Editing Tale of the Fallen Crusader (section)

===Part One===

Well shit.  I killed him.  The man that lay before me was truly, absolutely, and definitely dead.  I don't think this can be covered up either, I'm just about the only suspect here; the only one who wanted him gone.  I had, at most, a night.  Maybe less.  I sat down in the man's chair, pondering my next move, what would become of me now as a murderer.  I'm a paladin for God's sake!  We only have two damned rules!  Always do what's right, check.  Never EVER murder an unarmed man... Not so much.

I must have Fallen...  I've failed my duties, my promise to the God Crom was broken.  I wondered if I had fallen, could I still draw from his power?  Now, as one of the Fallen, one of the greatest sinners?  Maybe the kill was justified.  He HAD just sold his daughter as a slave.  He was without question evil.  Maybe I could bring him back if I still have my gifts...

No such luck.  The golden flames that once shone through my fingers and weaved through the air, smiting the dark, healing the injured, would not come.  I sighed, a tear threatening at the corner of my eye.  I picked my blade from the man's chest, the blade that so efficiently sought to end this man's life.  I picked up some cloth to wipe down the blade scrubbing away at the red mess.  A heavy knock rapped at the door.  No, I have less time than I thought!  Escape!  Left.  Right.  Nothing.  Window!  As I tumbled through the windowsill I wondered if anyone I knew would forgive me, would I be accepted back home?  Surely not.  Would the church forgive?  No, 'never forgiven' are the only words spoken for the Fallen.  Then the guillotine falls.

One year later...

I was walking through yet another traveler's town, I believe it was called Alric or something to that flavor.  My hood covered my head, casting itself far enough forward to lay a blanket of shade over my eyes, hopefully leaving me incognito.  I walked until I reached the bulletin board in the cross ways of the town, where people placed their adds of want, and job offers.  Recently I've taken to doing a few of these odd jobs, the occasional thief, the common problems with wolves and dire rats.  Paid well enough for a night in an inn or a warm meal, a welcome reprieve from camping and eating stolen scraps.

I rose my eyes slowly, passing over every job and reward posted.  A large reward caught my eye; fifty gold coins!  Hell, I'd do any job for that much!  It was a find indeed, some nobleman or other influential body must have an elusive enemy.  My eyes scanned over to see the man worth such a bounty, he had a healthy, youthful appearance, nothing like myself today.  My gaze came to follow the letters at the top, above the man's name:  "Enemy of the state, and of the church of Crom."  When I read the name it resounded in my head again and again.  "Abel."

I was stunned in silence, I almost let out a whimper as the volley of realizations hit me.  Dead or alive stuck out under my name.  The tattered and old poster told its own story as well.  I was being hunted for some time now.  And I didn't even recognize the face.  It made me sick to my stomach to think of my sunken eyes and empty, pale cheeks.

An armored hand slapped a new, white poster on top of that one.  The reward on this new one:  one hundred gold pieces.  The feeling of a cold, steel blade touching my throat told me the name on it.  I turned to my attacker, and the group that was with him.  He was young, long black hair tied back from his face.  He wore dark blue clothing under his plate armor, his chest plate bearing a golden insignia of a cracked shield.

"Hi, I'm Greyson, I'll be your captor this evening."  He said mockingly, a smirk shining on his face.  I figured that's what he normally wore, judging from first impressions.  I looked onto his group, amateurs to say the least.  A roguish man with a thin, clean shaven face, wore a black tunic, a green shirt beneath.  A short sword hung from his side, though from looks it was just for looks.  There was another armorer warrior in the group, he looked a lot like Greyson, save for his shorter hair, and the heavy looking hammer he carried with both hands.  They must be brothers or something.

There were two women in the group as well, a cleric of Crom in a hooded white robe, gold designs decorating her sleeves and a similar color of hair dangling out of her hood.  The other was a freckled redhead, wearing a red tunic under a chain mail shirt.  She held a crossbow with both hands, clumsily attempting to load it.  A spear was leaning against a house next to her, I think it was her's, but that's an awfully newbie thing to do, she must be a wreck for this party.

"Boy, if you lower your weapon now, I will leave quietly.  I cannot ensure your survival otherwise."  I said this hiding my eyes in darkness, hoping they wouldn't see them darting around.  I maintained a smile, though I don't think it really reassured them.

"You're in no position to make that claim, you have no weapons, and no armor.  A Fallen has no holy magic to aid him."  That Cleric is starting to sound like a real bitch right about now.

"Who said anything about my magic being holy?"  Their eyes widened in a delightful unison, Greyson moving to slash my throat.  I flourished my fingers, a smokey purple spark shone from my palm, a push of black and purple light rebounding  off of Greyson's chest plate, smashing the seal to an unrecognizable shape, and throwing he and his blade away from me.  The redhead's crossbow fired a bolt, that found a new home in the bulletin board, barely missing my shoulder.  The hammer wielding warrior rushed me, attempting a distraction as the rogue dove behind the board behind me.

