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Author Topic: Memories of the Butcher of Vallaki - Jack Wilson  (Read 320 times)

Alan Hunter

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Memories of the Butcher of Vallaki - Jack Wilson
« on: August 31, 2022, 11:47:36 AM »
*Author's note the content with in are meant for specific people and not knowledge to the populace. The content may contain subjects that are questionable but this is the mind of a character and not real events. If you get the psychology of the matter you understand more than most of the character. This is my closing of my character before I set for closure. Thank you all for your consideration and patiance. If your having trouble or cringe at grammar understand this is a Daft low Int character who just learned to read and write only a year ago so much of it is intentional. Please do enjoy this last bit of Narrative of Jack Wilson*

“Thrice scorned. Thrice hated. Call my name to the Mist and I will give you my fury. Curse those who hated you with fury’s scorn. Those who murdered me granting me Redemption no more. I curse all those of the outskirts sparing the morning lord. Those of the Citadel and Ezrite shall know my fire for it was they whom put me on the pyre. So shall you call my name in fury and give to you my curse,  my strength, and my scorn. Forever shall you hunger for the hearts desired and only know anger and loathing as you expire. Become a Brute of Vallaki in no hurry for when you turn you will be more. Redemption is long and far but the churning bile in your belly and pyre behind your eyes you’ll despise. Eat the heart of your foe when dying and you’ll soon realize. A pact with the mist as I did once. Drink the blood of a child vampire and swear to the mist your loyalty and speak of your injustice. If you wake you will hunger so feed upon the heart of your foe and you’ll know a rage, anger, and fury that never goes. Change you will like me forever eyeing the sheep to cleave at your leisure. Call my name thrice to the mist and speak your injustice and if you are worthy, I’ll grant you my blood in earnest of fury
I am the Butcher of Vallaki. Jack Wilson. Forever the Angry and nothing more”

Funny how I learn to read and write finally and my greatest work be of writing. If you’re reading this here book its ‘cause I chosen friends, family, and certain folks to know my story and my end. It’s been months since Rithwarian Luelan murder my friend Iona and myself. I guess she did spare muh life though stole muh axes and coin damn she greedy she-elf. As much as I curse the she-elf I told her and warned her what she does would bite her in de arse knowing no peace seeing the bounties and banishes here and there tickles me a liddle. Now both of us running from the law and the hunters which I find funny. Same with the Hashan fellow the irony all that mess when we could o’ done more together as friends but its what greed gets folks. But I guess that’s why sheep with teeth behave as they do actin’ like wolves when they are still sheep fearin’ and worrying. Though they did teach me a truth dat I ain’t a man no more no after that death I fled not like a coward fled because my Fury and my Curse ate at my mind and soul. I promised my love ones I fight the curse and fer awhile I tried in my rage I called out to the mist and curse the outskirts and all of Vallaki a third time. I live in the mist away from folks and their wickedness so my own soul does not cause them no harm. But I cursed them so. "I curse my enemies and foes. I curse Vallaki for being my home. May they be plagued by those who feel injustice rising from the graves with hunger for revenge. May the outskirts drench in blood till them sodon souls know no fury then the scourn of revenge of thpse done injustice. O' Mist take them all and show them your spite on my blood and dying breathe one last time." I regret my anger get the best of me. My poor daughters dealing with me.

