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Barb goes BATS

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Barbaria1 said:
"I warned you," growled Martinet, as he drove his fist into her flat tummy, driving out her breath and doubling her over. "Leave you evil tokens behind. You're bound to burn, witch."
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I BEG YOUR PARDON? WHAT IS THIS. PUNCHING A GIRL? I COULD TAKE EXCEPTION...
Barbaria1 said:
I hesitated to follow as she was making quite a ruckus, howling like a banshee, promising shrilly that someone would die.
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NO ARGUMENT FROM ME THERE. SEEMS LIKELY.
Barbaria1 said:
And then it happened. As I retreated over the warped and loosened floorboards, I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying. One skidded across the floor, coming to rest against a wall near where Eulalia’s straw wicker man had come to rest after being taken from her. The straw caught fire and flared up to ignite the torn and peeling paper coverings on the wall above. Meanwhile the other candle which had flown straight into the wardrobe, had started a sudden conflagration among the articles of clothing dumped within.
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But we are to believe your version of the Great Crash story.

Barbaria1 said:
She looked as though she had just summoned up from somewhere deep within her tormented soul, the very dark powers needed to conjure up the unfolding disaster
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RIGHT. FORM A NICE QUEUE. WHO WANTS TO GO FIRST? :devil:
 
Barbaria1 said:
15.

The Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio, @Kathy, @messaline and I watched and listened from below in the entry hall as @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru found there way to the small room at the very end of the Vicarage’s cramped attic-level servants’ quarters where the Vicar had confined his Scottish altar girl, @Eulalia.

At first, all we heard was a great deal of fumbling and cursing. Then Loxoru reappeared at the top of the stairs to announce that there was insufficient light up there to see what they were doing.

The Vicar told the Graf to wait while he found some tapers. He disappeared momentarily, and could be heard rustling about somewhere within. When he reappeared, he thrust two lit candles into my hands, which were still bound at the wrists, and said, “Take these upstairs and help out!”

I did as I was told, ascending the narrow stairs awkwardly, given the restricting shackles and chains on my ankles, but managed the climb successfully. From there I followed Loxoru to the end of the narrow corridor.

As the men unlocked the heavy door and entered the space beyond, they were glad for the lit tapers that I held high. I followed them into a tiny, windowless cell, the air very close and very chill. The only objects in that small space was a rough-hewn frame with metal slats and neither mattress nor straw and a small wooden wardrobe. Curled up on the hard surface of the bed frame was a naked girl, a heavy iron manacle on her right ankle, attached in turn by a short length of iron chain, to a corner of the frame.

She sat up suddenly as they entered, her eyes blinded from the light of the candles after the time spent in the pitch dark. When she could make out the men, a look of terror came on her face, and she cried, “Who be ye? Wharen's my master?"

They laughed at the question and Martinet, stooping to unlock her ankle, scoffed. “If you mean the Vicar, he’s downstairs waiting. He sent us for you. He has condemned you as a witch! Now come along peaceful girl, or we’ll have to hurt you.”

“And we wouldn’t mind doing that either, witch,” Loxoru warned as he grabbed what looked like a broom head of straw from her hands and threw it to the corner.

“Nae. My Weeker Man!” she cried, trying to recover the object.

"I warned you," growled Martinet, as he drove his fist into her flat tummy, driving out her breath and doubling her over. "Leave you evil tokens behind. You're bound to burn, witch."

They each grabbed an arm and shoving me roughly aside, dragged the girl out the door and down the hall to the wooden stair.

I remained behind for a moment, wondering what to do. I hesitated to follow as she was making quite a ruckus, howling like a banshee, promising shrilly that someone would die.

Wondering whether I might just remain where I was and trust that no one might notice, I backed deeper into the room. I could hear the Vicar trying to calm her … as well as the threats shouted out by Martinet and Loxoru.

And then it happened. As I retreated over the warped and loosened floorboards, I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying. One skidded across the floor, coming to rest against a wall near where Eulalia’s straw wicker man had come to rest after being taken from her. The straw caught fire and flared up to ignite the torn and peeling paper coverings on the wall above. Meanwhile the other candle which had flown straight into the wardrobe, had started a sudden conflagration among the articles of clothing dumped within.