I easily sidestepped his swing, grabbing the brute's shoulder with a similar smoking spark in hand.  He didn't make another swing, his body paralyzed by my touch.  Another bolt flew from the crossbow, singing past my head.  Her aim was obviously not redhead's strong suit.  The cleric was chanting in growing volume, glaring angrily at me as yellow flames licked past her fingertips.  Chains of light wrapped themselves around me, embedding themselves in the ground as she finished chanting, effectively "preventing" me from defending myself.

The rogue stepped out from behind the board to face me.  A look of triumph on his face.  "Hm, looks like you're done."  He said gloatingly and arrogant.

"Does it?"  I inhaled in a great breath, wisps of black and purple energies were sucked in as well.  I let out the breath through my mouth in the form of scattered flames, letting the forceful blast hit the man.  He was blasted backwards, not badly burned, but his brow singed and his face smudged black.

'Truly I am a terrible foe for these up and coming "heroes".'  I thought, breaking through the chains of light with a display of brute force.  I grabbed the cleric by the throat before she could again start chanting.  I sapped her strength, as a paladin this ability could harmlessly weaken a foe, but this was different.  I felt her strength flowing into me, making me...stronger!  I still sapped her, she was long past threatening, but it felt so... great!

I felt the coldness and the motion of the blade before I felt any pain.  I held onto the base of where Greyson's blade stuck from my chest.

"Ouch,"  was all I could say before my sight darkened.  All I could think before my thoughts faded.  All I could do before my body failed me.

"Ouch."

***

My thoughts came back before I could feel anything, which sadly followed rather quickly.  A searing pain shot through chest, the constant rustling and shuffling under me only irritating it.  Wait, I was moving? Am I in a cart?  I was tied, hand bound to my feet, my cloak used as a makeshift rope.  They must have anticipated my survival.  My eyes slowly got used to the darkness, the cart had no roof, and judging by the stars in the sky it was night.  I looked to my chest to see just how shoddy a job the cleric did patching up that little sword wond.

They left the sword in me!  They left the damn sword in my back!  I wriggled angrily, attempting to writhe out of my bonds.  "You can't escape."  I heard a condescending voice from a the opposite of the cart.  The Cleric.  In the murky darkness, lit only slightly by a glimmer of magic, I saw the reflective shimmer of her blonde hair, and the green tint in her eye.  In my rage, flames licked at my breaths as I snarled at her.  The odd spark and smoke of the flames bent and flattened, as if hitting an invisible wall.

"You could have really hurt some one back there..."  She said, rubbing at the light bruises I left at her neck.

"Damn, I was going for kill."  I glared at her, a look she gladly returned.

"We drew an anti-magic circle around you with manticore urine, none of your darkness can leave that circle."  She said, a condescending matter-of-fact inflection in her words.

"You got manticore... piss... how exactly?"

"I- th-that doesn't matter!  You'll be dead in a little while.  Shut up and lay there, Fallen."  I thought for a moment at her words.  I don't quite like the sound of dying, and from the looks of that cleric, it would be the church doing the execution.

"Wait,"  I said,  "None of my magic can leave this circle?"

"Yes.  Now quiet!"  I smiled at her, rolling to my left and standing up on my knees, still well within the circle, and arched my back.  She yelped in fear as she saw my magic wrap around the hilt of the sword, drawing it from my back as if by the force of an invisible hand.  It rose from the wound, dripping blood.

"N-no magic propelled object can leave either!"

"Who're you tryin' to convince?"  I leaned back and sat with my bonded limbs in front of me.  I maneuvered the sword and it easily sliced through my restraints.  I stood shakily, black sparks weaving the wound in my chest and through my back shut.  I crossed the length of the cart, barely keeping balance on the cart, till I was looming over the frightened cleric, who was panicking chanting a prayer.

"Boo!"  She screamed in terror as I chuckled, she really thought I was some sort of monster among men!  I snapped my fingers and was gone in a flash.

Cutting a hole in the floor of a moving vehicle isn't the best idea.  As my tumble slowed to a stop, I began wondering what came next.  I wiped blood from my forehead, I guess I COULD return to town, only Greyson recognized me, and he and his were on carts heading into the horizon.  I could easily re-disguise myself, though I did destroy my one cloak in my 'grand escape.'  Shit.

Well, I've been managing some sort of magic this past year, and I like to think I've become rather adept at it.  I've seen some wizards conjure water in the past, could I do something similar?  Maybe a six inch square of cloth?

I concentrated and blocked out thought, thinking this would be easier than it was turning out.  Seconds passed and nothing.  I sighed and breathed deeply.  I'm not in composure, I just need calm.  A teeny tiny square of cloth!  That's it!  Cloth... Cloth... CLOTH! Nothing.  I breathed ragged, somehow tired by doing nothing.  I looked back towards the path opposite the way the carts took.  No town in sight.  I looked at my opening hand, and smiled, a single thread laid across my palm.