I’m a changing. What peace I have is writing in dis fancy books I crafted. Funny all Echo, Karis, Yolven, and Ophelia teachin’ me to read and write and instead of craftin’ weapons and armors I’m here craftin’ a damn book. I find it funny. It makes me happy though to write in this thing. It be one of my last creations before muh curse takes me the black viens and blood be more on my body than before. The last pieces of my human side I write before I become the monster that hammers evil things, I thought I was scared to be a monster but I realize what real monsters are. I ain’t scared no more of people just disappointed. Sooner or later, it was gonna happen cure or resistance was never gonna keep it from happening. Though I thank the Pelorian and Druid for trying to save my soul and all my family and friends who tried. Being damned since the day yah was born ya can’t save much I guess. Though the folks in muh life who made me happy made me luv the life I did had. I weren’t a good man and I weren’t a bad man. I sit in the Mists surrounded by the monsters tryin’ to kill me some not so much though lost like me. They kill cause of instinct or simply that’s their nature to survive. Humans kill for less reasons more impure reasons that are often selfish and inconsiderate. I’m safe here away from all those pains and sadness. I’m miss my love ones, muh daughters, muh brother, and dat dumb arse Dirge the last piece o’ kindness I gave to this wretched world. Its best I stay here though in my little piece o’ de Mist with my cabin and my forge away from the follies of paladins, heroes, and idiots. I can’t say I blame them Sheep’s Greed to murder other Sheep for greener pastures is always der it’s a kill or be killed world. Told Kiyosa my thoughts, she calls demn philosophies, but I’m to daft fer such big words simply call it as I see it. I dun came to this world lost and addled minded but now I’m at peace with my curse turnin’ me into a Beast of Fury a thing of a man that only enrages at the spur of moments. My papi was right that day when I thought I found redemption “They will fear yah boy. They will deny yah happiness. And you’ll regret not taking my offer. I knew best fer yah then and you come back to me later I promise yah that.”

I sit ‘ere waitin’ fer my Pappi. Waitin’ fer my new lessons in dis new life. I forge my craft of weapons and armors in the Mist dun care who finds them sometimes I think the Mist comes in and takes’em finding some of my work missin; but I’m okay with it. I only leave my cabin to hunt down the resources to craft day and day out surviving on the hearts of monsters and stupid fools lost in the mist. I luv my work. I luv my creations. As the Curse of my Black Heart takes me the monster in me knows. I won’t hurt my love ones. I will always luv my works. And that I can never go back to being a man but the monster they forced me to be was forged in the life they forced me to leave nd I will kill all who hurt me and belittle me in life. As I smelt creatin’ to things of killing and war this book is my only peaceful creation the last bits of my kindness and memory before I forget myself into the Brute of a Beast I’ll be when my fury takes me and I hunger for the hearts of foes and avenging the injustices to me and those that call to me. The mist is calming me, whispering to me, I ignored it long enough and I am home. I weep knowing I’ll miss my precious Grimm Flower, my liddle Gundarak Baby, and my Little Gnat My Daughters, my family Yolven, Echo, and Karis, even that brat Irach. But best not to drag them into my messes and my curse. I only pray with my last bit of hope to Kelemevor when my time comes to judge me fair and dun leave me in no wall so my poor Grimm Flower be at peace.

I told the story many times often it’s different though this time here in the mist it’s as if my brain taunts me forcing me to remember those old days. Each smite of the hammer to ore I hear my mother screaming while I work in my forge. I hear the crack of my Pappi’s cane in the distance from crackling fires remembering my lessons. I was born daft to the world and born daft to life. My mother never cradled me so my Pappi once told me. Even as a babe and wee child they left me in the crib to weep feeding me goats milk so as I not to die. I know as a wee lad when I could walk and somewhat talk my Pappi gave me lessons. “If ya gonna be daft Jacky yah gonna be strong. Ya gonna work hard liddle boy if yah got no mind to raise.” So I remember as a lad my Pappi sitting in his big chair holding his knotted cane which look like it came from some wicked old tree. Pappi luved things more than me and my mudder and that was his Cane, His Pipe, His drink, and His coin. He was some kind of hero or soldier I dunno which but a fight with something got him a bum leg. Working our liddle farm in a land I dun even remember the name of was my entire world. I didn’t get to play like children I wasn’t allowed off the farm cause my Ma told me wasn’t safe for daft boys. “Daft boys dun play with other children Jacky. They dun like you and they will hurt yah. And if yah hurt means yah can’t work. Yah can’t work then your Pappi has too. And you know what happens when he has to work.” Usually when she says he has to work Pappi often knotch her head with his cane.