I screamed in terror, struggled to my feet and hobbled towards the open doorway as fast as my shackled ankles would allow, reaching safety just as the entire room, the air within it pregnant with dust, combusted with a mighty roar into a flaming inferno.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I yelled “Fire!”, although quite unnecessarily so as the others, all standing below, we’re looking straight at me, their upturned faces, illuminated in the glow of the flames, registering their shock.

All except Eulalia, that is, whose eyes were screwed shut in intense concentration. Her arms were held high, hands and fingers crossed. I stared at her in disbelief. She looked as though she had just summoned up from somewhere deep within her tormented soul, the very dark powers needed to conjure up the unfolding disaster … and indeed, she probably had!

TBC
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Damn that was good. And the 'supernatural' ending only needed Eul's ministrations to be accompanied by an excerpt from tubular bells to make it complete!

However, I believe there was a first in that chapter. For, possibly, the very first time Barb saw fit to type the words "... I did as I was told ..."

It might of course be the last time she types them "...I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying ..."
 
Barbaria1 said:
15.

The Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio, @Kathy, @messaline and I watched and listened from below in the entry hall as @Harsh Martinet and @Loxuru found there way to the small room at the very end of the Vicarage’s cramped attic-level servants’ quarters where the Vicar had confined his Scottish altar girl, @Eulalia.

At first, all we heard was a great deal of fumbling and cursing. Then Loxoru reappeared at the top of the stairs to announce that there was insufficient light up there to see what they were doing.

The Vicar told the Graf to wait while he found some tapers. He disappeared momentarily, and could be heard rustling about somewhere within. When he reappeared, he thrust two lit candles into my hands, which were still bound at the wrists, and said, “Take these upstairs and help out!”

I did as I was told, ascending the narrow stairs awkwardly, given the restricting shackles and chains on my ankles, but managed the climb successfully. From there I followed Loxoru to the end of the narrow corridor.

As the men unlocked the heavy door and entered the space beyond, they were glad for the lit tapers that I held high. I followed them into a tiny, windowless cell, the air very close and very chill. The only objects in that small space was a rough-hewn frame with metal slats and neither mattress nor straw and a small wooden wardrobe. Curled up on the hard surface of the bed frame was a naked girl, a heavy iron manacle on her right ankle, attached in turn by a short length of iron chain, to a corner of the frame.

She sat up suddenly as they entered, her eyes blinded from the light of the candles after the time spent in the pitch dark. When she could make out the men, a look of terror came on her face, and she cried, “Who be ye? Wharen's my master?"

They laughed at the question and Martinet, stooping to unlock her ankle, scoffed. “If you mean the Vicar, he’s downstairs waiting. He sent us for you. He has condemned you as a witch! Now come along peaceful girl, or we’ll have to hurt you.”

“And we wouldn’t mind doing that either, witch,” Loxoru warned as he grabbed what looked like a broom head of straw from her hands and threw it to the corner.

“Nae. My Weeker Man!” she cried, trying to recover the object.

"I warned you," growled Martinet, as he drove his fist into her flat tummy, driving out her breath and doubling her over. "Leave you evil tokens behind. You're bound to burn, witch."

They each grabbed an arm and shoving me roughly aside, dragged the girl out the door and down the hall to the wooden stair.

I remained behind for a moment, wondering what to do. I hesitated to follow as she was making quite a ruckus, howling like a banshee, promising shrilly that someone would die.

Wondering whether I might just remain where I was and trust that no one might notice, I backed deeper into the room. I could hear the Vicar trying to calm her … as well as the threats shouted out by Martinet and Loxoru.

And then it happened. As I retreated over the warped and loosened floorboards, I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying. One skidded across the floor, coming to rest against a wall near where Eulalia’s straw wicker man had come to rest after being taken from her. The straw caught fire and flared up to ignite the torn and peeling paper coverings on the wall above. Meanwhile the other candle which had flown straight into the wardrobe, had started a sudden conflagration among the articles of clothing dumped within.

I screamed in terror, struggled to my feet and hobbled towards the open doorway as fast as my shackled ankles would allow, reaching safety just as the entire room, the air within it pregnant with dust, combusted with a mighty roar into a flaming inferno.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I yelled “Fire!”, although quite unnecessarily so as the others, all standing below, we’re looking straight at me, their upturned faces, illuminated in the glow of the flames, registering their shock.

