Marcus Caravahlo (_caravahlo_) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-03-21 19:34:00 |
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O nce upon a time, there was a boy who had the misfortune of being born larger than any of the other boys in his village. His mother died in childbirth, but his father named him Marcus, and took to bragging about him straight away. Marcus also had many brothers, and being jealous of his size they would often often challenge him to feats of strength. While this did make him very strong, it set a disturbing trend for the other boys in the village, many of whom began to set forth to challenge Marcus. The challenges extended beyond mere hand-to-hand matches to great quests, and soon Marcus became something of a local legend for his victories over both man and beast. He won fame and glory for his accomplishments, and his physical size was soon only dwarfed by that of his ego. He started calling himself El Gigante, and others followed suit.
Naturally, many people felt that El Gigante should be cut down to size, but it was tricky. Champions traveled to challenge him, and were defeated. Crafty men with ample coin purses sent him after monsters in the hopes that he would be killed, but he'd always return with a hide or a head for their money. Had he given a thought towards ruling, it wouldn't have been difficult for him to amass an army of admirers to follow him. That made a lot of authority figures nervous, and they were frequently conspiring to get rid of him.
As it happened, El Gigante was not without weaknesses. No man was, and his were entirely too common. Sex and alcohol. Every coin earned went to the taverns, and every night was spent with a different wench. This behavior made barkeeps very happy, but it had the usual side effect of pissing off certain members of the fairer sex. All it took was a perfect storm of a scorned witch and several nervous authority figures who were willing to provide the resources she needed for a convoluted curse.
A curse which needed to be cured by a virgin who was past her thirtieth year. Now, times being what they were, virgins in general were difficult to come by. Most girls were married off by sixteen, and even those who weren't hardly remained chaste. The ones who did were by and large not the sort who were interested in the likes of him, and the specifics of the witch's curse cleverly negated the option of rape. He had to win a virgin, not force her, and the only way he knew to do so was by killing something bigger than himself. He'd never actually bothered learning how to woo a woman, even if he was able to locate a prudish grown woman to court.
So Marcus went into a bitter, self-imposed exile, in search of an old maid with the rare combination of high morals and low standards. For years, he was forced to live with his curse, until he heard a vague rumor about a pious virgin who'd been taken captive and locked in a tower for over two decades. The tower was guarded by a nest of dragons, which seemed like a perfect scenario to him. He'd killed dragons before, and surely a woman who'd been locked up for decades wouldn't be too picky about her savior. She'd also have to be at least 30, if not older, which was perfect.
Armed with his sword and very few pertinent details (he'd asked no probing questions about the rumor, choosing instead to just rush ahead without thinking), Marcus rode hard and fast through the harsh land where the tower was said to stand. The tower and the dragons proved to be no myth, and dispatching the latter took quite a bit of effort. The nest was larger than he'd encountered before, and Marcus had to lie in wait, finding ways to lure the dragons away individually in order to fight them one at a time. Luckily, dragons were fairly unintelligent, and his sword was sure. Once the nest was destroyed, Marcus hurried up the tower, carefully navigating the traps therein. He was mindless of the fact that he was covered head to toe in dragon's blood, and looked like a monster, himself; far too eager to claim his prize.