So, my life as a lad was Lessons from Pappi about raising the farm. Fixing the tools and carin’ fer the animals was my job when Pappi was out doin’ his other work. I liked my Pappi cause he was strong and he worked hard. I didn’t like him when he wrapped his knuckled around Ole Knotchy and beat me with it. Whenever I messed up or didn’t listen, he would take Ole Knotchy strikin’ me till I curled up into a ball. The red in his face and eyes use to scare me even in my sleep when I couldn’t move from my beatings. I learn quickly if I didn’t listen to Pappi I go hungry and do twice the work even if I was bruised. Momma would only come in to my little closet whenever I broke in fever from the pain whimpering. She sing me a song I remember it made me feel a liddle better.

“Jack be nimble. Jack be quick. Jack work hard or be beat with a stick. If yer good and work real hard. Momma will bake yah a pie or a tart. Now hush my liddle man dun’tcha cry. Momma will bake you that pie. If your bad best be swift or Pappi will strike Jack with his stick.”

Being older now I know it wasn’t a good rhyme. But that was muh life as child to wake and feed the animals and raise the crops. My mother took the fleece of sheep to knit and Dad often hunt animals in the woods to raise on the farm. Though once he tried to teach me to hunt. Shot him in the leg I did trying to shoot down a pheasant my tiny thick hands couldn’t hold the bow right. Felt every strike of Ole Knotchy in my shins and forearms downright my back. It was the only time I known the world outside so quiet and peaceful when he left me there to rot.
Dunno how many days I lay there starving afraid to move because it was nice and quiet and safe. Well till my Mudder showed up grabbing me by the collar of my tunic yelling at me to get up and walk dragging me back to the farm. I think that was the first time I snapped as she struck me with a switch all the way there kicking me and screaming at me. I didn’t want to go back. My vision was red as my mamma’s dress and I remember growlin’ like some animal. I swung at my momma as hard as I could catchin’ her in the back of the leg. I remember my hands smashing on her chest and belly. I remember her screaming and I heard my Pappi holler. Fear dun clutch me like snow in the throat as I saw the color of red in my Pappi’s face brighter than my sight. I remember Ma’s song and I tried to be swift but Ole Knotchy got me in the head and everything was black never hearing my Pappi cry before. I dun know how long it was in that tiny closet but I felt like the life was beaten oughta me. Each day my Pappi open the door and he bring Ole Knotchy down on me. I dunno how long it was. It was very long though cause the bread Pappi toss me would have fuzzy stuff and bugs in it.
The light burned my swollen eyes. I dun remember nothing much then ‘scept when Pappi open the door to strike me.

“Jacky. You dun killed yer sister yah daft boy. Nearly killed yer mother. If winter wasn’t rollin’ around, I sell yer arse to the orphanage let yah be their problem. So, I’’mma teach yah a good lesson boy. Yah dun take from a man whose work hard. And yah took from me. Nobody takes from a Wilson boy.”

As my Mamma looked over his shoulder my father knelt to me swinging and then my muther dun came in kicking me crying. I beg and pleaded hands raise shaking for it to stop. I know from there I had to be a good lad or I might not wake up again as that’s how that beatin’ felt. I didn’t want this no more but they were all I had.  Don’t recall much from then days being blurry but mostly recall working the farm as hard as I can to make them happy. Mamma didn’t look at me the same always scared of me always angry at me. Pa worked me twice as hard till my body bleedin’ without ever hittin’ me sayin' this was how it was.

It was a long time since I got a beaten often, I get a whap or strike from my folks when I wasn’t payin’ attention. Pappi usually didn’t like me messin’ in his shed makin’ things other than fixin’ tools. He liked it when I fixed things about the house ‘cause I was good at it at fixin’ tools and stuff. I dunno why Pappi left though later on which Mamma use to blame me. Was once one of my animal friends, Tommy the Rooster, always causin’me trouble was getting’ out of line hurting some of the other Roosters fightin them and causing them to bleed. Pappai didn’t much like loosin’ his animals ‘cause it meant less coin came winter. Dunno why Tommy leapt at me and cut muh cheek. He was being ornery that day and I remember Pappai’s lessons so I taught Tommy a lesson. Tommy didn’t get back up and my father stood over me with Ole Knotchy scowling.

