The Sinner's Tale

[Marigold has them lighten their pack, dropping everything but essentials. She moves ahead, shadowing the monstrosity, watching it move. She returns occasionally to direct Percival, who leads Petunia carefully, keeping a safe distance from their quarry. For two days they continue, barely sleeping and stopping only briefly to eat. Through forests and meadows their path stretches for miles.

On the second day. while resting in a field, a great cluttering of brush and snapping of branches startles Percival. Marigold bursts from the trees, running full tilt. His heart leaps, and he scrabbles to draw the Falchion at his side. Marigold is screaming at the top of her lungs.]

Marigold: "A CHURCH! A CHURCH! PERCIVAL!"

[Percival is confused, and hesitates, lowering the blade.]

Percival: "A church Lady? I understand thee not!"

Marigold: "God damn it all Percival, a church!"

[She arrives at his location and begins violently ripping at the leather straps on Petunia's harness. Haphazardly she dumps her armor to the ground. As she begins to equip it, she shouts to Percival.]

Marigold: "Not a mile south, at the end of a small valley. IT'S SEEN THEM, PERCIVAL. IT HUNTS THEM."

[Percival vividly remembers the carnage of the deer two days ago. He cannot imagine what a church would look like.]

Marigold: "Mount thee up on Petunia and make all haste! Route the beast and mark it there! Warn the innocents that Hell's wrath is coming!"

[Percival climbs atop Petunia. He does not move.]

Percival: "Surely, Lady, we will pray to the Most High? Will he not send his power to deliver us from this, His most evil enemy? Thou must not challenge it."

Marigold: "Damn thee, Percival, I am what has been prayed for! Get thee gone, or be cursed!"

[He reigns Petunia about, and Marigold slaps her. Percival looks back as the horse takes off at a gallop, his eyes meeting Marigold. She is grim in her determination, and her eyes are steely in a way he's never seen. He gallops up the road, passing over a bridge and into a small valley. Fences and farms are spread about, quaint little homes for simple people. He urges Petunia onward, and the small packhorse huffs and snorts like never before. To his rear, he hears the snapping of branches and glances back. The Prince is on all four legs, loping awkwardly toward him at an alarming rate. Though nearly a quarter mile apart, he can feel hate in its eyes. He focuses on riding, spurring Petunia ever harder. A few moments later, and he glances back again. The Prince has closed some distance, the disgusting hands tearing up dirt and soil as it bears down on him.]

Percival: "Most High, grant thy haste to mine horse, and thy courage to mine heart. Impossible does thy task feel before me, and only with great faith do I set about thine undertaking."

[Percival checks again, and the distance between himself and the Demon has closed to only a few hundred feet. When he faces forward again, he sees the church, and distantly hears the echo of bells. People gather outside, talking and milling about, perhaps after some morning service. Percival pours all his might into a shout.]

Percival: "GET THEE INSIDE, GOD HELP THEE, AND BAR THE DOORS."

[People look at him, but no one moves. They are confused, mostly, and he is forced to ride up to them, shouting all the way. On his arrival, some have heard him, and thinking it wise to heed a panicked stranger, make their way inside. The rest must be convinced.]

Percival: "Inside with thee all! The Devil's Hell is coming to bear on thee with all its fury! Thy children will be supper for the goat! INSIDE, I say!"

[The people begin to quickly move inside, some staring at Percival, some yelling questions at him, and many looking behind him, wondering what he could be yelling about. Percival dismounts, shoving people inside. The Prince enters the churchyard at full tilt, hooting and screaming in glee of its coming kill. As the last people disappear into the building, one young girl looks back, and catching sight of the beast, lets out a shriek. She freezes in place, and Percival lifts her, throwing her through the open doors of the church like a sack of rubbish. He violently slams the door behind himself, setting his shoulder into it and calling for a bar to be laid across it. Several young men, not clear on what it is that is coming, but understanding Percival's grave seriousness, join him in barring the door. A tense second passes. The Young Girl continues to scream.

Young Girl: "The Devil, The Devil, The Devil, he's come as the Preacher said!"

[The door buckles inward with a tremendous force, but Percival and the other young men hold it shut. The scraping of claws on wood and beastly snarls can be heard outside. Percival calls again for a bar.]

Young Girl: "He saw me! Horns like a goat and face like a man, 'Tis the Devil, I saw him, he wants me! He saw me!"

Percival: "Perhaps he'll want thee less when he hears thy shrieking. Is there no bar to this door? Art thou fools?"

