The Fallen Prince - The Cleric

“Alright, time to wake up.” A gruff voice called out. The light of dawn cut across the sky, the night being pushed away as the sun took its place. It was a cold morning, yet the villagers began making their way from their homes and to their various jobs. Queenshead was a quaint village by the River Kent: cobblestone streets connected the brick houses, leading to a marketplace facing out onto the bank of the river. It was a fishing village, with boats littering the water as fisherman made their living.

“I said get up, priest.” The voice commanded.

“It’s cleric. Everybody gets that wrong.” The man murmured.

The morning light blinded the cleric. With one eye open, he looked at his surroundings and was surprised to find himself in a cell: a hanging cell, to be exact. He had pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to capture some warmth from the night, yet an uncontrollable shiver ran through his body. He looked down and saw the calm water of the River Kent below.

“Say, uh...sir. Jailer? Sir Jailer: what have I done to get such lovely sleeping quarters? The night is a bit of a blur.”

“Well, isn’t that just lucky for you.” The Jailer said. “You were arrested last night for drunk and disorderly conduct.”

“That could constitute anything, I’m afraid. Care to be more specific?”

“You caused a ruckus at the local tavern, urinated on the side of a fish cart and pushed a local guard into the river.”

“...That is specific.” The cleric replied.

“Yes, well, we thought it best that you get a good night’s rest in the hanging cells. We normally keep these for those sentenced to death, but you seem like the type that needs a good scare.”

“I thank you for that, Sir Jailer-”

“-My name is Gerald.”

“-Gerald, of course.” The cleric said. “What will it take for me to be released?”

“About another day in the cell and five hundred gold coin.” Gerald answered.

“Ah, that absolutely cannot do. I’m needed at the White Cliffs by sundown.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you pushed Martin into the river. He’s at home with a cold, now.”

“Do give him my apologies. As for the payment, if you could give me some parchment and a quill I’ll be more than happy to write a note - “

“- That won’t do you any good, priest. You’re here ‘til I say so.”

“I’m afraid the Chantry won’t be too happy about your decision, sir. My name is Alistair Blackmore, and I need to be on my way to the White Cliffs.”


It was a matter of minutes before Gerald released Alistair. After a series of apologies by the jailer, Alistair patted the man on the back, told him not to worry and wrote him a note for one thousand gold coin.

“Keep the other half. You’ve earned it.” The cleric said with a smile. He stretched his limbs and walked out into the village, retracing his steps to the tavern. The thirst for wine was strong and Alistair never hesitated to quench it. A couple of maidens caught his eye and smiled; he smiled back, his hair falling over one eye. The girls giggled, watching the holy man walk off.

Alistair was in his twenties, rather young for a cleric.He kept a longsword at his side: a rarity for those in the holy order. He was a very handsome man: eyes a beautiful light grey, soft and glowing with confidence. They matched his auburn hair that swept his shoulders, though he kept half of it pulled up and away from his face. His skin was like porcelain, pale and perfect. He was no stranger to the adoration of women, which usually got him into more trouble than a cleric should find themselves in. He paid no mind to any of it, however: to Alistair, life was only one part of the journey and he intended to have as much fun as he could.

He had reached Queenshead by boat the day before, slightly drunk and impatiently waiting to reach the shore. He hated boats; the rhythm of the waves always turned his stomach. The Chantry was northeast, however, at the top of the river but surrounded by mountains so it made travel by foot difficult. Why they would build their headquarters in such a place, Alistair would never understand, but it left him with very little options for travel.

When he arrived at the port village, he immediately found the tavern and spend the remains of the day there, getting drunk and catching the eye of any woman in sight. He soon had a crowd around him while he told stories of his journeys, his favorite being the time he fended off a bear while stark naked after having his clothes stolen by a woman he loved and left at a nearby village. Men hung onto his every word; the tavern women imagined him in the buff. Leaving the room in stitches, he had slipped outside for moment to get some fresh air and clear his inebriated head. A lady had followed him outside, with long, flowing black hair and warm brown eyes and a smile that could melt normal men’s hearts. She grabbed Alistair by his hand and he soon found himself behind the tavern, making his night just a little more exciting.

After that, however, it was all fuzzy.

Of course, none of this was in the Chantry’s orders. Alistair was needed for an exorcism at the White Cliffs: a young boy had shown signs of possession and Stefan Cross, Lord of the White Cliffs, ordered the boy be executed. The Chantry overruled the decision and sent the young Cleric to investigate the possession. To reach the White Cliffs, one must travel to Queenshead and go northwest. The trek would take an entire day on foot, something Alistair was not willing to do. However, there were no available horses at the stable, leaving him with no other options than to walk. Alistair visited the tavern, filled his skin with wine and was on his way.

