-- Hey guys You wanted chapter 2 so here it is. Sorry it's been so long in the making, had to do some editing etc --

PROLOGUE LINK: http://www.cstylessims3forum.com/t2055-my-little-secret
CHAPTER 1 LINK: http://www.cstylessims3forum.com/t2152-part-i-the-bloodbather


Chapter 2

The night fell quickly. Father Douglas opted they spend the night at a roadside inn, the Road to Litherice. As they scuffed their boots upon the straw mat outside the door, Jacelyn spoke up for the first time of their journey north. “Douglas… why are you taking me to Litherice again?”
The Hydethian priest glanced over to him, a sad smile upon his unattractive face. “The High Priest of the Temple, Father Nolan, will apprentice you there.”
“What?” Jacelyn stopped short. “Apprentice me? I… I killed them…”
“You did not. What lies within you did. Within the Halls of Light you will not be able to harm those around you, even if you do experience the Redness again. Do you want another chance, Jacelyn?” Douglas turned to face the youth, crossing his thin arms along a small chest.
Jac looked at his toes. He could still smell soap in his hair from the good scrubbing Douglas had put him through. “I do. I just…”
“The guilt will haunt you forever, Jacelyn. But so will the curse. So you must move on.”
“What is this thing, Father? This thing that makes me angry?”
Douglas’ sad smile faded. He clenched his jaw. “I think we should go inside and sit down first. You may not believe me. Come. A warm soup awaits us.”

