The Sinner’s Tale

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Disclaimers: This story contains extreme violence.

There is adult language and nudity. Everyone is over the age of eighteen.

This story is, in my opinion, a difficult read. At least for two types of people. If you are unfamiliar with ‘King James’ English, this may be hard for you to understand. If you are familiar with ‘King James’ English, you will be frustrated with my poor representation of it. Be gentle, it’s my first attempt.


[Percival startles awake, eyes flying open and panic filling his stomach with butterflies. In front of him, Father Matthias frowns. The Monk’s leathery, cracked skin deforms into a frown as he glares down at Percival.]

Father Matthias: “Dost thou take mine lessons so lightly? Thou art slumbering in mine lecture!”

[Percival’s eyes fall, and he places his hands on the desk. He calls up his voice, preparing to protest.]

Percival: “Pray, Father, forgive. I have not slept ere the morn, as mine eve was filled with supplications. Father Micah was most thoro-!”

[Percival’s plea is cut short by the raucous rap of a stick across his outstretched hands. Cruel red marks are left on the brown skin of his knuckles, and his breath catches. Father Matthis shakes his head, disappointed.]

Father Matthias: “Thine supplications are meant to punish thee, foolish Percival, as thou art deserving of damnation. Thy suffering excuses thee not from thine duties. Bear thy burden in full joy, knowing thou has deserved thy poor slumber. Now then, for what purpose did Father Micah put thee to supplication? Thou shalt not lie.”

Percival: “Father, in humbleness did I beg the Most High’s forgiveness. Yestermorn did I glance from the Abbey window, and chance to see a young maiden, and I was filled with thoughts of her. I did see her face, and with lust I considered her.”

[Painfully, the switch is flicked across Percival’s knuckles with a sickening crack, and Percival has to fight not to cry out. Father Matthias is unforgiving.]

Father Matthias: “I hath warned thee, child! And warned thee twice, thrice, and near a hundred times!

[He strikes Percival’s hands again.]

Father Matthias: “Shameful blaggard! Were it not for the walls of this Abbey, would the whole town be filled with thy uncontrolled rapaciousness? The sin of lust is most deadly in boys of thine age, scarce yet twenty. It is thine duty to know thy weakness. Again I put thee to supplication.”

[Percival knows better than to complain. He bows his head in despair, looking down at his desk. The thick locks of his black hair fall into his eyes, obscuring the forming tears. Father Matthias explains.]

Father Matthias: “For with Father Micah did thou give penance and beg supplication for thy sin of lust, now thou must pay too for thine sin of unpreparedness. Thy diligence must be great against the feminine weapons of the enemy, and thou art unready. This surely is another sin! Get thee gone from mine lecture, and wash the bricks of the sanctuary. We shall see if thou will sleep well tonight.”

Percival: “I thank thee father, for thy kindness in mine judgement. Surely the Most High will honor mine humble penance.”

[Percival rises from the desk, dragging his feet as he shuffles out the door. As he moves through the Abbey, he wearily collects the bucket and brush, retrieving water, and moving to the sanctuary. He finds there rows of pews, and a lectern, presently empty. He begins in the back corner. With a plan he knows well, he sets to scrubbing the massive hall, aided only by the light of the ornate stained glass windows.

Time crawls by. For many years Percival has been scrubbing the floors of Perwall Abbey, since his adoption as a child. The monks here had taken him in, shown him care and generosity. But with that generosity came a stern and rigorous instruction in the Holy Texts, a scripture describing the will of the Most High, whose name is not spoken. Even the slightest deviation from the admonishment of the Holy Texts was met with harsh punishment from the monks. Percival had the bruises and welts to show it.

As the sun begins to set, he finishes scrubbing the floor and sets off to bed.

Percival collapses into bed, his exhausted body dropping into sleep almost immediately. He dreams of freedom from the abbey, away from Father Matthias’s cruel ways, and he dreams of his most forbidden desire: women.

He is awakened rudely by Father Matthias, who shakes him violently. In the distance, cries can be heard, and shouting and ringing of metal. Father Matthias wastes no time. A wild look is in his eyes, the sagging, wrinkled skin of his face quivers with fear.]

Father Matthias: “Thy judgement is at hand, Percival, and though I cannot blame thee solely, this punishment has surely come from the Most High. Beasts of slaughter gather near, and set about the town. Foolish boy! In thy slumber thou would have never known! Simpleton!”