All except Eulalia, that is, whose eyes were screwed shut in intense concentration. Her arms were held high, hands and fingers crossed. I stared at her in disbelief. She looked as though she had just summoned up from somewhere deep within her tormented soul, the very dark powers needed to conjure up the unfolding disaster … and indeed, she probably had!

TBC
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It was a great twist. It's awesome, Barb
 
NewUser said:
I agree, I'm just upset that they can't be burned 2 times
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Maybe they could be heated up enough first so that their clothes shred and their skin begins to blister, and then left in that complete mind-fucking state for several hours before they are then properly and totally burned at the stake? - Ooops sorry, did I actually say that out loud :hmmm:
 
Barbaria1 said:
And then it happened. As I retreated over the warped and loosened floorboards, I lost my footing, stumbled backwards and landed hard on my tight little. Both candles went flying. One skidded across the floor, coming to rest against a wall near where Eulalia’s straw wicker man had come to rest after being taken from her. The straw caught fire and flared up to ignite the torn and peeling paper coverings on the wall above. Meanwhile the other candle which had flown straight into the wardrobe, had started a sudden conflagration among the articles of clothing dumped within.

I screamed in terror, struggled to my feet and hobbled towards the open doorway as fast as my shackled ankles would allow, reaching safety just as the entire room, the air within it pregnant with dust, combusted with a mighty roar into a flaming inferno.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I yelled “Fire!”, although quite unnecessarily so as the others, all standing below, we’re looking straight at me, their upturned faces, illuminated in the glow of the flames, registering their shock.
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A Moore than very subtle reference to how the Great Crash of the Summer of 2013 started!?:sherlock::roto2palm::firedevil::eusa_whistle:
 
16.

We watched, huddled together on the manicured Vicarage lawn. Before us the flames roared and crackled ravenously as they devoured the stately old tinderbox of a building. From within the inferno the flames leaped in flaring columns, bursting from windows, consuming the timbers supporting the roof, which caved inexorably inward until it collapsed with a thunderous roar. Overhead, low-lying clouds reflected downward the many bright and varied hues of the raging conflagration to illuminate not only we girls, condemned as witches, our two handlers, and the good Vicar, but a rapidly gathering crowd of townsfolk, many in their nightclothes, as well.

The Vicar, @Praefectus Praetorio, was beside himself with grief, wringing his hands and moaning, trancelike and repeatedly, the words, “Hell and Damnation.” Before him on the grass lay a pathetic little pile of framed portraits of his venerable priestly predecessors that he had hurriedly liberated from the advancing flames as we fled the structure.

@Kathy sat next to me, staring in amazement, and seemingly with innocent childish delight, at the burning Vicarage.

@messaline, seated slightly behind me, sniffed dismissively in a bored tone, “Houses in France don’t burn so quickly as many are constructed of French premium wood.”

@Eulalia, who sat huddled before me, and whose body was swaying rhythmically from side to side, could be heard chanting some kind of unintelligible Gaelic verse.

Those three probably are witches, I thought to myself.

Meanwhile the crowd continued to grow. Lord @Wragg and the other Magistrates had appeared as well, and could be seen wading in a phalanx like formation through the gathering throng, headed in our general direction.

“What happened,” demanded Wragg breathlessly on finally reaching our side.

“The vicarage caught fire,” replied @Harsh Martinet.

“It went up in flames,” added @Loxuru helpfully.

“I can see that!” snapped Wragg. “I meant how did it happen?”

“Witchery!” said Martinet, extending a sweeping hand in our direction.

“A Vicarage on fire, a presage most dire,” observed @twonines solemnly.

“The Devil has spoken, the flames be his evil token,” added @montycrusto ominously.

“Hell and Damnation!” cried the Vicar, his voice rising to a fevered pitch.

“What time is it?” groused @old slave sleepily.

“Are there any victims?” wondered Jollyrei, the flames reflecting a certain ghoulish glimmer in his eyes.

“T’was Barbara Moore with the candles in the altar girl’s quarters!” proclaimed Martinet, pointing directly at me.

“It was an accident! I fell!” said I defensively.

“Then it was the Scottish altar girl, Eulalia, and her wicker doll, doing the Devil’s bidding!” concluded Martinet.

