The Redemption of Bantley
This is my second short story submission for a contest held by Jessica Elwood (see the contest information and a guide to the fictional world here: http://jessicaelwood.deviantart.com/journal/15209587/#journal ) This is a low-fantasy setting, and no yiff, though there is some nudity. As one critic pointed out, such a dramatic personality change wouldnt occur so rapidly, but this is a short story, so unless you want to read a novel, tough luck. Had to keep it short.
- * * The Redemption of Bantley Samuel Previs The red-robed figure moved about slowly in his chambers. The room was small, with only enough room for a bed, chest of drawers with a mirror fixed upon the top, and a desk, chair, and a small shelf for his collection of books. Though the sheets on the bed were fine silk, and the shelf full of the most expensive books and scrolls of arcane magic money could buy, the walls were roughly hewn from the cave in which the temple lay. But it was fitting, even if you were only a few mere rituals and a successful assassination away from being the head priest of Lorgoth of the Eternal Hells. There was a knock at the door, and the figure turned, fixing his glaring eyes upon the door. "Who dares disturb my preparations?" "Master Bantley," a voice answered, "I was sent from his gloriousness Lord Agrathar to inform you that the sacrifice is ready. All priests for the ritual are to head for the chamber now." The figure scoffed, and opened the door, heedless of the fact he had rammed the door into the young acolyte. He was a Trigoba, after all. He had earned this power of his, spent ten years of his life her in the caves in the northern Ivory Mountains to obtain it. And with power came the ability to toss your weight around. Bantley, the albino mouse came into the torchlight of the halls, and cackled evilly, his pink eyes casting left and right into the shadows. He lifted his left hand and stroked the puff of hair he grew on his chin, just below his lips, and blew a bit of his wavy, untidy hair out of his eye. There was someone ahead around the corner, waiting to knife him to death, for he saw a small bit of whoever's shoe it was poking into the light. The Infernal temple of Lorgoth the Sightless didn't quite reward it's worshippers into the order in the same way any other so called 'temple' and their 'gods' did, and where the priests were not simply doddering fools who hid behind their gods, but instead were wizards, who studied arcane lore to strengthen themselves, and offered sacrifices to Lorgoth the Infernal for power and knowledge. Here, you killed your way to the top. The mouse wizard put his hands together in front of him, his right hand forming a ring, while the other encompassed it in a claw-like, rigid grip. And thus, the mouse approached the turn, and as the would-be killer came around the corner, knife raised and poised high, the mouse simply completed the gesture he had begun, raised his hand formed like a ring to his mouth, and blew through it. As the air passed through it, fire ignited on the other end, jetting in a stream of intense flames, straight into the assailant's face. The attacker fell to the cave floor as robes and greasy fur alike caught aflame, and became nothing more than a screaming, thrashing inferno upon the ground. As if nothing happened, Bantley simply continued to proceed around whatever creature it was as if nothing happened, save for taking care that his own robes didn't catch flame. "Ah, such a beautiful night," He proclaimed cheerily, whistling a tune as he continued down the carved corridors, past acolytes who bowed their heads in respect to the Trigoba, an into the sacrifice room. To call it a 'room' would do the size of it injustice. It was enormous. A gigantic cave cavern where columns of stone were carved from the very rock of the mountain, shaped into an effigy of tormented souls, reaching forth from the pillar, withered and pathetic looking, stretching into the darkness far above. Stone steps were carved from the floor upward toward the back of the chamber, where a giant statue stood. Like the rest of the room, the statue of the demon god Lorgoth was carved from the rock of the very cave in which the temple was carved from. The statue was of a huge, hulking figure, with clawed paws, and spiked, highly decorated armor that covered the form of Lorgoth from foot to head. Large bat-like wings spread out from the back of the statue, casting a massive black shadow across the wall, making the statue appear as though it were standing before an endless black void. The helmet was carved into the shape of a dragon's skull, with no holes for the eyes, and horns that twisted and came to sharp points. In one hand the statue carried a massive axe, a singular, lidless eye engraved