Marcel rose from the pool of blood, his body aching and his mind resolute. He separated Ganoes' lifeless body, casting it aside without a second thought. His purpose was clear now, and he couldn't afford to dwell on the grisly aftermath.
As Marcel prepared for the journey ahead, he realized he had no belongings to bring except for his worn brown pants, matching shirts, and a pair of simple sandals.
Driven by practicality, he scoured the lifeless forms scattered around him in search of any valuables.
His fingers brushed against the cold metal of coins, and he collected a sum of 50 silver along with some spare change. However, he refrained from touching the innkeeper's money, a small act of respect for the man who had shown him kindness. Marcellus knew that his family would need every bit of coin they could get.
Before venturing further, Marcellus made a decision to stop by his house one last time, to at least let them know he was alive. He yearned for a final glimpse of the place he had once called home, to imprint its image into his mind before stepping into the unknown.
...
With cautious steps, he approached the doorway, his heart heavy with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Would he find solace or despair within those walls? Would the memories that haunted him push him further into darkness, or would they fuel his determination to find a better path?
As the door creaked open, the silence was deafening, broken only by snores.
Marcellus stood at the threshold of his modest home, the weight of nostalgia fell heavy upon his heart.
The walls of Marcellus's humble abode, constructed from the simple yet traditional wattle and daub unlike the insulae of wealthier peasants, had once resonated with the echoes of warmth and laughter.
Now, however, they seemed to murmur stories of sorrow and loss. The flickering candlelight cast long, haunting shadows across the room's well-trodden wooden floor, each shadow seeming to mirror the deep, unspoken ache within his soul.
Marcellus looked around the dimly lit room, his gaze settling on the familiar figures resting on the floor mat.
There was his mother, her presence always a constant in his life, now seemingly engulfed in the room's heavy air of melancholy. Beside her lay his adopted cousin, Kenric, and his adopted niece, Agnes.
The sight of them, so vulnerable in their slumber, underscored the weight of the responsibility Marcellus felt towards his family. This tableau of his closest kin, unaware of the turmoil within him, only deepened the sense of urgency and resolve in his decision.
This was a moment Marcellus had long feared, yet he recognized with a heavy heart that it was inevitable, a confrontation with reality he could no longer avoid.
His house was very small, he never knew exactly how small until this moment when memories of the building he had seen in the ritual resurfaced in his mind.
He had somewhat gotten used to sleeping in huge manors in his dreams.
Observing them in their peaceful slumber, Marcellus made a tender decision not to disturb their rest.
Every corner held memories etched into the very fabric of the walls, reminders of the family he was leaving behind.
His gaze lingered on the childish-ugly painting on the wall, his niece fashioned herself an artist.
How he longed to preserve that innocence, to shield his loved ones from the harsh realities of life.
It was a silent plea, a reminder of the sacrifices his mother had made to nurture and protect him.
Tears welled in Marcellus's eyes as he realized that he was about to shatter the fragile equilibrium that had enveloped their humble abode. The thought of his mother's grief and his nieces' confusion weighed heavily upon his conscience, threatening to engulf him in a sea of guilt.
Outside, the wind howled mournfully, echoing the turmoil that churned within Marcellus's heart. Each gust carried a sense of loss, whispering secrets of the inevitable separation that loomed before him.
The home he had known all his life, a sanctuary from the harshness of the world, would now become a mere memory, a distant echo of the life he once cherished.
It must be known that Marcellus had never left Wisbech, he had heard tales from foul Anchor the dead Innkeeper's servant and Lynn from Bastard's Haven. Wisbech was a town away from a port town alas which did not make it any less of a shitty place.
As he made his way from the doorway, his eyes traced the familiar path from the edge of the village square.
Every step seemed to weigh him down as if he were dragging the weight of his departure behind him. He yearned to pause time, to cling to the familiarity of his surroundings, to find solace in the comforting embrace of his loved ones.
But life's merciless tide would not wait, and Marcellus knew that he had to embrace the storm.
The road ahead beckoned him with its uncertainty, promising both trials and revelations. With a heavy heart and a lump in his throat, he mustered the strength to bid farewell to the only life he had ever known.
As he crossed the edge, the finality of his departure settled upon him like a suffocating shroud.
The tears he had fought to contain spilt freely down his cheeks, mingling with the raindrops that splattered upon the ground. He turned his gaze back one last time, capturing the image of his home in his heart, etching it deep within his memory.
With a heavy sigh, Marcellus took his first steps on the lonely road that led away from Wisbech.
The rain fell steadily as Marcellus walked the lonesome road, each droplet mingling with his tears. The stormy skies mirrored the turmoil within his soul, matching the heaviness that burdened his steps.
He did not remember when the rain had started.
The road stretched out before him, winding through desolate landscapes and shadowed valleys.
The once familiar countryside now seemed foreign, its contours and colours distorted by the haze of sorrow that clouded Marcel's vision. His eyebrows felt heavy.
As he walked, the rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoed through the empty expanse, a sombre melody that harmonized with the pitter-patter of raindrops.
The sole company he had were the distant cries of nocturnal creatures and the wind whispering secrets through the swaying trees. Loneliness enveloped him like a suffocating cloak, reminding him of the void that now existed in his life.
A pang of longing washed over Marcellus, consuming him with a bittersweet ache.
Deep down, he yearned to turn back, to seek solace within the walls of his humble abode once more. Maybe the crazy priestess will vouch for him? he entertained all kind of delusion.
His mind whispered to him, conjuring desperate hopes of escaping the consequences that awaited him.
Maybe, just maybe, they would overlook the blood-soaked walls of Bastard's Haven, dismissing the corpses as inconsequential. But Marcellus knew better.
The truth loomed over him like the ominous storm cloud. In a place like Wisbech, where the guards were little more than drunken brutes parading the streets, justice would be delivered swiftly and without mercy by the temple priests. There would be no forgiveness, no turning a blind eye to the massacre he had left in his wake.
The protectors of Wisbech were a pitiful lot, hardly worthy of their self-proclaimed titles.
The temple priests, led by a lone figure, were the closest semblance of authority. Marcellus knew the priest well, a man of hardened resolve who had watched over the town for as long as he could remember.
He remembered the priest had turned a blind eye to a murder or two in the past, but what had been unleashed upon Bastard's Haven was far beyond simple acts of violence. It was a symphony of carnage, a macabre masterpiece that defied comprehension.
People wouldn't feel safe they would surely want a scapegoat.
No, there would be no mercy for him in the town he once called home. The lingering image of the Inn, the bloodstains that painted the floors, would forever haunt Wisbech.
As he ventured forth, the weight of his deeds clung to his soul like an inescapable shadow. The reality of his existence loomed before him, casting a pall over his every step.
Never in his wildest imagination did he imagine he would be running from his home.
The road continued to wind its way through valleys and hills, each step taking him further away from the life he once knew. The rain intensified, casting a melancholic veil over his surroundings.