The Dark Cleric

The Dark Cleric

The rain poured down, producing the sort of rumbling that drowned all sounds and left the mind alone to thought. Among the trees there was a girl dressed in nondescript clothes, so wet that the rain had no malice left to inflict. She ran with great urgency, occasionally sliding on the slippery unstable mud, but never so much that she outright fell over.

The girl’s breathing was becoming deep and rapid from the effort, and suddenly her foot found nothing but air. She awkwardly fell forward with all the momentum her sprint had built up. Her face hit water instead of dirt, and she felt her body tense up with the shock of coldness. It was deep, deeper than her legs could reach.

She kicked and spun around frantically a bit, before gaining control and getting her head above water. She started taking a few swimming strides to the shore, and grabbed the exposed roots of a dead tree. As she pulled herself up, they were already waiting for her on land. They had their hands reached out, welcoming.

“Why are you running? You are...”

She interrupted by kicking away, going back into the water. She could not be among them. She dove downwards into the deep water, and kept swimming deeper, directly away from them.

She awoke.

The dream was over. But dreams are dangerous, for their effect can linger long past their lifetime. Dreams can show you new roads, new directions. Dreams can make you stray. She took out her charm and hugged it closely, filling her mind with only Him. Looking out the window it seemed to be in the middle of the night. She could hear people being joyful and jolly downstairs in the tavern’s dining room, as people often are in taverns even late at night.

Suddenly a metallic clank could be heard from the lower floor. And then another. Steel armor and weaponry, somewhat clumsily and tiredly handled. The king’s men. The girl’s thoughts spiraled out of control. How had they found her? Did they know she was here, in this very room? Had her awakening from the dream been intentional? She clung to the charm for another second, and thanked Him. Silently she grabbed her own armor, which rested faithfully by the bed. Would the tavern keeper realize they were describing her?

Steel boots rhythmically hit the wooden stairs. She grabbed her flail. Such a massive weapon with spiked steel balls and heavy steel chains, but for the one who knows how to use it the size contains an unanticipated advantage. Men spent their entire lives training in the art of blades, carefully mastering the stab, the stroke, and the parry. For men who expected honorable combat, it was all they would ever need.

The girl readied herself for fighting, hoping to use the surprise to her advantage. For she did not serve honor, she served something else entirely.

The door started opening carefully, and the Dark Cleric swung her flail against her enemies. the spiked balls crashed through the weak wooden door with ease, sending chunks of wood and splinters flying as the construction exploded outwards. Surprised shouts quickly transformed into screams of pain as pieces of sharp wood and metal spikes embedded themselves into exposed skin. Taking off your helmet just because you are inside can cost you dearly.

Hostile swords were unsheathed as the Dark Cleric retrieved her weapon. The flail might have won against a single foe by sheer surprise, but it would easily lose an extended indoors skirmish. Instead, she pulled out a short sword from her belt to met her opponents. In her mind was a silent prayer for strength.