into the side of the blade, and the other was extended outward, claws skyward, resting overtop of the main altar, a deep pit where a blazing inferno, constantly fed by the low-ranking acolytes, where the sacrifice was fed to the demon god. The mouse waded through the small gathering of acolytes, and walked up the stairs, stained with the blood of countless sacrifices. He was joined on his left by the other two Trigobas, who marched up the stairs beside him. They arrived at the top of the stairs, where the high priest stood, a wolf of fur as black as midnight, draped in robes as white as snow, black letters of an infernal language sewn across it, upon a raised dais before the main altar. His arms were raised high before the great statue of Lorgoth, Bantley took his place behind and to the side of the high priest, while the others lined themselves up so that, if one were to trace a line between the four of them, there would be a diamond shape. There were ten other priests, forming two single-file lines alongside either side of the four. They raised their arms toward the statue, and fell to their knees on cushions lain out beforehand, and followed the chant at the appropriate time. "Haasth toomgar filinos tuk..." they chanted, as they heard the shuffling of feet behind them. Bantley allowed himself a grin. The sacrifice comes! He thought, and up the stairs came the sacrifice, carried by two acolytes each; a captured being, males and females, adults and cubs, beaten and bound and dragged to their tormenting end. His sacrifice was laid out before him as he continued to chant. It was a cub, a male cat. He was filthy, and had clearly been beaten before being brought to the altar. His shirt was torn, and his kilt could barely hold on to his thinned and starved hips. The chanting came to a halt. Wordlessly, every priest drew from their belt a bronze, serrated dagger, the blade curving like a dagger and the hilt encrusted in red stones. The ritual, Bantley could never understand why, called for the sacrifices to be allowed to speak their final words. "What is your biggest regret in your miserable life, food for the Sightless Lord?" The chamber echoed with the question in the silence. Some of the sacrifices, as usual, said nothing. Others whimpered and whispered pleas for mercy. Rarely did one ever answer the question; whish was usually a feeble whisper. But the cat at Bantley's knees did not whisper, nor whimper, nor beg. With a sad look in his eyes he looked into the albino mouse's own, and said, in a normal tone, "I regret... not having met you before this." Bantley waited, not moving. This was unusual. The mouse blinked several times, and answered the next question. Something about this boy unsettled Bantley. He knew that the boy's words had brought the attention of everyone to him and his victim, but that wasn't what bothered him. "And why do you regret this, sacrifice for the Lord of the Eternal Hells?" "If we had met, I know you wouldn't have been a bad person. I can see it in your eyes... you weren't meant for this..." The chamber filled with laughter as everyone chuckled at the boy and his little righteous speech. Then the high priest raised his own dagger high, and continued the ritual. "Enough! Now let regret fill your heart, and let it feed the great Lorgoth in the never-ending Hells for all eternity!" And with that, each priest plunged their knife into their victim's chest, and opened their chest. Bantley removed the boy's heart, and allowed his eyes, still full with the last desperate instinct to survive, witness it beating before he severed the veins connecting it to his body. With the heart in hand, he and the other Trigobas stood, and took their places around the high priest, the hearts held high, daggers piercing the still hot organ. Blood spilled forth, and some ran down the albino's arm, but most of it fell onto the priest's robes. Before long, the white robe had turned a bloody, crimson red, stained by the blood of the sacrifices' hearts. The priest stood, and stepped towards the pit, holding his arms up high, holding the heart of his own victim in his paws, bellowing in a reverent voice, "Oh great Lorgoth of the Eternal hells, master of cruelty, we offer this sacrifice in exchange for power, the hearts of innocents, filled with fear and regret. Haccurem filimar Icunnsar fe!" The head priest tossed the heart into the pit with the raging inferno, and Bantley watched as the fire seemed to engulf it, almost forming a hand to grasp the heart as it came. And after it came the other hearts, tossed in two at a time by each of the other ten priests. The fire turned crimson, and blood began to pour from the mouth of the statue of Lorgoth; a sign that the sacrifice was acceptable. Bantley tossed the cat's heart into the