a look. You?"
The Adventurer nodded.
"Was hired by a nobleman deep within the South to gather as many riches as I could."
The Cleric tutted.
"I would highly advise against that."
"And why would that be?" The Adventurer asked.
The Cleric took a sip from the Goblet. It was decorated with lavish jewels and a golden finish to it.
"For you see, when I came to this castle, I thought I was dealing with the obvious. Poltergeist, a rogue demon. That sort of thing."
He took another sip and leaned over.
"But the patrons of this castle are very far from dead. If anything, they've just been slumbering. To be honest, in the daylight, the only sanctuaries are here, the Throne Room and the Courtyard."
The Adventurer scoffed.
"Ah! Sounds exciting! Can't wait for some action!"
The Cleric laughed.
"Adventurers and their pride. Must go hand in hand?"
"Quite part of our regiment." Said the Adventurer.
"Oh aren't you a flatterer. Come now," The Cleric grabbed a bottle of wine from underneath the table.
"Let us have a drink. In preparation."
He slid the bottle over to the Adventurer.
The Adventurer accepted the offer and poured the wine into the chalice near him.
One drink was two. Two was three. He stopped drinking when he noticed the sun fading into the horizon.
"Well, Cleric, it was great to have this drink, but I must head back. Dusk is reaching and I rather be on my guard when the time is right."
"Oh please," The Cleric inquired. "Do stay, I have already blessed this room. If any demons were to come to this room, they would be turned to salt."
The Adventurer was quite hesitant to believe the Cleric. But he was, in a way a guest. He took another sip as to not offend the Cleric. However, when the moon lit the room, and the candles all blew out, it occurred to him that something was amiss.
He looked into the cup. How queer. Black. Black and bubbling. He decided to dip his fingers in. The liquid stuck onto his gloves and stretched out. This was the same substance that was within the Hero's orifices.
"Why so startled?" The Adventurer looked back. The Cleric looked quite different. His eyes sunken in. His skin started to tighten around his skull. This was clearly a different person. He held onto his sword.
"Say, how long was your mission?"
A cackling laughter echoed through the room. Quite possibly even the caste.
"Oh dear," The Cleric stood up. "that was a hundred years ago. Hell, I'm probably older than that whore you picked up from the adjacent room."
The Adventurer unsheathed his sword.
"What? No hug? No pity?" The Cleric laughed again. "I've suffered at hands worse than he'll ever encounter, yet only he hold mercy."
The Cleric unveiled his robes. Underneath, scars from every creature known and unknown running down his body. Burn marks etched into his skin. Bite marks danced around his shoulder.
The Adventurer gasped. "Come then! If it's mercy that you want, we'll have the healer cure your wounds!"
The Cleric just scoffed. "You foolish boy! Your pitying won't save me and it won't save you now!"
The Adventurer was flung to the other side of the wall.
The Cleric floated over to his side, chalice in hand. "Drink up! You'll soon join us."
The Adventurer was rummaging through his items. Sweat dripped from his brow. His hands were shaking faster and faster as the chalice drew closer to his lips. Alas, the Adventurer found it. The holy water that the other Cleric brought to him. He splashed it across the Cleric's face.
A shrilling cry came from the Cleric as he covered his face in his hands. This was the moment. He tried to get as steady as he could. He held his sword, knees still buckling up. The sword sung its heavenly song as it swiped through the air and decapitated the Cleric. Or so the Adventurer thought.
He looked closely as the head started to reattach itself. The bastard probably had a Resurrection Potion of his own. He realized he couldn't fight this fight. Not now. But there was so much to explore. He ran as quickly as he could to the exit and slam the door shut. He bolted as many of the outside locks as he could, before coating the earth with salt. The banging stopped. What sounded like bawling crept past the cracks of the door. However, the sound of despair became the sound of laughter. He was mocking the Adventurer.
What done was done. He could finally go back and fight another day. Or so he thought. As he got a good sense of where he was he realized that the door led to an outdoor hallway that circled around the castle. He dropped down to his knees. He was now truly alone.