Quinn Chapman and the Altar of Evil I

Quinn Chapman and the Altar of Evil The flames of Hades flickered off the rough hewn walls of the cavern as I stumbled my way deeper into the earthen maw. Acrid, black smoke invaded my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my lungs. Dark voices shouted in a rhythmic chant somewhere beyond the hall of fire through which I now walked. My body was cut and bruised; my clothes turned to rags barely clinging to my sweat glistened flesh. What maligned road led me to my current state of depravity? My mind flickered back to that fateful day in the warrens of Singapore, to one of the myriad of seedy opium dens lining the alleys. It was there that I found the remnants of the infamous Anglo explorer Sir Percival Covington. I pushed back the shoddy veil of the curtain to find Sir Percival upon his back, clad in sweat-stained khaki and a weeks' worth of grime. So much for the hero of the British Empire. His glazed eyes alighted upon me, and a flicker of recognition danced across his ...

The Warrior Stands

The Warrior stands upon the field of battle, naked of any conscience and girded in blooded leather and notched steel. Wind blows around him, tugging at his cloak like an insistent child pulling their parent to the object of their short-lived attention. Yet the Warrior’s attention does not waver. His steel blue eyes remain fixed ahead, unwavering as he watches the iron tide roll forward.

Flakes of glimmering white drift in the air about him, swirling with the gusts. Their delicate crystalline countenance shattering upon his helm and upon his cloak. The air would be frigid but for the fire in his heart. A burning flame of vengeance that shields him from all else but that solitary goal.

Vengeance.

A thing sweeter than the ripest fruit. A thing long sought after by the Warrior.

A thing finally near at hand.

His enemies have come, flowing across the field in the hundreds, heedless on their approach, defiling the sacred ground with their filth. They are clumsy and overconfident in their numbers.

The Warrior is ready for them, blade in hand and brothers behind.

The world around him is silent, holding its breath for the clash to come. The calm before the storm.

Against the wall of gnashing teeth and bloody iron, the Warrior stands.

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Quinn Chapman and the Altar of Evil I