It was a hard march through the woodlands that separated the glorious city-state from its barbarous neighbors. Betta had, on principle refused a horse. It hadn’t been the first time she’d done something similar. A handful of years prior, she and a company of knights engaged northerners who’d wandered too far inland for their comfort. She refused a horse then because she could nearly match a racing stallion on foot. It was in that battle that she first proved herself to the order and King Gyrich, but more importantly, she proved herself against the Northmen and their gods. She’d heard tell of them. Their primary god was not unlike Zeus. He was a god of thunder and violence. Thor utilized a hammer to carry out his judgment, not unlike his brutish cultists. Zeus’ tool came down to her at that moment and she could remember only the clash of steel and their endless screams.
The french woodlands were quiet and still. Somewhere in the sea of trees, she could hear the singing of birds. The road through the woods was devoid of life though. It seemed to stretch ever forward through the dark. France as a concept was no longer Treason's enemy. But she could not help but think of her parents' stories of the war. When Treason was established, their farms would often be raided by strangers from the French countryside.
Betta stopped her thoughts there. It was counterproductive to think of her parents now. She had more pressing matters at hand. The Doom Note rested somewhere in the south, she needed to get to it quickly. The idea of Treason standing as a superpower in the world rested heavily on her mind. In the underbrush, she could hear a man screaming, followed by the snarling of a beast. Betta drew her sword and took a step toward the sound.
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She found them in a small clearing in the woods. It was a small man dressed in a torn black cloak with a white collar. His hair was a dirty eggshell color. His brow was thick with sweat as he swung a woodcutter's axe at the monster that encircled him. It was a great cat. She'd seen things like it, Lions, pumas, and the like at the Treason Public Works, but unlike those, its physical body was made up of discarded bones. Its head was the only part of it that was covered in skin if it could be described as such. It was made of sewn-together boiled leather.
The man turned his eyes and spotted her, "You there, orcish childe, help me, or we'll both be dead!"
Betta didn't hesitate. She ran at the beast, swinging her sword. She caught it in the space that would have been its belly, severing its spine and spilling cruel black blood onto the forest floor. But the beast still crawled to them, slashing at them with its forepaws. Betta was taken aback when she could see that its claws were made of common kitchen knives. Some were duller than others, but all came at them, desperate not even to kill them for food, but desperate to kill them for the act's sake.
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The man had taken the opportunity to run while Betta fought. But the beast was relentless. It followed him, dragging its ruined body behind it. Betta ran after them. When she caught up, she saw the man had tripped and was now laying on the ground, trying to protect himself with his arms. The beast was on top of him, tearing at his flesh with its teeth and claws.
Betta grabbed the beast by the back of the head and pulled it off of the man. With her other hand, she plunged her sword into its skull. It let out a final, dying screech and went still.
The man looked up at her, his face covered in blood and dirt. "Thank you, my lady. You've saved my life."
"Who are you?" Betta asked.
"I am William Brewster. Art thou a knight of some manner?" he asked, now suddenly suspicious of the woman who saved his life.
"You're English, what are you doing this far into France?" she asked, now just as suspicious of him.
"I could ask the same of you, girl. I suppose we are both just trying to make our way into the world. I am of a godly sort. I've come down from Scrooby to find others willing to join and make a covenant with the lord."112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqpLAUqgK2g
"What is your god's name?" Betta asked.
"He is called Jehovah. He is the one true god."
She at that moment, felt very uncomfortable in the strange little man's presence. "Right. Not my faith per se. I am the right hand of Zeus himself."
The Englishman looked at her with horror. "You're a heathen! A servant of the devil!"
Betta took a step back from him. "I think I should go now."
The man scrambled to his axe, but he missed on his only swing. Betta returned and did not miss. Taking the puritan's head from his shoulders. She left the body where it lay and continued on her way, now with a bad taste in her mouth.
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