“Boy, did I not teach you about ruining another man’s work. These animals ain’t yer friends. They’re my property. They are what keeps me and your Ma fed through winter. I given you food, shelter, and a purpose for yer daft arse life. And you still repay me by taking from me. I’m going to half yer dinner for a week and you already know what’s coming.”

I was my Pappi’s size I was scared and when he brought down Ole Knotchy I put a meaty arm stoping it. Pappi struck again and again but my big arms had turn hard from all Pappi’s lessons and work. Pappi dun looked at me surprised and angry I rose just as angry knowin’ his stick couldn’t hurt me no more. But Ole Wilson was strong and he knew better than me. Faster than I could think his liddle friend an ole knife from his fighting days came out striking Gerthy my bestfriend a Sheep I nurtured as a baby. I wailed in tears as my only friend lay bleeding on the ground. Ole Wilson’s smile was like the fiends I seen in my later years as he put ole Knotchy across my neck and pulled tight speaking softly in my ears.

“When a man takes from a man Jacky. It’s an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A life fer a life. You took from me so I took from you. Dats what’s fair in dis cruel world. Ain’t nobody going to raise or luv yah like yer ole Pappi. Hate me now but one day yer gonna see. I was right and all that fury in yah remember it cause people fear a man whose got nuthin’ to lose and nuthin’ to gain for there be no scorn than a Fury of Vengeance.”

*Upon the pages would be wet stains. Perhaps by tears or rain drops the writing a bit shaky thus forward only calming after a few pages. *

Dat year Pappi was gone he had left to the market before Winter. Telling me I was a man and was the only time he smiled at me that wasn’t scary. Though he took all the coin for winter and much of the food. All I remember was my Mamma poundin’ her fists on me blaming me for Pappi leaving. I thought maybe it was because I dun killed his chicken and that he had me butcher both it and the Sheep. I didn’t much like the Butcher Shack but those were lessons too. Winter was hard and my mother refused to eat sometimes. I dunno why she changed come spring. Momma was like a new person. I stared at the table in the kitchen seeing eggs and bacon. She only cooked those things for Pappi while I got mush or corn maybe when I was good I got a piece of chicken. Was the first time in a long time Momma luved me and smiled at me without hitting me telling me I was daft.
“Yer man of the house now Jack. You got to keep up with Pappi’s work now he’s gone. You going to take care of your mother now. I luv you sweety. Pappi won’t hurt you anymore.”

My favorite meal then was Biscuits and Gravy. I worked harder than I did as a kid and even though the other kids outside the farm teased me for being daft and a momma’s boy. My mudder luved me now. I was man of Ole Wilson’s farm I was proud o’ myself as a Wilson. Sometimes Mamma would scold me and hit me but she was softer compare to Pappi so I mostly just took it. Were mostly her words that stung me most “Idiot! Lummox! Stupid!”. Those days were better and I had to go with momma to the Market to learn to sell and help her with her work. One time I got lost and she scowled me before the whole Market a big man like me laughed at by all the folk. She dun told me she was sorry but the Market wasn’t a safe place for her or me. Smelled like a farm but worst like spoiled meat and piss. One time a man tried to steal from Ma’s cart and she yelled at me to get him. I dun broke his fingers and roughed him up good. I thought momma was gonna punish me like Pappi did but she smiled and hugged me. I weeped like a liddle sissy even though the man on the ground was screaming like a girl. Momma was always protecting me from the Militia man. Even told them I was daft and he was only trying to protect my widowed momma. And cause I was Daft I could not be part of the militia but I sure did like their Halberds.

When we weren’t doing the Market Momma had another job. I was a young man and didn’t know things better. I was big and strong so she had me stay outside at the door of some men’s houses. Said to me they owed her money for favors. Momma always said “Pay back yer favors Jacky. No woman luvs a fool in debt. And no one luvs a debtor.”
Few times she screams my name and I come barrelin’ through the doors seeing half nekkid men with my Momma. She screams and cried telling me they done tried to commit adultery with her and I lose my temper beating these men half to death maybe killin’ one carrying my wee momma home from the bad experience. Back then I didn’t know any better. Back then a young Jack was a fool and daft. What came later that year would change my life. The Milita men of the local Judge that was the big man who owned the town my Momma once explained was getting fed up of the complaints and told my Momma to keep me in the farm. The last man I broke who touched my Momma couldn’t work and couldn’t move. His three boys came by the farm sometimes throwing rocks at me but that did nothin’ till one of them threw rocks at our animals and I remember what Pappi always told me. Dun broke the boys arm hurling a bigger rock at’em smirked when he went running to their mommas.

