Location: Monthaven
Timeline: Sixth Age, 46th Year, Spring
As much as I hate talking about Emcorae, I do love a good chase, especially when the prey believes they’ve found a safe little hole to scurry into.
After a rather spirited, if desperate, flight through the woods of Monthaven to try to escape the gargoyle, Emcoraee had made it to the church – surely thinking it would be his “sanctuary.”
How utterly pathetic. The foolish child actually thought a building made of wood and stone could protect him from a creature of my making. His first shock, of course, was discovering the doors were locked. But then, in a moment of pure, blissful naivety, he saw the parish priest, Pastor Kastelli, peering down from an upstairs window.
And the boy, in his infinite innocence, finally felt “assured of his safety.”
Oh, the look on his face when he realized his “savior” was not going to help! It was a picture of pure, heart-wrenching horror. The portly priest remained in the window, his expression a mixture of fear and dread. Emcorae saw it, and his own terror reached new, exquisite heights.
He knows about the gargoyle! he realized. And in his desperation, the boy pleaded. “Father, it’s true. I DO have a demon chasing me! But you’ve got to help me! One gargoyle is no match for Mannah—with his power behind you, surely you can overcome this beast. Please, Father, help me!”
I could hear the boy’s cries, but Kastelli refused to move. The pastor was, I will admit, fighting against the magnificent force of <Fear> that my gargoyle Agaryz possessed. This was not a physical force, mind you, but a psychological one, a powerful emotional control mechanism that was now cascading over the entire town. A beautiful, silent blanket of dread.
The good pastor had commanded his “flock” to retreat indoors, to lock their doors and bar their windows. “Get thee to your homes, my people. Lock your doors, bar your windows, and don’t come out until this angel of death has passed us by.”
The cowardly townsfolk, initially skeptical, had fallen into a deep dread when Curk and the other boys arrived, screaming the truth of their encounter with the demon. They had locked themselves away, leaving the world outside to its own devices. They were, in essence, hiding from a storm they had not the courage to weather.
Kastelli, a man whose ego was as vast as his belly, had been about to step outside and take credit for the demon’s supposed retreat. But then he saw Emcorae, and the boy’s terror was a sight to behold. It was the kind of fear only a true demon from my glorious realm could inspire. It shook the pastor to his very core. He saw the boy pleading, and his heart may have gone out to him for a fleeting, insignificant moment, but the sinister grip of fear had already taken hold.
He fought against it, the pathetic man, making a warding sigil in the air. He even managed to find his voice again. “Fear not, son, Mannah is here to protect us. I’ll open the doors. That demon dare not come-“
And then, his face blanched white. He saw the gargoyle at the far edge of town, a little speck of green and black that was growing larger by the second. Now out of the woods, my beautiful creation was able to use its wings, and it was flying through the streets of Monthaven, straight toward the church.
The winged terror, Agaryz, alighted on the steps of the church, the fires of Illusia roiling in its eyes. It raged, a sound of pure fury. <GGGGGRRRGGLLLLGRRR!>
Emcorae was trapped, backed against the locked doors. He tried to force himself through the wood by sheer will alone. He was a perfect little tableau of a mortal at the end of his rope. The creature took a step, then another. The closer it came, the more Emcorae felt its Fear emanating from it like a vile, soul-defeating burden. He cowered, about to give up. He had run. He had sought salvation. It all appeared to be for naught. “If the church won’t help me, what more can I do? It is finished. I am lost,” he lamented.
By the time the gargoyle reached the final step, Emcorae was a pathetic ball in the corner of the chapel’s doorway. He looked up, expecting to die, and saw Agaryz rejoicing. The beast stretched its gruesome wings to their full extent, a magnificent display of superiority. From Emcorae’s vantage point, it was as if the world itself had turned to black. The gargoyle’s wings blocked out the light of the day, leaving the boy in a pool of night.
“I’m doomed. I’m doomed,” he wailed. And yet, one last flicker of defiance. “I will not submit!”
Looking through the black haze, he saw Agaryz expression—the very essence of loathing, a sight so horrifying it caused him physical pain. He then saw the gargoyle smile, showcasing the blood surging through its engorged veins as it advanced upon him. Transfixed by its fiery eyes, the boy’s spirits sank. The razor-sharp talons were about to sink into his flesh, and he knew there was naught he could do to stop it.
And then, a most wonderful and unexpected thing happened.
The beast’s expression changed. Gone was the face of victory. In its place was a look of pure surprise, followed by a cascading race of emotions: validation, rage, and a final, horrifying recognition of its own grave mistake.