All eyes turned to Eulalia who said, “Nae, Yese no ken fra yers head twa thine erse! A’ yese are awfu bambots!” (No. You know not from your head to your arse, All you are awful idiots)

Martinet raised his whip to strike her, but was distracted from doing so by a voice raised above the murmuring of the crowd and the thundering crash of a collapsing vicarage wall.

It was the voice of the town thrill seeker and rabble rouser, @ledoux, who had climbed up on a stone wall and was shouting, “This tragedy… this burning of a house of God, my fiends, is the work of the Devil and we have, right here before us, in these four godless women, a coven of the Devil’s servants! I say, we do something here and now to show Lucifer that the good people of Cruxton town are onto his game. I say we flog these four Devil worshippers and Devil servants within an inch of their lives right here and now … and then hang them from yonder trees! What say you, good citizens of Cruxton?”

“Whip them! Hang them!” came the resounding cry from a hundred or more throats.”

“Oh shit!” I muttered.

“Would that be better than burning?” Kathy wanted to know.

“Let them eat cake,” said Messaline dismissively.

“There’ll be a need for caskets after all,” observed Jollyrei, rubbing both hands together.

“Hell and Damnation!” repeated the Vicar, as though in an endless trance.

“If a hanging it must be, we’d best call for @thehangingtree ,” observed Twonines.

“At hanging he’s said to be the best, but four at once shall be a test,” warned Montycrusto.

“Citizens, citizens, hear me out!” shouted Lord Wragg straining to be heard above the din of a chanting crowd crying, “Hang the witches! Hang the bitches!”

“Hear me out!” he repeated. “This is not how justice works. Mob violence is no substitute for due process. In this town we torture, bring to trial, and convict. Justice shall be served, but not tonight when passions burn, but tomorrow on the agreed date of the semi-annual witch burn.”

“No. We demand justice now,” shouted Ledoux, to a chorus of cheers. “I say hang the witches here and now, and let us not forget the other two in the town gaol! Someone go to the gaol and get @Jackie1111 and @fat slave girl too. We’ll not rest until all six witches are dancing on air from yonder trees!”

With shouts of “huzzah!” a rabble of men broke off from the crowd, headed for the town gaol.

Defeated, Lord Wragg shrugged, and said to Martinet, “Better send for Mr. Tree. I do hope he shan’t be raising his fee.”

“If even old stuffy Lord Wragg can rhyme, we’ll have everyone doing it in time,” chuckled Montycrusto.

“It’s a fine form of speech, to which all ought to reach,” proclaimed Twonines.

“A guid an’ reet corse on awbody,” shouted Eulalia in a shrill voice. (A good and right curse on everyone)

“Hang the witches! Hang the bitches!” cried the madding crowd.

TBC

(and a shout out of thanks to PrPr for help with Eul’s lines … she’ll undoubtedly correct them if we got them wrong)
 
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Barbaria1 said:
16.

We watched, huddled together on the manicured Vicarage lawn. Before us the flames roared and crackled ravenously as they devoured the stately old tinderbox of a building. From within the inferno the flames leaped in flaring columns, bursting from windows, consuming the timbers supporting the roof, which caved inexorably inward until it collapsed with a thunderous roar. Overhead, low-lying clouds reflected downward the many bright and varied hues of the raging conflagration to illuminate not only we girls, condemned as witches, our two handlers, and the good Vicar, but a rapidly gathering crowd of townsfolk, many in their nightclothes, as well.

The Vicar, @Praefectus Praetorio, was beside himself with grief, wringing his hands and moaning, trancelike and repeatedly, the words, “Hell and Damnation.” Before him on the grass lay a pathetic little pile of framed portraits of his venerable priestly predecessors that he had hurriedly liberated from the advancing flames as we fled the structure.

@Kathy sat next to me, staring in amazement, and seemingly with innocent childish delight, at the burning Vicarage.

@messaline, seated slightly behind me, sniffed dismissively in a bored tone, “Houses in France don’t burn so quickly as many are constructed of French premium wood.”

@Eulalia, who sat huddled before me, and whose body was swaying rhythmically from side to side, could be heard chanting some kind of unintelligible Gaelic verse.

Those three probably are witches, I thought to myself.

Meanwhile the crowd continued to grow. Lord @Wragg and the other Magistrates had appeared as well, and could be seen wading in a phalanx like formation through the gathering throng, headed in our general direction.

