The Executioner of God
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (England - Yorkshire & Humber) British (General) Irish (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Carmarthenshire Wales 14 97 ad she was caught between the devil and **** black as the maw of ****. The cave mouth loomed before sister Mary Elizabeth. The darkness terrified her darkness had always terrified her, causing her niece to wobble in her hands to tremble. Even as she clutched at the tattered white skirts of her rabbit torn as she fled through the forest, she had almost fallen into the cave. The rock fissure was so well hidden. She hadn't seen it as she scrambled up the hill in her hopeless bid for escape. She reeled desperately seeking another path. Any other path dark she thought. But that dark, but her eyes snapped back to the hound straining against its handler's leash. The dog, a lir a cent hound made no sound as it haunted her. Its no sniffling low to the ground as it dragged its handler. A burner by a long leash hits the head. She thought, fighting to control her panic. They give the British head to the out. But Mary Elizabeth knew that death was not to be her fate. Death would be a guidance. Death would be quicker. The setting son caught the breastplate of her true pursuers, seven men on horseback, six men at arms and at their center. Sergei de the devil who had driven her to seek refuge in the horrible abbey. Sergei, the fiend who would have her for his bride at any cost, whether she consented or not in the darkness or be dragged away to a forced marriage in sirs big chamber went to a caught between the devil in ****. She chose ****. That's an Mary mother of God. Give me courage. Mary Elizabeth stepped into blackness. She had to find a weapon, a stone. Anything to fight the hound, the hound would follow her if it's hele allowed it to and then she'd be trapped. She put a hand to the tunnel wall as much to study herself as to feel her way in the terrifying darkness. Was that the liber breath on her neck? It's right behind me. I'm here, my Lord. She heard the burner cry. A cave out it outside. Not here in the dark. Her knees almost collapsed in relief, not in the dark. She listened for the sounds of pursuit for other voices, for the hated voice of sir, but she heard nothing as she moved deeper into the tunnel. She fell to ahead with her foot, save her own labor breathing in the blood pounding in her ears. A stone. Oh May Mary give me a stone. Anything to fight with. In spite her fervent prayer, she found nothing it was as if the tunnel floor had been smooth and cleared of any debris as if the cave were inhabited. Chars Pants Lamprecht. I am my Lord. The burner shouted his voice fainter out. Oh Fang and me. Well, how fast are dear my Lord. She won't escape. She dragged her right head along the tunnel wall. The rocks under her fingers were jagged but the ground under her feet was as smooth as a good white sweat floor. Spiders. There will be spiders in here. She was certain. If she, someone just brushed a spider with her hand, she'd scream be only virgin. Let there not be spiders. Suddenly her hand touched only air. Sister Mary Elizabeth fell cluing vainly at the darkness. Pain spiked up bene as it struck the stone floor, her hands groping in the blackness, hit the ground, saving her head from the same fate. She clamped her jaws around a whimper of pain and terror. It was all she could do to keep silent. Silence won't stop that. She gathered her ragged skirts and crawled, favoring her injured knee to the right as she probed for the wall, her hand brushing against something something hairy. She heard a loud bestial snort. She screamed and fell back. Hey, Aah, a voice in the darkness. A male voice. Sister Mary Elizabeth did not understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable on the voice demanded. She squeaked giving her birth name and reverting to her native tongue. I mean, I am Mary Elizabeth's sister, Mary Elizabeth. I am a nun. Please don't kill me. The last came out as a bleeding whisper. She heard a grunt. It sounded human. Her, her, you are Irish? He'd spoken in her native tongue though, with a foreign accent. Hi. She replied in the same language. I speak some English too. Not, well, hardly any at all. Another grunt and a sound she could not identify like metal. Wrestling against metal. I speak Irish. Not, well, my English is, but why are you here? Please help me. There is a man man. Here's you. Hi. There are seven, no, eight men horses and a home. Did I? The unknown beast snorted again and a Mary Elizabeth squeaked like a terrified mouse. She could hear the animal's feet stomping the sound of iron and stone. A horse what he said, right. Metal striking stone, a spark of flash, almost blinding in the darkness. A flame caught near the floor and the light of a single candle flooded the chamber at none. There I looked, he said, and there was light. She translated. Mary Elizabeth shielded her eyes with her hand. When she lowered her hand, she beheld him. He towered over her wearing a dingy white tapper that extended well below his knees. His blond beard was thick and long, harshly obscuring the top of the Red Cross and blaze and on the chest of his tapper, on his head about his neck and on his arms, he wore dark almost black male in his right hand. He carried his sword nearly 3 ft in length. Her eyes barely took in the great black stallion settled and draped in dingy white with the red crosses. The beast that had frightened her so badly before her eyes transfixed up the sword pointed directly at her heart. She began to pray Mary, she prayed in Latin and though she'd recited it countless times, her heart raced to the park that met her at the moment. Holy Mary mother of God, pray for us. Dinner. Snow in an hour. He had spoken in Latin. But she understood