***

“No soup,” the tavern keeper exclaimed, flicking a cloth over her shoulder and looking down her nose at Jacelyn. “You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost. Is everything alright with you?”
The woman’s husband looked up from polishing glasses behind the bar. His eyes narrowed. “Come now, Delilah. Father Douglas is our friend.”
“Friend or no… this boy looks frightened.” Delilah grabbed Jacelyn’s arm. Her grip was vice-like. She glared into his eyes. Her breath smelt rotten. “Tell me, little’un… are you well?”
“His sisters were killed,” Douglas said before Jacelyn even had a chance to contemplate his reply. “He’s coming with me to Litherice to visit the Tower of Mourning.”
“Ah.” Delilah pulled back, gave a pretentious curtsey to Douglas, and trotted off into the kitchen.
“She’s never liked me,” Douglas said softly, smirking. He waved towards the man behind the bar. “What’s hot, Kenneth?”
“Broth.”
“Inspiring. We’ll take it.”
“Are you paying?” A suspicious look came over the innkeeper’s face.
“I don’t suppose the fact that I’m with the church of Hydeth helps any donations of faith?”
“One day I’ll reap the rewards of kindness towards you people. A new wife would be nice. One with big knockers.”
Father Douglas laughed so hard Jac thought he’d make himself ill. He slapped his thigh and sent a wink Kenneth’s way. “Hydeth can’t do that much for you, Kenneth. She might think about sending good health to you, however. How’s your cough?”
“Fine. Go sit. I’ve got to see if the woman needs a hand.”
“We’re the only customers…” Jac mused as they graced a table in the corner of the common room, right next to the crackling hearth. The heat helped to soothe his growing anxiety.
“Not many people travel to or from Litherice at this time of night,” Douglas replied. “We would have made the journey before dusk if we’d left earlier.”
“Please… tell me now, what is within me…”
Father Douglas’ face went grim again. He looked at his hands, which he wrung in knuckle-whiting tension. “See… having travelled to the Scarred Lands, I experienced their culture. They are firm believers in Kinjora, Goddess of Revenge. And Saluken… God of Blood.”
Jacelyn shook his head. “Father never taught me about the Ten. I don’t know much about any of the Gods, expect for Hydeth.”
“My father...” he suddenly thought, “He will come home and his daughters will be ripped apart in their room, and I will be missing... he will know...”
Father Douglas did not digress. “You told me you were cut. Cutting yourself used to make you angry, didn’t it?”
Jacelyn could tell by his tone that it wasn’t a question. He nodded gravely.
“Those of Saluken believe in the true power of brutality and war. They worship what we of Hydeth consider to be, in a word, ‘chaos’. But those of power within any religion… You know… those chosen by their God… Those of power will sport abilities given to them by their God.”
Jacelyn felt himself pale. He knew, with great dread, what Douglas was getting at.
“Those of Hydeth, for instance…” the Father continued; “Those of Hydeth that are chosen can bring a magical light to their fingertips. And those of Ficcade have been known to be able to teleport. But I will not go into detail in this area. You will learn much more about the chosen in the Temple.
“What I am saying, Jacelyn… is that I believe Saluken endowed upon you part of His… ‘Essence’. I believe… that what you carry is not a curse. I believe that Saluken gave you a ‘blessing’. Do not ask me why, how or anything else. I just know.”
“Is there any way of truly knowing?” Jacelyn heard his voice quaver.
Douglas glanced up at Delilah as she brought out two steaming bowels of broth. “Have a nice meal, chaps.” She did not even look at them. Her face could have been made of stone. Douglas remained silent until she returned to the kitchen.
Jacelyn began to eat, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his gut. If he was going to have a new beginning, he wasn’t about to do it on an empty stomach. He also had inkling that his gut was going to be twisted in guilt for the rest of his lifetime.
Douglas leaned forward, wooden spoon in hand. “I am one of Hydeth’s chosen. I am an Advocate. She blessed me with a very special ability, one that has allowed me to work as a very successful diplomat. I can tell that there is part of Saluken within you, Jacelyn, because I can feel it. I feel ‘Essence’.”
“What do you mean by… ‘Essence’?”
“It is the pitiful excuse for a word explaining how a mortal can hold a part of a God’s being within their own body. What I’m really trying to say is… Saluken has the power to do what you did to your sisters… the Redness. He gave you that power, and only He knows why. All I can offer you is this: one day, something will happen, and you will be glad that you have something within you that makes you… different.”
“The power to kill is nothing to be glad about,” Jacelyn replied, pouting. He refused to cry. He had to bite his lower lip to stop it from trembling.
“The power to kill evil… that may be something to think about.”
Jacelyn did not reply. For the rest of the night they hardly spoke. The faces of his dead sisters haunted Jacelyn as he tried to sleep.
And within the darkest depths of his dreams blood ran freely in thick, wavering rivers of bright crimson, and the screams of dying people did nothing but bring joy to his tortured heart.

Yay!!! Thank you, Shyne!

I can keep uploading if you'd like I have up until chapter 20 I think, or something ridiculous like that lol

Keep it coming! I love to read.

Wow, how have I missed this!! I've got some catching up to do!! Loving the story, it's very interesting and intriguing and I love the details that you add. It's very well written and I look forward to the next chapter...which I will read tomorrow. Very very very well written!! I love reading a book that I can actually see what the author see's because they explain and detail it so well. ;)

I actually cop a lot of slack because I don't describe environments, I concentrate on the characters too much lol

I think you captured both. I could picture the pub with the big hearth. I could picture wooden bowls with wooden spoons. Both of the characters sitting at a old large table. When I even thought of the broth I thought of the steam mist coming off of it. So in my op I think you captured both.

Thanks I think the art of writing is to tell the reader what they need to know to understand what comes next, and leave the rest to their imagination. This is also dark fantasy, so I write to en-capture emotion more than scenery lol

I think that if you are reading a story and you find yourself actually 'not consciously' mimicking the expression that is described in the story...then you have enveloped yourself into the actual story itself. I know reading about the woman, she made a face and I found myself making that same face as you described it. The sad smile...mimicked it without thought until I realized I was doing so. THAT is the kind of story that I love, one that I can basically disappear into. One that, for that moment, you actually feel as if you are there. Just my thoughts...and the thoughts from a fellow writer!! Keep up the great work Shyne!!