fire, along with the other Trigobas. The ritual was almost complete; though the hearts were the main sacrifice, the priests and the Trigobas were charged with offering the rest of the victims as sacrifice; this served to further please their unholy lord and clean up in the process. The albino wizard went to the body of the cat, and took a hold of him by the fur on his chest. He dragged the boy to the edge of the pit. But rather than just carelessly toss the boy in immediately, Bantley gazed into the dead male's eyes... those yellow eyes which, glazed with the film of death, stared up into Bantley's own, unblinking, seeming to pierce into the mouse's very soul. With a dismissive, half-hearted scoff, Bantley tossed the boy into the pit, and watched as the lifeless form bounced off the wall of the pit before finally being consumed in the endless fires. And with that, Bantley left for his quarters to retire for the night. It would be a week before the next ritual, a smaller one. He would use the time to study magic. It was the night before the next ritual. Bantley sat at his desk, bent over an incredibly huge tome, studying the words which scrawled the pages, whispering its secrets of matter transformation and conjuration to him, perfecting his attunement to the elemental force of fire. He had not thought of the boy and his words since, yet somehow he felt different each day. He found that he preferred to spend more time in his room, and felt uncomfortable around acolytes and the other Trigobas. He sat up, his back creaking from having been hunched over for hours straight. He rubbed his back and groaned, leaning backward against his chair, head back as he cast his eyes about his sparse room. His eyes fell onto the mirror, and he stood, stretching and making his way to the mirror. He stood before it, trying to fix his untamable hair. Maybe a hat would help... He leaned forward to examine a spot on his muzzle... but froze, staring into the eyes of the mirror. As he had leaned, his reflection had not followed in suit. It stood there still instead, glaring into his eyes. Yet the eyes in the mirror were not his own. Where his eyes were pink, and normally shaped, the Bantley in the mirror had eyes of crimson, slated and the pupils a narrow slit, like a serpent's. The albino mouse stepped back and looked around. There was no one in the room, and he had wards set to alarm him if anyone had entered the room. So it couldn't be an illusion. He looked back to the mirror, and his reflection stood there, glaring at him. The curiosity that came to all wizards naturally took over, and Bantley came back to the mirror, and leaned on it, his face nearly brushing it. The image didn't change in size, just the same. He put his finger to it, and felt the cold, smooth glass. He looked it in the eye some more, and soon, the lips of the image moved, and he heard a cold, raspy voice in his head. "Who are you, who has fur as pale as the moon, and a heart filled with doubt?" it asked. Bantley looked around again and back to the mirror. There, instead of his visage, was a terrible beast. Dark gray scales covered its skin, bony spike protruding from its back, and claws like a dragon's teeth forming at the tips of its hands. Two tusks poked forth from its twisted lips, and hurled horns came from its skull, twisting and pointing forwards. The scales and muscles were pulled tight across the skull, giving a skeletal appearance to the demonic beast. The eyes were red and without pupil, lidless, staring into the very heart of the mouse. Bantley moved his hand to cover his mouth, to suppress a yell of surprise and fear at being confronted with the ghastly apparition. And as his hand rose, so did the beasts. Finally it ceased to mimic him, and places hits hands to the glass, grinning a malicious sneer, and the voice spoke again. "This is who you truly are, Bantley! This is what you have become!" The mouse, slowly, lowered his hand, and the demon in the mirror in turned lowered its own. Bantley began to shake. The beast, and he knew not why, terrified and enraged him at the same time. The mouse stepped to the chest of drawers beneath the mirror, and from a small drawer, pulled free the curved dagger he kept on himself, not for sacrifices, but for personal protection and assassinating his predecessors. He rose brought it back, readying his arm to stab the mirror, when a soft paw encompassed his own. The mouse twisted, his red robes fluttering as if caught in a strong breeze, and came face to face with a young male cat with yellow eyes. The wizard took a step back, and stumbled into the chest of drawers, the mirror on top of it rocking, and then falling to the floor with a loud, fragile crash. Bantley pointed the dagger at the boy, the sacrifice who stood in white robes, a