Wasn’t about to let some boys take away my property or hurt my momma’s livin’. Didn’t much like how the Judge be visiting my momma though either always tellin’ me it was business boy and keep yer distance. She always sent me outside to work and told me to stay out of the house so I didn’t mess up in front of an important man. Guess he was pretty important cause for a year he done ask my momma to ask me if I work in making the milita men’s iron since I be fixin’ tools. Momma said it was proud work and havin’ the judge’s favor do good fer the farm. We was living good and I was eatin Eggs, Bacon, and Biscuits every day for my hard work.

Think it was near my older winters. When I found all my animals dead in the yard. All our animals gone all our vegetables ruined. I watch the boys whose pappi I dun broke running away from the field. My momma shouting at me. “Get them Jacky! Dun let those little shats get away with this! I’m fetchin’ the Judge! You dun let nobody take from us. Remember yer Pappi’s lessons!”

As daft as I was, I didn’t know any better then. I ran like a bull towards the fence breaking through it knocking one down. One of them raise a club of wood and I flinch for a moment remembering when Pappi struck me. My mind left muh body to those lessons. They ran from me like chickens caught in the pig feed. I dun chase those boys right to the old bridge before the market. I grab the smallest picking him up in one hand tossing him to the cobblestone till a sick wet crack like watermelon rung in my ears. The other two began to beat me with their clubs but they were small compare to Ole Knotchy. I remember the churning of oil in my stomach the pyre that grew in the back of my eyes and I dun rage a yell that turned the head of the whole market as my big meaty fist took the jaw of one boy. I guess the oldest one tried and we squared right into the market. I dun recall much other than putting the boy through some one’s stall. The merchant man was angered and pulled his own liddle friend and stabbed me in the arm with it. I was twice his size and grabbed him by the neck off the ground till he didn’t move anymore. A lot of folks were touching me and grabbing me. I didn’t know what was going on all of them screaming. “The Daft killed the boys and that man! Bloody Daft! Get the Daft!”

Were too many folks made me uncomfortable so I ran back home knowing Momma would know what to say and do. I didn’t get pass the bridge till the Milita men dun clobbered me with their rods and clubs. I know the chains they had were too small fer me so they done roped me dragging me from the back of their horses. I was scared and angry my eyes were wild of all these strangers. I never seen the Judge upfront before till today as he stood in front of my Momma like some chunky little ball. A portly fellow in brown yellow stripe tabard and some kind of fur coat. Had one of those tiny mustaches on a pig face I much didn’t like as pig head was a disgustin' meal.

“So, this is the daft lad you were speaking of? This bull of a dimwit causing trouble in my town? I commend you Ms. Wilson for having raised this foul creature. Gods know somewhere in heaven you will be rewarded. Though as favor to Joseph I will spare your beast. Help like your husband is surely missed in the Courts a shame he left the township. Untie the brute keep yer weapons on him I am going to speak with its mother alone.”

I didn’t much like the Pigface Judge. Walking into our home, my home, as if he owned it. Momma seem friendly to him told me to behave and to wait outside of my folk’s door. I did like she always taught me but something bothered me and it wasn’t the two Militia men with their spears at me looking like they were gonna wet themselves. I know she told me some times she screams or I hear funny noises and that all it was folks doing business. I was a bit worried cause she normally didn’t laugh or sounded happy when she done her business. So, I went and peeped at the keyhole and one of the Milita men started laughing at me.

“Ya must be daft. Judge is porkin’ yer mother lad. But I guess when yah whore yerself to even the Judge’s bedside comes with some benefits.”

