Thread: Soulbound (Ursus Peregrinus & Trixie)

The town was burning. As he looked down from the little keep on the hilltop, Belial smiled and watched the town burn. If he strained, he could hear the sound of clashing weapons and the screams of the wounded. It seemed his mercenaries and men at arms weren't enough to hold back the King's men. Ah well, it seemed this abortive little rebellion he'd fomented was going to end messily. Well and good. All those souls passing on unshriven, all the blood spilt to no good purpose. Even his defeats were victories. Turning, his eyes glanced past a mirror and Belial paused to look at the face he wore. Blonde hair turning grey at the temples, a face with strong lines faintly marred by pox-scars but still handsome... but it was the eyes that drew him. Those pale blue eyes and all the pain he could read there, all the anguish and denial of the pitiable little human whose skin he wore. Relaxing his iron grip on the Baron, Belial watched the expression of cool satisfaction turn to horror, but his grasp tightened again when Lennox tried to move towards the window. The fool had actually believed he would have the chance to leap to his death. Delicious. The sound of a ram hammering against the gates brought the demon back to himself. Smiling, he walked down the winding staircase towards the chapel. The Baron's lady wife was there, and he relished the thought of choking the life from her as a final insult to his reluctant host. Let the King's men find Baron Lennox with his hands about the throat of his majesty's own distant cousin... and when they did, Belial would simply slip away, leaving his mortal tool to face whatever punishment his captors could devise. Every soul involved would earn a little stain of darkness for the persecution of an innocent man, and best of all they would all think themselves righteous. Fools, all of them. Whistling a merry little tune as the gates finally gave way and the last of his men-at-arms threw themselves at the attackers, the demon drew his puppet's sword and tossed it from right hand to left. Some of the Baron's men threw down their weapons and cried for mercy as the King's troops charged them, a mercy unlikely after the crimes he had encouraged them to, but humans were inveterate optimists. Belial strode across the courtyard towards the chapel, pausing once along the way to strike down a surrendering man from behind. The action stiffened the spine of two others nearby, who clasped their weapons tightly and screamed defiance, charging to the attack. Two of his men were waiting at the chapel door, faces grim and worried as their master arrived smiling. Bar the door behind me, he ordered, pushing the heavy oaken doors open and stepping into the quiet space. She was kneeling at the altar, surrounded by dozens of candles, the only light in the cavernous space. The cross above the altar loomed over her, and Belial's mouth twisted in contempt at the message of hope it offered. Lady Eleanor was clad in white, stained with mud and spotted here and there with her blood. The stains were courtesy of his attentions, payment for her latest attempt to escape. Belial smiled fondly at the memories. So you come for me at last? She asked at the sound of his footsteps approaching. The soft voice betrayed no fear, only a fragile defiance. Are you not pleased to see me, darling? Once you would have run to my arms. Belial chuckled softly, tossing his sword aside with a clatter. Once you were my beloved husband, not a godless monster. Eleanor rose to her feet, turning to face him. She clutched a large heavy book to her breast, as though it were a shield. Tush, my love, your husband is here with me, Belial tapped his temple as he moved closer. I would not want him to miss a moment of this, Lady Mine. His lips twisted into a cruel smile and he stepped closer, almost within arm's reach of her. Eleanor stepped backwards, quavering in fear, and one hand flew down, knocking a candle over. Belial had a moment's hesitation as he saw the gleam of triumph in her eyes, and then the candle struck the floor. The lamp oil burst into flames, and the demon found himself in a circle of fire. Wench! You think a little fire can harm the likes of me? Fire is my plaything, woman. Anger twisted the baron's handsome features, blue eyes flashing red as the demon's self-control slipped. The woman didn't reply, merely stepped back and opened the book, speaking rapidly in latin. The words were familiar and Belial snarled as each word woke a glowing symbol around the circumference of the circle. His hands struck sparks from the air as he clawed at the barrier. Your pitiful magic cannot hold me, mortal... and when I break free your last moments will be excruciating! Belial howled, skin of his hands smoldering and blackening as he pushed against the circle's edge. You will take no more from me, Demon! Eleanor screamed at him, her dark hair whipping around her as she continued the spell. You will never harm me or mine again! Belial shrieked as the fire spread inwards, filling the circle. The flames turned white, the heat searing the flesh he wore. His hold on the baron failed as the man's body began to burn and he leapt free. The circle clung at him and his escape turned to torment as the heat burned even Belial's insubstantial spirit. The spell grasped him like talons, and then Eleanor was holding up the book. The fire was scorching her as well, but she continued the incantation through the pain and Belial found himself dragged towards the book. The letters on the page glowed white as he was hauled into the prison she had prepared for him. He fought every inch, but there was no escape from the rage-inspired magic she wielded. Slamming the book shut, Eleanor fell to her knees, the flames around her snuffing out and leaving her in darkness. Gasping and weeping, she lay there, clasping the book tightly as her cousin's soldiers hammered at the chapel doors. And within his prison, Belial howled and struggled in futile rage. Centuries Pass