[Father Matthias drags Percival from the Kolej Escort bed. He walks as fast as his ancient legs can carry him, scuttling through corridors to the splendid sanctuary. The raucous sounds of pillaging bandits fill the air outside of the Abbey. Father Matthias pauses in the great sanctuary. A distant shout from a man, begging for mercy, fades terrifyingly into a gurgle.]

Father Matthias: “Now thine hour is at hand, this final penance doth the Most High Command thee. Defend His home with thy life! The enemy is at hand, cowardly Percival, will thou stand for the Most High?”

Percival: “By mine life, Father, I will swear it!”

[Both are startled by a loud knock. They look toward the large and heavy double doors of the hall as a second, louder knock echoes.]

Father Matthias: “Then thy last hope for salvation now comes. Thou hast given thine oath, fulfill it! I, the chosen of the Most High, must not perish. I leave thee now to slow the enemy. I will flee through the back and the cellar. Slow their pursuit, foolish Percival, and thine penance will be done!”

[Father Matthias leaves Percival standing by the lectern, confused. The older man bolts as quickly as his feeble body can carry him to a door recessed at the side of the pulpit, and begins to pull it open. The old door is stuck, and Father Matthias speaks as he tugs on it. The pounding on the front door of the Abbey intensifies. Percival glances in that direction nervously.]

Father Matthias: “Know this, Percival! Yon beasts are the will of the Most High! Should thou Perish in thine sin, thus is His will, as judgement for thy wickedness!”

[Without warning the door Father Matthias was tugging opens with a slam, and three beastly Orc marauders pour into the room. The old Monk is thrown backwards, cracking his skull on the ground. His head luls awkwardly, clearly showing he is dead. Percival cries out, backing away from the beasts. Behind him, the knocking on the door redoubles, and it now sounds as if a battering ram is being used. The Orcs approach Percival, blades out, licking their lips. Trapped between the battered door and the Orc villains, Percival drops to the ground, clutching his knees. Silently, he begins to beg the Most High for mercy.

With a resonating crash, the Abbey’s front door gives. A figure wearing heavy metal plate can be seen in the doorway. It towers over the orcs, a suit of armor as broad and tall as any large man. In one hand is a steel falchion, sharp and heavy, and the other is protected by a buckler of steel. The lead orc calls out in a gravelly voice.]

Orc Bandit: “Who the fuck’er you?”


[The armored form crashes into the room, lunging over Percival and jamming a steel clad elbow into the throat of the nearest orc warrior. A sickening crunch of shattering bone is heard, as the target is carried backwards and thrown to the floor. In an instant, the second orc flies forward with weapon drawn, only to be hewn savagely by the falchion. He falls from a ragged wound in his chest. The third Orc attempts the same, but is head butted savagely. He falls to the ground, his weapon falling from his weakened hand. Dizzied, the orc’s attempt to stand is interrupted by a heavy boot to the chest, and one stomping hard on its throat. A desperate gargling is heard from the floor, and The Armored Form silences it, a second stomp caving its head in. Looking around the room and noticing Percival, The metal behemoth extends a gauntleted hand toward him, and speaks with a woman’s voice.]

Armored Giant: “Thy deliverance is at hand. Come hither and I will swear thy safety.”

[Wordlessly, Percival accepts the metal clad hand, and she pulls him to his feet. Now standing next to her, he notes that she towers over him, easily over six feet, and estimates her weight to be at least twenty stone. She turns to leave, footsteps thundering through the destroyed door. He watches her with wide eyes. Percival glances backwards one last time, the body of Father Matthias still haunting him with cold open eyes.]

Armored Giant: “A great calamity hath struck! Thy village is ruined. Murderous beasts creep about. Let us drive them out, for the glory of the Most High!”

[Percival struggles to find his voice. He cannot make sense of what has happened.]

Percival: “… Pray, milady, if I might know thy name? I am Percival, and this is mine home, the Abbey of Perrwall.”

Armored Giant / Marigold: “I am Marigold, a servant of the Most High. Come thee with silence. There are evil ears about.”