It was on the outskirts of the town that a carriage pulled up behind him. A slightly elderly man was pulling the reins, and making a decent speed. He smiled at Alistair, who smiled in return.

“Heading northwest?” Alistair asked.

“I am, actually. I’ve got a shipment of linens to the Lord of the White Cliffs. You need a ride, your holiness?”

For a moment, Alistair forgot he was wearing his robes. He was the farthest thing from a traditional cleric, and was often questioned as to why he joined the Chantry.

“My body is merely flesh,” He would reply with a coy smile, “but my soul belongs to the All-Maker.”

The robes did come in handy from time to time, and he was never one to not use them to his advantage. He nodded at the merchant, who then told him to hop into the back of the carriage. At this pace, I’ll make it to the White Cliffs in no time. Alistair thought.

“The name’s Samuel.” The older merchant stated. “Been in Queenshead for about, oh, ten years now. What brings a man of the cloth to this area?”

“Oh, just some business with Lord Cross.” Alistair answered. “He’s called on us to investigate some weird going-ons in the city.”

“I pray it’s nothing too serious…” Samuel said.

“Hardly. Merely boring questions to the lords and ladies.” Alistair knew better than to divulge the truth so lightly. It was easier to put out one fire than a blaze, and the young cleric was already an unfavorable member of the Chantry. His antics were well known throughout the order, and many questioned why he still held his position. The High Cleric would not get rid of him, however, and when Alistair questioned him he was told that he had potential that would awaken in him when he faced his strengths.

“That’s good, then. I’d hate for your holiness to be burdened with difficult tasks.” Samuel said.

“Please, call me Alistair.”

“Oh, I could never be so impersonal with a member of the Chantry!” The old man turned red. Alistair laughed, making the merchant even more flustered.

“It’s fine, Samuel. Far be it from me to take someone out of their comfort. In any case, the journey hasn’t been too much of a hassle. I had quite a night at the tavern.”

“A cleric at the tavern? Well, to each his own, I suppose. My daughter is a bartender there.”

“I might have seen her.”

“Might have. She’s the one with long, black hair and brown eyes. Lovely girl, but I fear she may be too...adventurous, if you catch my meaning.”

“I...don’t believe I met her. Say, how much longer until we reach our destination?” Alistair had changed the subject.

“Another hour. It’s a lovely day to be out. The weather has been strange as of late. we had a very strong storm only a couple of days ago: some say they saw the sky light up before the rain hit.” Samuel said.

“Ah, I heard about that.” Alistair said. “Probably lightning, I say. Everyone’s looking for some strange phenomena so they have a tale to tell while they get drunk. they forget that the best stories come from being drunk.”

Samuel laughed, snapping the reins to make the horses trot faster. The sun beat down on the carriage, making Alistair quite comfortable. Before he knew it he was asleep, and began dreaming. He found himself in the rain, looking up at a sky lit brightly as what appeared to be a giant rock zoomed across. It struck the ground, and the young cleric ran to investigate. However, he was stopped by a shadow, who attempted to engage him in combat. Alistair held his sword up, however, and a bright flash swallowed the shadow. When he made it to the rock, he was surprised to see a pool of darkness within. Suddenly, a hand reached out for him, and he leapt back. He reached for his sword once more, but was no longer at his side. He looked at the rock and a black figure pulled itself out. When it had opened its eyes, Alistair had awoken. He felt his side for his longsword; it was still there.

Evening was coming, giving a dark orange hue to the sky. Alistair noticed that the carriage had stopped, and when he looked to find Samuel he noticed they weren’t alone. Bandits had created a blockade in front of them, and began making their way to Samuel and Alistair. The young cleric could see the fear in the merchant’s eyes, yet he stayed seated. Three bandits had lined up in front of the carriage: Two men and a woman, armed with swords and spears. Alistair noted that the weapons were rusted, their leather armor worn and cracked.

“What’s in the carriage, eh?” One of the male bandits said. He was missing teeth, and Alistair wondered when was the last time any of them had bathed. “Looks like you got somethin’ fancy.”

“Fancy and expensive.” The woman bandit chimed in.

“Maybe we should take that off your hands for you.” The other bandit said. His hair was long and greasy, and he didn’t bother to move it from his face.

“We don’t want any trouble, please.” Samuel said. “I have to make this shipment to Lord Cross.”

“We can make it for you!” The woman said. The other two bandits laughed.

“You’re too old to be making this trip anyway.” Said the greasy-haired bandit. “Something bad could happen to you.”