[The congregation has backed up away from the door, leaving only a few young men holding it shut. The door buckles inward again, this time revealing a small gap. A hand reaches through. Long, thin fingers wrap around the waist of one of the young men, dragging him back through before the gap can be closed. Others attempt to grab his wrists and hold him inside, but it is no use. His shrieks can be heard only briefly before blood spatters the door. An effort is quickly made to rip up church pews, setting them against the door. The bashing on the door redoubles, accompanied by shrieks of piercing laughter from outside. A group of congregates quickly form a circle, praying aloud. Percival overhears their prayer. They beseech the Most High to send an Angel of Deliverance. Percival remembers Marigold: 'I am what has been prayed for'.

Suddenly, the door bursts inward, the force of the Demon's attack thrusting people around the sanctuary, some painfully smashing into walls, some skidding across the floor into the rest of the congregation. The Demon steps a great cloven hoof into the sanctuary, a gut-wrenching grin revealing twisted yellow teeth. The almost-human face elicits a horrible fear in Percival, who watches as the fifteen foot tall monster reaches for an unconscious man. But Percival has many long years now travelled alongside Marigold, and had long to conquer his hesitation. In a flash, his falchion is drawn from his sheath, and he thrusts forward, marking the hand of the Demon, who turns its wrath. Behind Percival, a window is shattered, and children are being pushed out of the church. Their safe shelter is now a trap.]

Percival: "I'll have thy head, Demon. Thou will lay not a hand on these people."

[This is a bluff. Percival knows he will die. But he must buy time. He brandishes his sword aggressively. The Demon does not retreat, instead placing another hoof forward. Percival swallows his fear, preparing to fight to the death. A great clawed hand reaches toward him, stopping inches from his face. A confused growl escapes the beast, a low sort of squeak. It is being dragged backwards, out of the destroyed door and into the church yard. Marigold has arrived. She wraps her arms around the waist of the beast, lifting it, pivoting and tossing it out into the courtyard. She lets out a mighty grunt at the strain of moving such a weight. The Demon hits the ground and tumbles, rolling to its feet and facing Marigold.]

Marigold: "Run to Petunia, and fetch mine sword, Percival."

[With shock, Percival realises the zweihänder has been left on Petunia's saddle. The packhorse has fled. He looks around wildly for Petunia, spotting her almost a hundred yards off, the sword still affixed to her saddle. Percival takes off at a run in her direction.

Marigold and the Demon face each other. She raises her gauntleted fists like a boxer. The Demon stalks towards her, purring like a cat and smiling. He is enjoying the chaos.]

Marigold: "No mercy is there for ye, Demon. I am the Wrath of God. This is your end."

[The Demon laughs. Marigold waits for it to make the first move. The creature leaps up onto its hindlegs, charging her, and attempting to grab her. She ducks the grasping claws, wrapping her arms around it again and driving with her powerful legs. They tumble to the ground, pounding into each other with clenched fists. The Demon's claws scrape and spark on her armor, causing her very little trouble. In contrast, she sits astride the beast now, bringing her fists up over her head and slamming them down on the face of the monster. It squeals in pain as her blows dent its face, knocking out teeth and deforming bones. She continues to relentlessly beat the Demon for several seconds before it wriggles free, tossing her to the ground. It stands, its face purple and blue, black blood and noxious steam pouring from wounds on its face. All of its sick glee, the demonic enjoyment is gone, and the beast glares at her with pure hatred. As she is standing it charges, quick as lightning, and snaps her up with a single clawed hand. Her leg is grappled and pulled out from under her, and Marigold falls to the ground, kicking at its long fingers. The Demon is relentless, yanking her heavy metal body around the churchyard like a ragdoll, smashing into the stone fence, trees, wagons, and the packed earth beneath their feet. Finally it loses its grip, and Marigold slides free, skidding to a stop face down in the dirt.

Percival runs like he's never run before, Marigold's greatsword in his hands. The long blade feels like a heavy pike in his hands. By the time he arrives at the churchyard, Marigold is face down in the dirt, and the Demon is standing over her, clenched fists driving into her motionless body. Percival is overcome with rage and he charges, sword held forward, ramming the long blade into the back of the creature. It screams pain, whipping around and backhanding Percival. His ribs are broken on impact, and he is lifted bodily into the air and flung across the courtyard. When he lands, he coughs blood from his lungs. The Demon wrenches the blade from its back, tossing it aside. Like a creeping fog, dank, sulfurous smoke begins to fill the churchyard, pouring from the wound on the creature's back.