simply cord belt tied around his waist. "Your dead!" he whispered, breathing heavily, swear dampening his fur, "You... I cut out your heart and cast your body into the fires! Your soul belongs to Lorgoth! How... this is impossible!" "Nay," the child said simply, his voice calm and soft, as he took a step towards the albino mouse, "My soul belonged, and belongs still, to the goodly gods in the glorious heavens above, to whom I spent, without fail, every night praying to. And thus, I have found peace eternal." The mouse stood there, shaking, his knife pointed at the child. He swallowed hard, panting. "I killed you once, I can kill you again." "You won't," the cat said simply, stepping forth and placing his hands gently on Bantley's, lowering the dagger with a warm touch that the mouse could not defy, "Because you are not too far from the light. There is still hope for you, but you simply must choose to walk the road of redemption." The boy let go of Bantley's hand, and turned away; and as he did so, he vanished, slowly fading into nothingness. Bantley stepped forth, and held onto his head for a few moments. His eyes fell upon the broken glass which twinkled in the candlelight. He bent to retrieve the largest shard- and from the mirror, as though it were simply a portal to another space, shot forth a scaled, taloned hand, digging into the mouse's own! The mouse sat up quickly and heavily, and cried out in pain as he clutched onto his back. He looked around, one eye squeezed shut. The room as the same. The mirror lay intact. He stood, rubbing his back, and observed his reflection. It was him, through and through, followed his exact movements. The mouse went over to his bed, discarding his robes and extinguishing his lantern. A dream, he thought, laying on the straw mattress. A dream, and nothing more, induced by spending too much time reading. And with that, the mouse slept. The next day, Bantley entered the chamber for the new ritual. This one was a smaller, less important ritual than before; it was only the Trigobas, the high priest, and two acolytes. The albino mouse climbed the blood-stained stairs to the altar, chanting along with the others. Bantley was unfocused. He couldn't shake the dream from his mind. Everywhere he looked, it seemed, the cat's yellow eyes were there. The Trigobas kneeled at either side of the altar, Bantley to the left side, another in front, and the third on the opposite side. The high priest came next, following the two acolytes who dragged a young female cow, really not too far from being a mere calf, who was then tossed onto the altar and chained to it. The high priest stood before the statue and altar, arms outstretched, and the Trigobas began chanting. "Siliska tum ethaert kas..." they chanted, and Bantley cracked open his eyes, watching the high priest remove his robes. "Oh great Lorgoth of the Eternal Hells, we offer for you the heart of this girl, who shall have her innocence stripped away before your sightless gaze, filling her heart with grief and terror to please you! We offer this in exchange for your power!" The girl screamed and writhed in his chains as the wolf grabbed onto her hips, chuckling in anticipation of the 'ritual', which was just raping a girl before tossing her into the fire. The girl put up a fight of it. When the wolf came in from the right, she moved to the left, and when he came from the left, she in turned moved to the right. Annoyed, the high priest raised his hand and brought the back of it across her face. "Worthless calf, hold still," he growled, clamping his hand tight around her throat. Bantley felt odd. As he watched, he felt his hands begin to shake, and his voice quivered slightly in the chant. His heart was pounding in his chest, and sweat began to dampen his fur. The girl's whimpering and crying echoed in his ears like the deepest of caverns. His robes felt constricting. This isn't right, whispered a voice in the back of his mind, you are better than this. Bantley looked up, and saw that the high priest had let go of the calf, and was preparing to violate her. The albino wizard didn't even remember moving. All he remembered was a great fury and indignation boiling within him, and a burning desire to help the girl. He didn't even remember drawing his knife, or plunging the bronze, serrated blade deep into the wolf's neck. The blood seeped from the wound, and the priest, rigid, and finally fell to his knees. The blade had become too lodged into the flesh to be withdrawn easily, and so the hilt slipped from the mouse's hand easily, and the wolf slumped to the side. There was silence. No one dared move. No one had dared to attempt an assassination to higher power during a ritual. All eyes, save for two pair, turned to the still statue of Lorgoth, waiting, wondering