“Something very bad, indeed.” The toothless one said.

“If I may interject,” Alistair started, “this is the worst holdup I’ve ever seen.”

The bandits readied their weapons in surprise.

“Who are you?” The greasy haired one demanded to know.

“Honestly?” Alistair said. He hopped onto the ground, taking care to smooth out any wrinkles in his robes. “You three are lousy bandits if you didn’t notice me in the back of the carriage.”

“Oi, he’s just a priest.” The woman said to the two men. “If you think you’re safe, you’d best think otherwise. Just because you’re a holy man don’t mean we won’t cut you.”

Why does everyone think I’m a priest? Alistair thought. “Oh, I wouldn’t pass it by you lot. The problem is, this man is my friend and I cannot allow you to harm him in any way. I have some gold on me, if you wouldn’t mind taking that and leaving us be.”

“We’ll take the gold,” The toothless bandit replied, “and everything else you have. We’re the ones in control, here.”

“Is that so?” Alistair asked. The three bandits had surrounded the cleric, yet he remained calm, a smile across his face.

“This priest has a sword.” The girl remarked. “I ain’t never see that before. You really part of the Chantry, priest?”

Alistair sighed in frustration. “I’m not a priest: I’m a cleric.” He unsheathed his sword, and the darkness around them suddenly glowed in a violet hue. The greasy haired bandit was in front of Alistair, and his eyes widened in awe. The blade of Alistair’s sword rippled with waves, almost as if it had a life of its own. In a flash, Alistair struck at the bandit’s sword, slicing the blade in two. The toothless bandit was next: a quick slash and his woodcutter’s axe was rendered useless. The girl managed to thrust her spear at Alistair, but he was too agile for her attack and dodged. Before she could react, Alistair chopped her weapon to pieces. She fell down, completely in shock from being defeated so easily.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” Alistair asked, the glow of his sword giving his face a more sinister appearance. “This is Leumarian steel, with my own personal touch: it’s sealed with the prayers of the Divine One. It can slice through practically any substance but its own material, as I’ve just shown you. Now, I’d hate to repeat myself, but I believe the three of you must leave.”

The bandits didn’t hesitate in fleeing the area. Samuel stared at Alistair as he made his way to the back of the carriage, pulling himself inside and getting comfortable once more.

“Well then: shall we be off?”

It was late when the two reached the White Cliffs. Alistair parted ways with Samuel and tried to give him some gold for his troubles, but the old man waved him off.

“After what you’ve done for me, I couldn’t possibly take coin from you. Hold onto it and buy yourself a hot meal.”

Alistair watched as the old merchant made his way to Lord Cross’s keep. The night air was chilly, so the young cleric pulled the hood over his head and  made his way to the town’s cathedral. After momentarily getting lost (but finding The Salted Minnow, a tavern he made a mental note of for later), he made it to his destination. He was met by a priest, a young man by the name of Thomas, who led him to the cathedral’s basement. As they approached, Alistair could hear otherworldly moans filling the area.

“Is that the subject?” Alistair asked Thomas.

“It is, indeed. The young boy had been possessed three days ago, and the sounds...they’re like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Our head priest, Kern, has been doing all he can but I fear this is well beyond our means.”

“Well, you’ve kept my job safe, then.” Alistair said, flashing his confident smile. Thomas looked taken aback, Alistair noted, and put his hand on the priest’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Only a joke, my friend. Now, let’s do away with this demon.”

Before Alistair entered the room, he could feel the evil presence coming from within. He opened the door and was met with Kern chanting and the young boy, who had been tied to a bed in the middle of the room. Kern broke his chant and hurried over to Alistair, clasping his hands together.

“By the Divine One, it is good you finally came.” Kern said with relief.

“It appears so.” Alistair answered. “You’ve been keeping vigil here all night?”

“All day, actually. The other priests had taken turns but I took over to let them rest. This is one of the worst cases I’ve ever seen.”

Alistair had to agree: the boy seemed only hours away from his soul being fully taken. He walked over to the bed and studied the symptoms more closely. The boy was beginning to take the appearance of the demon inside, which gave the young cleric a better understanding of what he was dealing with.

“How secure are these bindings?” Alistair asked.

“Very. They’ve held the boy for three days, with no sign of wear.”

“Great. I’ll need you both to step back. Oh, and do the Chant of Morning, please.”

The priests looked at each other and did as asked. As they chanted, Alistair made the symbol of the cross with his hand over the young boy’s head. The demon stirred, growling at the actions of the holy men.