There is no mercy in the beady black eyes of the demon. It pounces on Percival, preparing to eviscerate him with a single stroke of its deadly claws. But Marigold is faster, and taking up her zweihänder, she attacks from the side, swinging powerfully with both hands, she brings the blade up over her head like a wood splitting axe. With a mighty shout, she cleaves downward. Her aim is true, and the Demon has only a final second to scream in terror before its head is separated from its body. The massive, heavy head falls into Percival's lap, choking him with a burst of sulfurous steam. He coughs and hacks, pushing the creature's head out of the way. Marigold has collapsed on to her elbows and knees, the zweihänder on the ground next to her.

Blood leaks from the joints of her armor like a fountain, rivulets of red between the cracks in the steel. Percival runs to her side, fighting the pain in his ribs. She rolls to her back.

Percival: "Oh Mighty Warrior of God, thy deed is legend! The Demon is slain! Surely only thee could have done this!"

[She does not reply.]

Percival: "Lady?"

Marigold: "Remove mine helmet, Percival."

[Her voice is weak. Percival does as instructed, carefully unsnapping her greathelm and orl. Her long blonde hair is stained red by a stream of blood. One of her eyes is closed and weepy, having been damaged in some way.]

Marigold: "I am badly beaten. My body cannot withstand it. I thank thee for thy friendship, Percival."

Percival: "Nay, Lady, nay! I will see to thy wounds. A doctor is no doubt among the congregation."

Marigold: "I know my appointed time is nigh. 'Tis not thy guilt to bear."

Percival: "Thou ought not speak in such a manner! I shall fetch aid. Verily-,"

Marigold: "The Most High has willed it, Percival, I had known thus from the moment I laid eyes on the beast. Its cursed form is one I recognised. God hath shown me, years nigh, ere I met thee. I was granted a vision in a dream. This was always mine fate. To stop such evil in death."

Percival: "Thou... thou art my safety. I am utterly lost without thee."

Marigold: "Nay, I have prepared thee fully. Thou must shoulder the burden. Engrave ine name in this blessed armor. Take up the sword. I can see thy glory now."

Percival: "Lady... no. Not yet."

Marigold: "I love thee most of all things, Percival."

[Marigold does not respond anymore, and despite Percival's attempts, she has clearly died. He stays with her for many minutes, provoking her to speak to no avail. The churchgoers gather around, watching them silently. Eventually the church's priest steps forward, assuring Percival and speaking with him comfortingly as only a priest can. Percival is distraught, weeping openly for a time.

The people of the church are ingratiated to Percival. They provide shelter and food for him and Petunia, treating him as a hero. He is inconsolable. A funeral is held for both Marigold and the man who was eaten by the Demon. Percival can barely bring himself to look at her body, though the townspeople have done a fine job arranging her. She has been given a beautiful cotton dress, and they have scattered flowers in her hair. One of the townsfolk regretfully explains that they could not find Marigolds, so Irises had to be substituted.

A week after the funeral, Percival can stay in the town no longer. He packs Petunia with Marigold's armor and weapons. Having been granted a generous gift of food and money from the townspeople, he sets out alone. For a season, he wonders, lost in his grief. It is a dark time for Percival. He speaks little, and sleeps unrestfully. After many long, lonely nights, he feels he is ready, and stops in a small town. Percival rents a room, and enquiring about town gathers the tools necessary for modifying armor. In the upper room of a blacksmith's shop, he sets about his labor. He begins the process of writing Marigold's story on the armor. On the right pauldron, he writes:

"Marigold, the Wrath of God has passed. She did battle with the Prince of all Demons, and was victorious. Though she died, the lives of many innocents were saved."

He felt guilty, as if the short passage could never do justice to her heroism. As he finishes the engraving, he is interrupted by a knock on the door of his guest room. He answers wearily. A young lady stands at the door.]

Young Lady: "I beg thy pardon, sir, but I was told by the black smith that thou carried the armor and weapons of a knight. I beg thy help."

Percival: "Not for many long days have I lifted a blade. For what dost thou require a knight?"

Young Lady: "Sir, if thou please, mine own brother hast gone missing. 'Tis a band of Orcs, sir, and though all know where they rest, none of us is so mighty to challenge them. They are beastly and many, and we have no strong warriors."

[Percival feels a familiar stirring in his soul. Not since the night on the bank of the river has he felt such a presence of the Most High. A sense of righteous anger settles on him.]

Young Lady: "My family hasn't much to give sir, but what little gold there is, we'll give to thee, if thou will but try."

[Percival stares silently at her.]

Young Lady: "Sir?"

[He lifts his grieves from a nearby table, beginning to strap them on. He feels their weight more than just physically now.]

Percival: "No pay is needed, Lady. I'll have these beasts. The Most High will see to it."