I didn’t understand what he meant then being a daft lad I was. How does a son react to knowin’ some sod was Porkin’ his Mom right before him? How does a son realize his momma was whoring about to make coin? My momma used me and my big muscles to protect her and her work. She used me. She didn’t love me. I was just a property no more than a chicken. Something snapped in me and that churning oil in my stomach and pyre at the back of my eyes blazed. I remember rippin’ that door open to that Judge over my Momma and everything went crimson. I remember pieces. I remember tossing the milita men down the stairs till something snapped. I remember the Judge trying to run me through with his bigger friend before I muzzled his fatty neck like the hog with both hands till he was squealing like a pig. I was smiling. Smiling like my Pappi. I remember the lessons he taught me.

“Dun matter if its yer own blood Jacky. Nobody makes a fool out of a Wilson. Be a day people dun’t show you respect. Damn be the words of a priest they’re for priests. But when something shames you, there be no fury more than vengeance son. Tooth for tooth. Eye for eye. Blood for Blood. Take what’s yours and dun let nobody take from you.”
I remember letting the Judge down from my grip. I remember my Ma jumping onto my back and shanking me with her liddle friend. It dug into the fatty side of my hip. The pain didn’t hurt like the pain and tears in my confuse eyes as my Momma yelled at me.

“You daft fool of a man child! You murdered my only means to get out of this dreadful town and life! I wish you were never born! You took away from me my life! My healthy daughter! My husband! And now you takin’ my only mean to protect you from all the stupid follies you brought upon this house and me! I was weak as a woman to not put my knife through you as a child when they told me you were daft. But your father even in his cruelty spared your life and beat me telling me that I couldn’t take what was his! Yet he’s gone and left me with the daft child I never wanted. Even when I thought to show you some kindness and use you to make amends you still ruin everything you touch!”

Needless to say, I was hurting. The clarity of this memory I dunno spurred by the Mist or the Curse. I remember when she planted the knife in my chest. I remember my hands about her frail swan like neck. Her hands flailing to reach the knife half sunk in my chest stuck in the thick muscle of my beatings and hard work. How could a mother do such a thing to her child? Why was I born?  I remember my Pappi’s lessons. When a man has nothing more there be no fury like vengeance and I felt it that time as I shoved my mother out the window and down into my work shed. I was to daft and angry to realize what I done. Even when I stared in horror of her mangle body all over my worked tools. The cries of villagers waving torches with pitch tools and other things in the other hand meant for a doomed man. What does a daft lad whose miserable life does before a mob but flee?
I fought tooth and nail through many half-wounded from strikes of torches and weapons. I wailed in horror how cruel the world was that was my life. The forests where my father took me was the only safe place I knew. The fog thicker than any rainy day I remember. I recall the whisperings of things and words echoing the mist. “Daft. Monster.” I wanted it to end. I wanted my life to end. It wasn’t fair I did what I was told. I got beat for just living. And things just simply disappeared. I couldn’t see trees nor grass. Things whispered at me and I roared in fury at the things there and not there. I dunno how long it was or short it was. I knew time was passing because a man has to eat, sleep, and shat. There were times I was in the forest but it was different. There were times there were scary things chasing me perhaps the villagers I thought but they looked like no villagers of mine. Time was nothing in this place to me. Everything I wore was scraps everything I thought was gone. I wanted to forget and I felt so tired and sleepy eveyr day goin' in and out of waking.

As I woke as I did every time surrounded by Mist, I could smell fire and hear singing. It was the first time I felt free in a long time however much that was. I don’t know why I was here. Here was different than there. The air smelled different the place felt different. But not the people. The Vistani looked at me as any did angry and scared. Their loud words like knives in my ears. I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember. So, I ran half crazed half lost in mind into the Outskirts. I wasn’t there and that’s all that mattered. I don’t know if something took pity on me or simply wanted to enjoy my suffering. I was here and not there that was good enough for a madman who had lost it all now crazed and gone in mind. That's how i became the Jack Wilson here than over there. Crazy and Mindless daft as always.
"For Evil to win is for good men to do nothing."