“Louder, please.” Alistair asked the priests. They chanted loudly, and Alistair waited. The demon seemed to have woken up in the boy, his eyes turning blood red and angry. Alistair watched as the demon snapped at him, but the bindings kept him in place. He looked around the room and found some holy water, which he sprayed onto the demon’s face. It shouted in pain, glaring at Alistair who gave him a smirk in return.

“Cleric, is it wise to anger the demon?” Thomas asked.

“Did I ask you to stop chanting?” Alistair answered, never turning to the priest. He heard Thomas return to the prayer, and looked at the demon once more; it still glared at him. He removed the skin of wine he filled earlier and took a sip. The demon seemed curious, and Alistair returned his curiosity with a wink. He then took another sip of the wine and spat it across the demon’s face, sending it into a rage. It fought against the bindings, shaking the bed violently as it screamed and roared in anger. Realizing the futility of its actions, its body lurched upwards into an arc.

“That’s we go!” Alistair shouted. He unsheathed his Damask longsword and washed the room with its violet glow. The demon roared once more, and Alistair plunged the sword into its chest. It shrieked in pain, the muscles of the boy’s body tensing strongly as it froze in an arc. Alistair then pulled the blade downward, as though he were tearing the young boy’s body apart. Thomas moved forward, as if to stop Alistair, but Kern kept him back. Alistair then turned to the priests and said,

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

He lunged into the hole his sword had made, or rather, into the violet light it left within. The young cleric fell down, farther and farther into the hole, the only light coming from his blade. When he had finally hit bottom, he took notice of his surroundings. There were dilapidated buildings scattered all over, though they appeared to be made of shadows instead of brick and mortar. The ground was gray, and the pathways were lit by blue torches. With his sword in hand, Alistair made his way down the path, peering into buildings and watching small shadows creep about and scatter back into the darkness.

He heard the voice of a young boy crying for help. He rushed to find the location, moving closer and closer until it was as if the voice was right next to him. He raised his sword into the air and said a quick prayer:

Vince Malum Bono

The shadows were soon dissolved with the light of his sword, which has become as bright as the sun. The creatures shrieked and scurried away, and Alistair turned to see the boy who had been possessed hiding in the corner of one of the shadow buildings.

“It’s okay, child.” Alistair said. “We’re leaving.”

The boy looked up at him, frightened. Alistair reached his hand out to the boy, and was grabbed by a hand that seemed to be made of darkness itself. Without hesitating, Alistair chopped the hand off, and the shadows screamed. He jumped back, pulling the boy with him. From the darkness, a figure appeared. Its skin looked slick and oily, and when it opened its eyes they were a fierce shade of yellow. The shadows dripped off of it like liquid from a cup.

“I’m leaving with the boy.” Alistair said. “You’d be wise to move from my way.”

The figure of shadows cackled.

“And who are you to make such demands?” It responded. “Do you think you have power here? This is my world, a land of darkness. Your holy light has no place here, and I will extinguish it.”

“Why did you possess the boy?” Alistair asked.

“Why waste words on the dead?”

The demon struck out at Alistair, but his sword still shone brightly from the enchantment. He thrust his sword towards the demon, but it pulled back into the shadows.

“That blade is stronger than I expected…” The demon stated. “You’re no ordinary man of the cloth.”

“I’m a Cleric of the Chantry: Alistair Blackmore, First Sword of the Knights of Divinity. My sword, Redeemer, is sealed with the prayers of the Divine One. I won’t be defeated easily.”

“Yes, but you will be defeated.”

The demon studied Alistair as a predator would its prey. The Young Cleric grabbed onto the young boy, turning his back for a moment. The demon pounced, shadows dripping off its frame, hitting the ground and dissipating like smoke.

”Post tenebras lux!” Alistair shouted. His sword released a blinding light that shot out at the demon, pinning it to the ground. It fought and struggled, cursing the cleric as he escaped with the young boy. When they had distance between themselves and the monster, Alistair said one final chant.

”Cupio dissolvi.”

Redeemer’s light cut into the shadows, tearing wider and wider until Alistair and the boy could jump through. It was suddenly so bright, but it felt so warm and embracing. The journey seemed like hours, and was ended abruptly when the tear opened up on the other side, showing the basement room where Thomas and Kern awaited the two. Alistair and the boy leapt through the tear, and the two priests came to their sides.

“Cleric, you’ve done it!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Yes, all is well now. Could you pass me my skin of wine?”




The chants used are in latin. These are the translations:

Vince Malum Bono - Overcome Evil With Good
Post Tenebras Lux - Light After Darkness
Cupio Dissolvi - I Wish To Be Dissolved