The towering demon collapsed, falling forwards to land in a heap before the boy, its talons falling harmlessly just fingertips short of his cowering body.
“What the—?” gasped a still-horrified Emcorae Azop.
The blackness lifted, and a new truth became evident. Standing tall and proud in the bright light of day, with the glorious sun framing him, stood none other than Alfranco Azop!
Oh, the drama! The divine deliverance! The boy’s grandfather, a first class drunkard, appeared as a “larger-than-life warrior,” a “Hero who gazed upon his foe with a fire in his own eyes! Alfranco, for a moment, was a warrior of a lost age, posturing over his defeated opponent, his stone dagger held high in celebration.
“Al-Corragio!” Emcorae exclaimed, a word he had learned from his grandfather.
But just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. The sun seemed to shift, and Alfranco appeared to <shrink> back to his normal size. He quickly sheathed his black dagger, pulling out a small sword as if to portray that the latter weapon was what he used to fell the demon. Before the boy had time to ponder why his grandfather would switch blades, the crowds swarmed them.
“Hooray! Alfranco has saved Monthaven!” they cried.
The church doors opened, and a now-confident Kastelli emerged, his presence quickly commanding the scene. The townsfolk jostled to see the gargoyle, but they also recoiled in fear, not wanting to get too close to the beast. The townsfolk began to debate the cause of the creature’s appearance.
“Father, why is that demon in our town?!” Jon Romaine called from the front row.
“It was chasing Emcorae Azop!” Jon’s wife pointed at the boy.
“Yes! I saw that too!” Neil Belzer chimed in.
“Why, the boy’s cursed!” Sally Romaine accused.
“No! He’s a good boy. I know him.” Sandi Frixer defended.
“You’re wrong, Baal wants him!” an unidentified speaker, yet clearly terrified, shouted from the rear of the mob.
“PEOPLE!” Kastelli’s bass boomed. “SILENCE!” And, stepping in front of Emcorae, but careful not to actually touch the “marked” boy, the pastor took control of the narrative. “Nobody here in Monthaven is cursed! This was a freak happening—at worst a sole temptation.” He then pointed to the mob. “And for any of you who have ever doubted my words about the very real dangers of listening to Baal, let this be a lesson to you! But, fear not! For, lo, Mannah has delivered us once again! Surely this is a great day, praise be to our lord!”
Oh, the audacity! The priest dared to take credit, twisting the narrative to serve his own petty religious agenda. The crowd replied in a trained response: “Praise be to God!” And Kastelli was all too happy to accept the glory on his godling’s behalf.
For his part Alfranco Azop had already melted into the crowd, avoiding the spotlight. In the meantime, Emcorae’s mother and grandmother finally broke through the crowd – with Alboris’s help – and the two Azop women did rush up the church steps to tend to their beloved Emcorae.
“But, Father, what are we going to do with that…Thing?” Ben Wirtz asked.
And with the doctor’s question, all eyes were again drawn to the defeated gargoyle. The vile beast lay crumpled, face down, upon the church stairs, its bulk still covering a good portion of the steps. One of its wings was torn, and neither of them showed any blood coursing through the creature’s veins.
“Hey, look!” Neil Belzer called out as a chartreuse steam began to slowly rise off the corpse – causing the crowd to take a step back.
The gargoyle’s skin began to bubble and hiss.
“Watch out! Get back!” Came the cries from the crowd, whilst Kastelli himself backed into the safety of the church foyer.
Gurgling, writhing, and then convulsing, the gargoyle’s body seemed to be in torment. It was a gruesome sight to be sure, yet it lasted only a few moments, and then, of a sudden, the gargoyle disappeared!
“It’s been sucked back to Hel!” Pastor Kastelli was quick to proclaim, again stepping into the spotlight, and taking control of the narrative lest his sheep presume to make their own assumptions about the day’s events. “Praise be to Mannah! Our Lord has delivered us once again! What a glorious day this has turned out to be – for we have defeated a true demon of Hel by our Faith alone!” As the crowd replied with their own praised, the pastor said to himself, “Why, wait till the Prelate hears about this!”
With the crowd giddy with joy, Kastelli encouraged them, “Yes, Sing Out! Sing to the Mountains! Sing to the Seas! Rejoice! Rejoice! Rejoice!”
Everyone there shouted for joy and gave thanks to their God.
Meanwhile, Emcorae, still dazed, was away from the commotion. For his part, he knew not what to make of the ordeal, yet he was happy it was over. “Let’s just hope this is the end of my nightmares,” he thought.
Oh, my sweet, foolish child. This was just the beginning of your troubles…
The Apocrypha of Azazel 