whether the demonic god would become enraged at the defilement. Finally, one of the Trigobas, a small bear, spoke, "Your audacity and daring seems have pleased The Sightless Lord, High Priest Bantley." The wizard looked up, and saw the blood seeping from the mouth of the statue, dripping from its chin and into the fires below. But the mouse did not care. He placed his hands together, one over the other... "We must select a new Trigoba to replace you, Bantley," spoke the other, a badger, standing up, "so that we might proceed with the ritual." The wizard concentrated on his hand, formed like a ring, muttering... "My lord?" spoke the bear, and Bantley could hear the slight shuffling of feet, "My lord? What are you saying?" The mouse turned, his hand formed like a ring rising towards his mouth. A jet of flames shot forth, straight into the nearest Trigoba's face. He didn't know which one it was, nor did he care. All he knew was that he must have clearly gone insane. He bent down and scooped up the high-priest's dagger, a finely crafted knife of the same design as Bantley's bronze one, save that the gems were precious, and the metal was finely crafted steel, polished with a slight black finish. He rushed towards the two acolytes who had stood to the side of the ritual. The two acolytes drew their daggers, but the first one was not fortunate to be faster than the mouse, whom wrapped one arm around the acolyte, and began to repeatedly and quickly stab the unfortunate cat in the gut. The mouse turned, and leaned back as the other acolyte's knife came whipping around at his face. Bantley stepped forth, thrusting his knife for the dog's face, but the acolyte repeated a move similar to the mouse's. As Bantley stepped around, he dropped the knife as his muscles began to spasm, and pain lurched through his body before he was sent flying away. As he rolled and hit one of the carved pillars, the albino mouse looked up, and saw what was soon to be the impaled dog land on one of the many stalagmites that dotted the outer rims of the ceremony chamber. As he glanced towards where he was before, he saw the badger Trigoba standing with his arm raised, electrical sparks encircling his hand. "Accursed lightning users," Bantley growled, shakily climbing to his feet and rolling behind the pillar, catching his breath. His heart was beating irregularly, but he knew he would be fine. He held his hand up in a similar fashion to the badger's, but while the badger had the palm of his hand facing outward, and the hand flat, the back of the wizard's hand faced outward, and his fingers curled up at the middle knuckle. "What has gotten into you, Bantley?" The badger roared, and Bantley could hear his feet scraping against the stone floor, "You killed the high priest, and our Lord Lorgoth was pleased, but you have gone too far in slaying a fellow Trigoba and two mere acolytes! But I must thank you, for now I shall kill you and become the new high priest." "Save your breath for begging for Lorgoth to cease violating your arse like a woman's!" Bantley retorted, and stuck his foot out from the pillar- and withdrew it, just as a blue bolt of lightning hit the stone where it once was. The perfect opportunity! The mouse rolled from around the pillar, and thrust his hand out, palm up, as a tiny, harmless looking ball of fire jetted in the direction of the badger. The badger turned on his heel and began barreling away from the flame, knowing too well that what spell the fire-specialized wizard used. The entire chamber roared with a thunderous explosion, as the ball of fire imploded upon itself, and then expanded and exploded, fire filling the air in a large portion of the chamber. The wizard began another incantation as he rushed from behind the pillar, his hands cupped and over top of each other, the fingers of one hand touching the bottom of the palm of the other hand. The badger was on the ground, his hands clapped together as he began to cast another spell. Bantley didn't allow him the chance, and brought both of his hands up into the air above him, as if he were holding some large ball- for in fact, he suddenly was, as a large, glowing red ball of flames formed in his hands, as large as a bear, and tossed it at the badger, the a flaming trail left behind as it rolled across the floor. The badger's eyes widened and he abandoned his spell to roll away from the rolling sphere of fire. As he did so, the mouse continued to charge, and kicked the lightning-user in the side. The badger rolled, and the albino kicked yet again. The badger, however, simply grabbed onto the mouse's leg and pulled, bringing the fire-user down. The two entangled themselves with each other, throwing punched, kicks, and the occasional bite each other's way. They rolled around, and eventually