the words well enough, I will not harm. The startled. She looked up and into his eyes. Even in the light of the candle, they gleamed like our diamonds, cold and cruel eyes that had forgotten joy. He lowered the sword then handed her the candle. Oh, this he said, reverting to her native ivers once more, the light trembled in her hand. Don't drop it. Not the dark again. Not trapped with this. Be careful. The knight said his eyes were still cold but his voice had softened. He turned away from her toward a bed of wooden planks. There was no pellet, no blanket, only rough wood. He retrieved a helm, an old-fashioned helm pointed at the top with a braze and cross outlining the islets and running down the center such as her great, great, great grandier would have worn. She caught the scent of old oil, olive oil. He placed the helm over his nail covered head, but Mary Elizabeth was certain those cold eyes still glared at her through the ice lits. He lifted a white shield bearing the intersecting lines of a simple red cross. He slid the shield's long leather strap over his neck, then slid his left arm into the straps on the back of the shield. He said, and the black stallion whinnied, tossing its head for Rick. The horse snorted in response to Mary Elizabeth. It seemed as if there was a restless anger in that snort come sister, the man come in and then strode past her past the horse out of the chamber into the dark but not close. Mary Elizabeth followed, shielding the precious candle flame with her hand. The tunnel head did not seem as dark as before just the candle. Then she saw the light of the torches. They coming. She clamped her hand over her mouth. Stifling a scream. I hear your sweet so voice. That voice is speaking in her home tongue told me why all the struggle, you know, I will have you. I've purchased you. I've paid your Melissa be or your mine. Hey, page your mother's superior. The nighties stay here. Mary Elizabeth halted shrinking against the tunnel wall. The candle held before her quivering with both hands except to ward off the darkness to the growing light. The night challenged, he strode forward and disappeared behind a bin in the tunnel. The challenge was answered by gasps and the curses her pursuer announced sister. The knight shouted, speaking in his heavily accented Irish. Is this man your husband? He says you were his wife. No, she cried finding courage in her outrage. I am a bride of Christ. I will never let that dog touch me go. The knight said, speaking in English go now and live. His voice was calm, cold as a mountain lake. Though the words came haltingly go or die millard. One of Sergei's men said that is, it is a spirit who are you? So he demanded ghost or demon. I will have my property. I am the night pass as if searching for the right English word, I am die, die, the butcher of God, the executioner of God. Sergi left. Then we are here against one. Come on then executioner of God. Come on and die. The night began to sing and no stress on us. I was with no, no though the words were not from the mass sister Mary understood them. Give be so Lord in our time because there is no one else who will fight for us. If not the our God, she heard the clash of steel and steel of steel and wood of steel s crouching into softer things than the horrid screams of men locked in combat. She could not cover her ears, how she wanted to cover her ears for she knew she would drop the candle or set her headdress. Her nuns fail a flame and all through the sounds of death and butchery. The knight saying sometimes in Latin, sometimes in French suddenly there were no more screams, not even the more of the dying. There was only the song to so big and says, potential. Hallelujah. He bore the holy cross who shattered ****. He was girded with power. He rose on the third day. Hallelujah. Then the knight was standing before her, his helm in his left hand, his shield hanging loose from the strap around his neck, his sword in his right hand and pointed down. He was drenched in blood, his yellow beard and his white tabbed crimson, but his sword had been wiped clean and it gleamed in the candlelight. His eyes were as cold as the stars of heaven. He towered over her once again, please don't kill me. Holy, very pleased. Suddenly he knelt before her. He placed his helm on the stony floor. Then he planted his sword point down in the ground. He gripped the blade with one hand below the hilt, even though the crosspiece curved slightly downward. Sister Mary realized that the top of his sword formed a cross. The knight pulled back his male coif and shook his head revealing his shoulder length, blonde hair under a white arming cap. His eyes locked with hers and for the first time, she realized that his eyes were blue, blue was a clear summer sky. His eyes sent shivers through her entire frame. Then he closed those blue eyes and bowed his head. And he prayed ego, gratis ego tippy or prepped her. He prayed in Latin in her mind. She translated, I think the oh God for thy mercy and for strength and combat. Thou hast given me victory this day. May my sword ever be thy instrument of justice? In the name of Jesus Christ? Amen. He raised his head and opened his eyes. The coldness in those eyes had vanished. He smiled and extended his hand as if to help her to her feet. I am. I thank you for allowing me to serve God by protecting you sister Mary Elizabeth. He had spoken haltingly in Irish. I am to her man mcdonald, a soldier of Christ. She stared at the prod hand. He had wiped some of the blood away from his palm, but his fingers were still stained crimson to a man mcdonald. She thought a solder of Christ. But she also remembered the title he had used before slaughtering Sergey and his men. A tremor crawled up her spine as if spiders of ice danced along her skin. Car. A fix the executioner of God.