“What happened,” demanded Wragg breathlessly on finally reaching our side.

“The vicarage caught fire,” replied @Harsh Martinet.

“It went up in flames,” added @Loxuru helpfully.

“I can see that!” snapped Wragg. “I meant how did it happen?”

“Witchery!” said Martinet, extending a sweeping hand in our direction.

“A Vicarage on fire, a presage most dire,” observed @twonines solemnly.

“The Devil has spoken, the flames be his evil token,” added @montycrusto ominously.

“Hell and Damnation!” cried the Vicar, his voice rising to a fevered pitch.

“What time is it?” groused @old slave sleepily.

“Are there any victims?” wondered Jollyrei, the flames reflecting a certain ghoulish glimmer in his eyes.

“T’was Barbara Moore with the candles in the altar girl’s quarters!” proclaimed Martinet, pointing directly at me.

“It was an accident! I fell!” said I defensively.

“Then it was the Scottish altar girl, Eulalia, and her wicker doll, doing the Devil’s bidding!” concluded Martinet.

All eyes turned to Eulalia who said, “Nae, Yese no ken fra yers head twa thine erse! A’ yese are awfu bambots!” (No. You know not from your head to your arse, All you are awful idiots)

Martinet raised his whip to strike her, but was distracted from doing so by a voice raised above the murmuring of the crowd and the thundering crash of a collapsing vicarage wall.

It was the voice of the town thrill seeker and rabble rouser, @ledoux, who had climbed up on a stone wall and was shouting, “This tragedy… this burning of a house of God, my fiends, is the work of the Devil and we have, right here before us, in these four godless women, a coven of the Devil’s servants! I say, we do something here and now to show Lucifer that the good people of Cruxton town are onto his game. I say we flog these four Devil worshippers and Devil servants within an inch of their lives right here and now … and then hang them from yonder trees! What say you, good citizens of Cruxton?”

“Whip them! Hang them!” came the resounding cry from a hundred or more throats.”

“Oh shit!” I muttered.

“Would that be better than burning?” Kathy wanted to know.

“Let them eat cake,” said Messaline dismissively.

“There’ll be a need for caskets after all,” observed Jollyrei, rubbing both hands together.

“Hell and Damnation!” repeated the Vicar, as though in an endless trance.

“If a hanging it must be, we’d best call for thehangingtree,” observed Twonines.

“At hanging he’s said to be the best, but four at once shall be a test,” warned Montycrusto.

“Citizens, citizens, hear me out!” shouted Lord Wragg straining to be heard above the din of a chanting crowd crying, “Hang the witches! Hang the bitches!”

“Hear me out!” he repeated. “This is not how justice works. Mob violence is no substitute for due process. In this town we torture, bring to trial, and convict. Justice shall be served, but not tonight when passions burn, but tomorrow on the agreed date of the semi-annual witch burn.”

“No. We demand justice now,” shouted Ledoux, to a chorus of cheers. “I say hang the witches here and now, and let us not forget the other two in the town gaol! Someone go to the gaol and get @Jackie1111 and @fat slave girl too. We’ll not rest until all six witches are dancing on air from yonder trees!”

With shouts of “huzzah!” a rabble of men broke off from the crowd, headed for the town gaol.

Defeated, Lord Wragg shrugged, and said to Martinet, “Better send for Mr. Tree. I do hope he shan’t be raising his fee.”

“If even old stuffy Lord Wragg can rhyme, we’ll have everyone doing it in time,” chuckled Montycrusto.

“It’s a fine form of speech, to which all ought to reach,” proclaimed Twonines.

“A guid an’ reet corse on awbody,” shouted Eulalia in a shrill voice. (A good and right curse on everyone)

“Hang the witches! Hang the bitches!” cried the madding crowd.

TBC

(and a shout out of thanks to PrPr for help with Eul’s lines … she’ll undoubtedly correct them if we got them wrong)
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What a moving and disturbing episode. I felt my heart breaking as I read of the unjust tragedy, the undeserved calamity that had befallen the saintly vicar! That God for his holy courage to save the portraits from the devil's flames. Those witches should be whipped, tortured, and killed in the most awful way for their evil spells. The arsonist Moore should be singled out for special, diabolical torments!!!
 
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