The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 1 Part 2: A Paladin's Legacy

Many animalistic laughs and cries joined the unnatural chorus filling the air as the dead assaulted their craft. There at the precipice of madness, and the path of destruction below his feet the words of his great grandfather filled Tirro’s mind.

A happy time of light and song were those younger days in the house of the Royal Cuirassier’s estate. Though his father had gone the route of their merchant house owning grandfather Tirro found himself drawn to great grand papa Dillo’s icy stare which made lesser men quake. Though many of his great uncles were brass of their deeds in the Doge’s service Papa Dillo’s frigid air spoke of endless charges, woes, and victories, but of losses and lessons learned most of all.

The last day before as a young tike Tirro was sent to Uncle Curroz for his first apprenticeship great grand papa brought him close beckoning him to his bright chair with red satin pillows. The magnificent throne grew underneath the sapling of the godtree that Doge Emor the Crusader bestowed upon houses of ancient, and stoic bearings. The last seeds of the great tree passed to their main houses to guard and nurture as the servant tree of the Father in Heaven did for the Veni.

Being of the lineage of the godtree many blessings and personal interest was shown to those houses that kept the saplings. Many of their valiant Captains of such loyal lineages endeared the favor of the young trees, but none had been as loved by the sapling charge of House Paledi as the Grand Cuirassier himself Dillo Paledi Tirro’s great grandfather. There the sapling had grown and crafted the wooded throne and symbol of the Paledi house from its very roots the flying gull winged visage of Saint Beligro crushing the ancient sea hag Altether with her twisted body full of eyes beneath the old mariners boots. The mighty seat’s cushions were woven by the magical song under the trees leaves from the flowers and flax in its young branches.

There under the sapling’s stretched shadow one could sense the presence of a being of immense power that more than one monster would claim. Dark was the arts and witchcraft that coveted the cores of godtree saplings for power and black deeds. Here in the inner sanctum of their house Great Grand Papa Dillo gave words of wisdom on evil. Great and varied were the tales of foul abominations and sacrifice, yet many more were the threats and terrors that awaited those who would venture into the tunnels of woe. The paths of long forgotten dark gods and demons. But every tale Tirro’s great grandfather spoke had one aim, one fable’s answer and theme through every history and lost reminder of days gone by.

“Evil must be confronted,” Tirro could still feel the vice grip of the aging holy warrior and guardian of the most sacred good a Veni man could know on his shoulder,” Tiss about ownership little Tirro. Who has dominion over thy soul and body? Who owns that boat and house you rest your head in?” Tirro searched the aging blue eyed paladin, finding only steel and resolve.

“The dark owns those who submit. Cast off thy fear of curs, and twisted things in dark holes. Those denizens in rebellion and denial of their true Lord and King. They who would defile what is good, and live in their own filth living in fear and by fear. So cast ye their sins into their abyss! Hold a glass upon their visage so they see their rugged forms, and know their fates. None escape the Holy Father. Not even they in their deepest pits where no light shines.” With that line great grand papa slumped in his chair breathing deeply. His mind was strong, but his body gave way to the ghost a little more each day.

The light of the tree shimmered, and the branches ruffled in the bright courtyard of the estate, the bright sun bathing them all in its embrace. Papa Dillo patted the roots of the sapling knowingly, tenderly like one of his sons after falling from their charger for the first time. Fully taken in by the words Tirro had to swallow and push the crack down in his youthful voice.

“I don’t think I can Papa Dillo. I fear them.” The Cuirassier stared deep into Tirro’s soul in response. His ancient beard braided to perfection with satin straps and his studded vest under his white cape shining in the tree’s light giving him the visage of prophet of the most high raining judgment on the unworthy.

“All fear them. They own terror for a purpose. Theirs’ are the spirits of fear. So hear me lad, do what men consumed by dread have always done to drive back the dark and their shrinking ilk. Be angered.” Tirro stared young shining blue eyes up at his great grandfather in question.

“Nothing drives out fear better than fury. Lord’s righteous anger on all those who would sully that which is good. These denizens of hell would take your mothers and sisters as whores and burn every ounce of the godtree to ash, sacrifice every child to dark gods, and twisted deeds beyond mere words to describe all for one thing. And what is that thing Tirro?” The young boy shook his head, and waited for the answer. The old man hissed through tight teeth, and the tree shivered at the malice and hatred emanating from the warrior.

“All for power and pleasure. They would do that and worse to all you love for nothing more and even less to hurt you, a servant of the one King of Heaven. Does that scare you? Because their corruption infuriates me. Such wrath only God himself may stemy. Thus will be their damnation, and they best hope God has some mercy for their villainy for I will have none.”

There in the tunnels of madness Tirro could see the visage of his great grandfather sitting beneath the tree he swore oaths before the God in Heaven and their Saviour Jesu to defend. Quite unending fury on all those who bowed to dark gods, and even to those decrepit beings themselves. Even as laughter demonic and animalistic assaulted Tirro from every side, as a black miasma of darkness took shape at either side of the tunnel with blazing green eyes, and uncle Curroz screamed as he fought grasping black maggot filled hands coming over the bow of the ship all became silent save for the question that Papa Dillo asked him before sending him on his path.

“Will you let evil have its way?”

And there though when he left the house of his ancestors Tirro had no answer here in the pits of hell and madness he did. With his hand grasping Papa Dillo’s dagger given to him by the old paladin’s own hand Tirro growled his answer. “No.”

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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