Bantley felt his back hit the stone of the altar. The badger pushed himself away, and kicked the mouse in the gut. Bantley felt the air leave his lungs, but the badger kicked him in the face, and the back of his head hit the stone. Bantley lay there, and the badger turned, taking a few steps back as he clapped his hands together, beginning to recite the spell he had begun earlier. Bantley looked to his side, and saw the body of the high priest lying beside him. He tugged the dagger free of the corpse's neck, and stood, tossing it at the badger as the Trigoba turned to throw his spell at the albino. Bantley had never thrown a dagger before, and the result was expected; the hilt hit the side of the badger's head, causing the badger to stumble and break the spell. The mouse wasted no time, going through a complicated series of hand signals and reciting demonic words. When he finished, his hands became enveloped in flame, and he ran for the badger, which had started his spell once more. The mouse came to him, and clamped his hands on either side of the Trigoba's head. The badger paused, and clamped his hands on either sides of the albino mouse's. The flames didn't hurt the badger, nor scorch the fur. That wasn't the intention. The lightning-user groaned in slight pain, struggling feebly to remove the wizard's grasp from his head, but the spell the fire-user had begun would not release until it was complete. The badger began to sweat profusely, his fur dampening. He panted for breath, his body getting hotter. Eventually he began to cry out in agony, the very saliva in his mouth rolling out in waves of steam. Soon the cries turned into full-fledged screams of agony, as his flesh began to sizzle, and, finally, he began to burn, his flesh and robes igniting, burning the Trigoba alive slowly and painfully. But the fires continued to rise in temperature, and the whole of the lightning wizard was aflame. The spell finished moments later, and Bantley dropped the skeletal remains of the badger, which glowed like molten iron. The mouse sighed and strode over to the altar, nursing his hands, which had only burned slightly. He stood over the calf, and his jaw dropped, and he put his hands to his mouth. The girl was alive, yet slight burns covered her body in places, and her hair was singed. The calf squealed as she looked up at the mouse, but her voice was hoarse. Bantley removed her chains, and had taken the girl by the arm, leading her through the hewn hallways. He emerged into a smaller chamber, where wooden boards had been erected to form a crude cage to house captured people for sacrifice. The acolyte guard stepped towards Bantley, his spear at ease at his side, "Trigoba Bantley, why have you brought back the virg-AUGH!" The guard screamed as he was suddenly engulfed in flames, turning and running through the caves, full tilt, and blindly into a wall, where he luckily and mercifully cracked open his skull. The wizard yanked open the cages, and pointed down one shaft with the steel knife. "Follow this path straight, and don't go down any side tunnels, and you'll come out of the caves. Head down the mountain, and you should find the road south into Valley of Lyrr. Now go, hurry!" The thirty captives hurried out, as silent as could be, not even daring to glance at the albino lest he change his mind. Soon the chamber was empty of them, and Bantley stood there, thinking. He knew what he had to do. None here could be left to live; the Temple would hunt him to the far reaches of Valis for what he had done. Bantley turned to head the opposite way the prisoners moved, but stopped, and bent over, picking up an object from the ground, dropped by one of the prisoners. He brushed the dust from it, and straightened a bit, and began to laugh, as memories of the dream that had changed him came back. "Maybe a hat would help..." he said, and donned it. It was a black, wide-brimmed pointy hat, with the point drooping severely to the side and back. It was a little large for his head, and the brim slid down to his eyebrows, casting a shadow over his eyes. "Perhaps I should not look at this madness as losing everything I have worked hard for these past years... but instead gained a hat!" The winds howled through the overcast mountain sky as the albino mouse carefully strode down the mountain, his rapid decent slowed and balanced by the backpack full of books, scrolls and food in his pack. Far behind him in the cliff-face, smoke and dust billowed out from the only entrance to the Temple of Lorgoth of the Eternal Hells, where the priests and acolytes of the infernal god either lay dead or, without a shred of pity from the wizard, lay trapped and dying, never to escape. The wizard smiled to himself, and thought of the boy that had changed his life. The End