[Marigold motions to follow, and percival does. Wordlessly, and surprisingly silently given the size of the woman, she creeps out from his ruined home and into the street. Noise can be heard, the bellowing of animals and the cursing of orcs. As they peer around the corner of the Abbey, Marigold and Percival spot a gaggle of orcs making Sincan Escort sport of a woman, tossing her about as she screams for help. She had a team of oxen pulling a cart, but they have been set loose and are fleeing. Surprising himself, Percival begins to step forward, filling with rage. A mighty hand stops him, and Marigold shakes her giant metal clad head. She points to the roof of a nearby building, where an orc captain with a crossbow watches silently. She motions for him to stay where he is, and steps out into the courtyard, her falchion in hand. Percival now notices yet another weapon, a massive sword, strapped to her back.]

Marigold: “If ye be men of honor then I beseech thee, unhand the maiden, and make haste from this place.”

[Snarling with laughter, the orc holding the woman by the arm drops her, and turns to Marigold. Slowly, the group of orcs, numbering five, all turn towards her. She levels her sword at the crowd.]

Marigold: “What say ye?”

[A bolt fired from the orc on the roof pings off of her armor. It does not leave a mark. Marigold gestures to the orc, who furiously begins to reload. ]

Marigold: “Doth he speak for all?”

[The orcs are taken aback, looking at one another. They don’t answer for a second, and another bolt from the captain’s crossbow pings from her armor.

Marigold: “I’ll have ye all, then.”

[She charges. Percival is surprised, her size and the weight of her armor would suggest a slowness of movement, but her legs coil and release powerfully, launching her forward at incredible speed. With her buckler in front of her and sword at the ready, she bodychecks the nearest orc so swiftly he has no time to react before being knocked to the ground. He does not get up. Deadly fast with her falchion, she swings at the second nearest Orc, and with his shield he attempts to block the attack. The heavy steel of Marigold’s falchion bites through the wood of the shield, drawing blood from his arm. He falls to his knees. Before she can finish him, she is beset by another orc, who strikes her armor, his sword scraping helplessly from the thick, shining metal. Flailing her buckler towards her attacker, she snaps his neck with a backhand. Another feathered shaft from the orc crossbow misses its mark, embedding in the wounded orc. She turns to the last two standing orcs, ready for battle. They flee, abandoning their weapons.]


[She holds both arms skyward, taunting the fleeing orcs. The orc captain also flees from his spot on the rooftop, jumping from the roof and running through an alleyway. Marigold sags, wearily, breathing hard. The street is clear of living Orcs, and a scene of complete devastation surrounds the massive warrior, who stands alone amidst the destruction. The woman from the ground stands, thanks her meekly, and flees. Marigold does not move. With awe, Percival creeps from his hiding spot, approaching the giant armored woman cautiously.]

Percival: “My lady, thou art the mightiest of heroes. This day thou slew many foes. Dost thou reckon more are hither?”

Marigold: “Nay, and unless it be the Most High’s will that I pass on, I pray none may come. Eleven I tracked here, and eight I have dispersed. Perhap the three yet have evil schemes, but I am doubtful. Nonetheless, I am spent utterly, and weariness may drag me down soon. But I must travel a distance to mine pack and to mine horse, and I would be most gracious if thou would assist me, young Percival of Perrwall.”

Percival: “My lady, any assistance I may render thee I do freely give. Thou art a hero, the likes of which mine eyes have never beheld.”

Marigold: “Nay, Not a hero.”

Percival: “I will hear none of it, lady. I hath seen the work of thy skill and thy weapon. Pray, let me bear thy burden with thee.”

[Percival moves to her side, pulling one of her arms over his shoulders. He attempts to support her as they walk, but her armor is so heavy that he is unable to lift her much. Nonetheless, he walks with her nearly a mile. Outside of the town, down a path, and a bit into the surrounding forests, they come across a horse tied in a small meadow of grass. The horse is feeding gently, a large pack on the ground nearby. Percival helps Marigold to a tree near a small stream, where she rests against the trunk. She pulls her gauntlets from her hands and drops them next to her body. She removes her greathelm and her orle beneath it, laying back against the trunk. Percival is shocked, as she is quite beautiful beneath it. Her long blonde hair is tied on top of her head, and her pale features are flawless and kind. She looks to be in her late thirties. He had expected her to be much more rough looking, but she smiles, revealing a tender kindness. She closes her eyes and lays back against the trunk of the tree, breathing. Percival Yenimahalle Escort speaks with her.]

Percival: “Thou has rendered me a great service lady. I am thy servant. If anything is required, name it and I shall fetch it for thee.”

[Marigold smiles again, eyes still closed, and shakes her head.]

