[The British Isles, Wessex, April of 793]
"Bartholomew! Get in here with the chamber pot," Jason bellowed, yanking the heavy iron links in frustration. "I need to piss!"
It had been days since the battle, and the NPCs had kept him locked and restrained.
He had briefly considered biting his tongue to respawn, but he wasn't a soldier, and the pain made the idea vanish as quickly as it came.
Minutes later, the heavy oak dungeon door groaned open, spilling harsh torchlight into the dark cell. A young female servant timidly stepped inside, balancing a ceramic chamber pot. Behind her shuffled two guards and a priest, who was loudly reciting prayers.
The Anglo-Saxons, convinced Jason was a demon or some entity cursed by God, kept a wide berth. The priest's voice trembled as he invoked blessings over the dungeon.
At the rear, the grumpy guard Jason knew as "Bartholomew" scowled, clearly unimpressed and unamused. The "demon" had insisted only he be allowed to assist with the chamber pot.
"My name is Edgar," the grumpy guard muttered under his breath.
"Do not converse with the creature," the old priest warned, holding up a crucifix. "This is his trick. I have learned this from observing him; he is extremely cynical and playful. Everything is a game for him, even life and death."
Jason rolled his eyes and slumped against the damp stone wall with a clatter of chains. "Here we go again," he deadpanned, exasperation registering in his voice as the same tedious theatrics played out once more.
"It's fascinating," the priest whispered, his gnarled fingers clutching the crucifix. "He doesn't react to holy water or our Lord's name… but it doesn't matter. The Archbishop of Canterbury is on his way, bringing relics to question the demon himself."
Jason groaned, rolling onto his side on the straw-strewn floor. "Ohhh no… dead people's parts, pleaseee. Not dead people's mummified parts," he drawled, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Do they come with little pamphlets too? Or is it more of a hands-on thing?"
"Leave us. I want to try and guide this fallen angel back to Christ again. To think I would have such a chance in my lifetime," the priest declared, shooing the others away.
The guards and the servant looked at the priest and then back at Jason, a mixture of fear and confusion on their faces, before proceeding to leave.
The heavy door slammed shut, plunging the cell back into near darkness, save for the single torch the priest brought in and fixed to the wall sconce. The priest turned to face Jason, his old eyes intense in the low light.
"Alone at last," the priest said, his voice surprisingly calm now that his audience was gone. "Tell me, creature, how did you fall from grace? What was the sin that cast you from the Light into this world of mud and blood?"
"Oh my God," Jason muttered, placing his hands over his face. He couldn't believe this was happening, locked in with a madman. For the priest, though, it was different: the demon's memories were surfacing, something pivotal and incomprehensible to mortal minds.
[The British Isles, Northumbria, Dunbar, April of 793]
in an abandoned longhouse that served as the village hall previously, William, Jonathan, and Amy huddled around a newly kindled fire, sharing a meal of the raiders' abandoned provisions.
"Very convenient weapon choice," William remarked, his gaze settling on Amy's bloodied whip. William and Jonathan were a mess of mud and gore, a sharp contrast to Amy, who remained surprisingly clean.
"Thank you; it's incredibly convenient for killing NPCs," she replied coolly.
"Though I don't believe it would be effective against actual players."
"Well, who knows? Besides, why would I ever need to fight on the front lines?" she said, hugging Jonathan's arm and making William visibly uncomfortable. "That's what my protector is for."
"Did Wulfgar also offer you land?"
"Yeah, dude, he did," Jonathan chimed in, around a mouthful of food. "But we turned it down the moment we saw the place."
"It was that poor?"
"Nah, it was actually pretty good, I guess. But we had no idea how to manage it properly. He suggested we just let the reeve or the peasants handle the management and we just collect taxes, right?" Jonathan gestured with his hands.
"But then we saw the peasants just standing there, looking at the sky, literally waiting for rain to water the crops... We ditched the whole idea. Getting paid directly from Wulfgar is way better and a lot less hassle."
"You seem to have a great relationship with him, Wulfgar."
"Let's just say we have an understanding," Jonathan said, a slight grin playing on his lips. "And as he likes to put it, our interests are perfectly aligned."
"Well, I hope Beornwulf and I reach such an understanding."
"My lords," a voice came from outside the longhouse since the huscarls didn't do much in the battle besides surviving. We're now tasked with organizing the bodies and the loot to inform them when the Ealdormen arrive.
The trio rose and stepped outside into the cold Northumbrian air. The sight of two Ealdormen, flanked by their retinues and chaplains, broke the grim scene. Their horses clattered past a fresh pile of slain Picts.
From the ranks, a small figure broke away and ran toward William: Harold. William had left the boy with Ealdorman Beornwulf for his safety; the boy lacked the armor and training for battle.
"Sir Gwyndolin, congratulations on your victory," Harold said, arriving at William's side, eyes bright with excitement.
William placed both hands on Harold's shoulders, turning him toward the grim heap of bodies. "Today, you should have accompanied me as a page. That is your duty. But since you lack the armor and training, it is forgiven this time. Next time you ride with me, you will fight at my side. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Harold half excited, half nervous
"Gwyndolin." Ealdorman Beornwulf's voice carried conviction. Fully satisfied that the price he had paid was worth it, he trusted that a man like William could secure the frontier.
With the Picts dealt with here, he could focus on rebuilding his lands without worrying about raids for now.
William approached and inclined his head in greeting. "Sir, the Pictish raiding party in this area has been defeated."
Beornwulf gave a curt nod and turned slightly to his side. Standing there was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and sharp eyes.
"I will have my steward Osric show you your lands," Beornwulf said. "He will explain the boundaries, villages, and fields. Take a small detachment of men with you; the rest of my household and Wulfgar and I must ride to inspect the remaining holdings."
Osric stepped forward, bowing slightly towards Beornwulf. "At once, my lord." He then inclined his head toward William. "Lord Gwyndolin, if you would follow me, i will introduce your appointed lands and subjects."
William turned to amy and Jonathan. "well guys see you later im off to play lord."
"See you later, my lord," bowed Jonathon mockingly.
"Good luck, William," Amy called, waving as she and Jonathan went to accompany Wulfgur, their figures disappearing into the distance.
"Shall we go, my lord?" Osric asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.
"Yes, lead the way, Osric," William said. "Show me my lands."