I may add some graphics and code to make it look better, but eh, I just wanted to post something here.
An old fantasy idea I had, Templar x Witch, that never got partners. Also kind of shows how I sometimes write my starters when I'm taking time and coming back to them throughout the day, my plans of what I want and where lol.
The soft, smoky scent of incense burned Aric's nostrils, undertones of pine mixed with a spice of cinnamon. Black and red beads of a rosary wrapped around clasped hands held in front of his bare chest with the dull gold of the cross dangling before him. Crimson droplets of his blood dripped from the open wounds on his back as the holy words and etch of holy runes were being carved into his very flesh. A razor-sharp blade easily marked his flesh by the hooded priest, who gave soft chants with every passing of the blade.
Another hooded priest stood to the side with a heavy censer hanging from a chain that swung back and forth as the smoke rose from it. Deep in his own chant as Aric endured this pain. His eyes fixated on his own clasped hands as he prayed.
"...(some form of text/chant here)"
It was an arduous task to stay still and allow the man to finish the task of carving his flesh. The reflection and devotion he had to the cause and to the order that he had been raised in and was now going to be fighting for. Undertaking a dangerous and possibly fatal ritual that not many Brother-Knights would undertake anymore, but it was his way of showing to the High Seraph that he was devoted to the cause and that his conviction should not be questioned anymore.
(Minor background about Aric, orphan of the Order who was taken from a burning village but knows little about his past or parents. The self-doubt he has in himself and his own conviction for the order and his decision to be marked as a way of proving it to himself and to the others that he believes are watching him)
She was the Witch of the Vanyr Forest, a plague to the lands that has been evading the order for years but is no longer. They had an informant find the location in which the witch was hiding, using as a base of operations deep within the dead forest. The hard crunch of leaves underneath the heavy boot of the Brother-Knights that were carefully making way through the forest with weapons drawn.
"Stay vigilant, brothers; the Matron Mother protects us with her blessing, and if you get separated. Do not forget your words." Captain Marywk looked back carefully to the ten or so brothers that were honorably following him into the den of the witch.
"Stop, did you hear that?" Dietrich came to a halt and held up a fist for the men to come to a halt with the last crunch of leaves underfoot. Soft rumblings shook the ground with vibration that grew in intensity with every passing second. "It is a trap!" He yelled out to the men, spread out through the forest on meters apart.
The ground trembled before erupting, and the deadly roots of the forest turned deadly. Barbs drove up and straight through Dietrich's stomach, unable to chant a barrier incantation or move. The root splattered out of his back, through his spinal cord, as a mess of blood splattered the bark and painted the leaves, and he was left speechless, only agonizing painful wails before those too were silenced as the roots took hold of him and came out of his mouth and eyes, ears. They were lifting him high into the sky as if to be a warning to those around who survived the first of many attacks.
"Move!" a voice shouted, as three of the ten who entered the forest had already perished. Still, Aric survived thanks to the carvings and runes on his back, which helped him erect a golden barrier underneath his feet and burn the roots back underground with holy fire.
(More detail about moving through the forest, monstrosities, and traps they fight before Aric is the last one as he finally arrives at the Witch's Lair)
It was deathly silent now as Aric stood before the entrance to the blackened home. The waft of cinnamon, birch, berries, and sprigs catching his nose gave him a false sense of comfort and safety. Familiarity and warmth that only caused a deep unseated of frustration within him. Raising his left hand to the knob on the door with the light tremor in his body he would grab onto the handle and push the door open.
He stepped inside without any harm or attack, but it felt too easy because
she was standing right there before him—the Witch of this forest. She looked of his age and held great beauty, no doubt thanks to magical enhancements and potions that gave her a longer lifespan and her beauty because of how vain she may be like any witch. His sword hand was held firmly to his blade, ready to kill, but he was not the one to make the move first.
(Information from witch why she intentionally was not killing him, guiding him to her abode. She starts to sow the seeds of doubt in his beliefs and devotion to the order that was already there. About his past, who his parents really were, and the village he came from. Son of a Witch and Warlock, taken by the Order to be used as a weapon, but even with those carvings on his back and indoctrination, she can still sense the latent magic and 'darkness' within him.)
I will probably be adding more to this with edits as I would when making an actual starting post but it is quite late and I'm tired.
Hex Color - #01A6A4
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