Marigold: “Nay, kind Percival. I will have no servants for myself. But, if thou will forget thy submission and aid me as a friend and fellow servant of the Most High, I will beg thee to retrieve a ladle from mine pack, and fetch some water from yon stream.”

[Percival goes to her pack, searching it for a ladle. He sifts through scrolls, food, and holy symbols for the item. He kneels by the stream, filling the ladle, and returning it to Marigold. She drains it quickly, and Percival refills it for her several times. She asks him to sit next to her, and he does, arms wrapped around his knees as he listens.]

Marigold: “Percival, thy kindness is appreciated. Thou hath given warmth to mine soul.”

Percival: “My Lady, I meant not to give offense when offering mine servitude. Thou art mighty and kind. I wished, and still wish, merely to give thee due payment for thy deeds. I have no attachment here in Perrwall that the Orcs have not stripped from me, and I am a poor man, having no Earthly belongings save the clothing I wear.”

Marigold: “A pure and true man are you Percival. No offense is taken. I wish only to be sure that all glory is rendered unto the most high, and none unto me, for I am unworthy. But if thou are wishing to repay some conceived debt, I will gladly accept thee into mine service as a squire, if thou wish it. Long have I searched for such a boon, and as luck has me, thou art driven to me, perhaps by holy hands. In mine charge, thou must listen and learn when I speak of the Most High and heed his commands. I will pay thee fairly for thy labor, and thou will aid me in all mine undertakings.”

[Percival remembers Father Matthias, lifeless on the floor of the abbey. He feels conflicted about the old man’s death, and pushes down his feelings for now. He reflects that truely, he has no reason to stay at the abbey now.]

Percival: “I would be honored to serve as thy squire, brave knight. Thou humble me with thy offer. Graciously, I accept, and pledge thee mine service, though not as a servant but as a charge, and hope to learn much from ye about the Most High. In fairness though I warn thee, I am not experienced in this labor, and know little of the work of squires; I pray thou will have patience with me.”

Marigold: “By mine troth, thou will have fair treatment. I once was in labor as a squire, and I know the work well. Surely I will guide thee truly, and teach thee well. But we will speak of these matters later, as I am in great need of the services of mine charge now. This armor is sweltering, and I have no strength left in mine limbs to lift it. Thou must help me free of the harness.”

[Marigold instructs Percival carefully about the removal of her armor. He unfastens snaps, twists knots, and removes buckles around her cuirass, removing her pauldrons with it. Her massive greatsword is laid aside. Quickly, she is unarmored from the waist up, and he is once again impressed by her. She is wearing a loose, wrist length tunic, now soaked completely in sweat. But even the baggy clothing cannot hide the size of her arms and shoulders. She is layered in muscle. As she holds his hands to pull into a standing position, he feels the rough skin of her calloused fingers. She unfastens her greaves and cuisse, dropping them to the floor and revealing her massive legs, thick and powerful. Around her core, a thick chord of muscle wraps her stomach. Marigold stretches, and Percival watches, amazed as the muscles of her body ripple and tighten.]

Marigold: “Art thou distracted, Percival? Thy jaw is hanging limp, and thine eyes stare.”

[Embarrassed, Percival’s cheek flush red. He looks away quickly. Marigold smiles knowingly.]

Percival: “Nay, lady, not distracted. Thine armor is difficult to remove. The straps and weight perplexed me. But I am ever able to do mine duty. Command my labor, and I shall fulfill it.”

Marigold: “Thou art in a lie, young Percival! Thine eyes betray thee. Thou art lusting after thine own master?”

Percival: “Nay, Lady! I beg thee! Thou hast caught me in a lie, but not a full one, In earnest. I was admiring thine body, Lady, but no lust was there in me. Thou art strong, and thy limbs are as iron, and thy fingers as steel hooks. In this I admired you, not in a womanly way.”

[Marigold Laughs, a tremendous sound which echoes throughout the clearing. She places her hands on her hips. Percival looks at his feet, still bright red.]

Marigold: “Art thou saying I have no womanly features worth lusting for, true Percival? But I jest! And surely I fear I have gone too far with thine feelings, as thou hath warned me with the look of thy downcast face. Pray your forgiveness, and the Most High’s also, that this game of words offend neither of ye. Indeed Fair and True Percival, thou hast paid a compliment to me, and I return thine kindness with mockery and cruel traps of speech. How pure thou art! Thy kindness is sorely appreciated, and a thousand times I beg thy forgiveness for thoughtless jokes.”

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