Birth of Chaos 2

Wrongfully Accused

"Guilty until proven innocent."

         A cold, desolate wasteland where silence reigns. The feeling of being utterly alone, knowing no one else exists where you are. And then, a shining light to guide you...
         He opened his eyes.
         The softly blowing wind caressed his face as he stared up into the shade of the tree he lay under, leaves flickering in the breeze. He stood up, stretching, crimson cape fluttering lightly. He brushed off any dirt or dust from his garb, from the bronze breastplate, down his black pants, and off of his black, shin-high boots.
         Stepping out into the light of the sun, he looked about, noting that he was in an unfamiliar place. Not knowing where he was, or in what direction anything lay, he simply picked a random way and set off, hands checking over his inventory to make sure everything was secure.
         He continued on his way, noting the beauty of the surrounding forest, before it was gradually replaced by great fields of wheat and barley, peasants working away in the crops, reaping and taking away portions to a village that he could now make sight of.
         Upon entering the small town, he could see that it was reminiscent of those back in his home, people bustling about in activity, shopkeepers bargaining their wares to haggling customers, while children ran about in the streets at play. It appeared that this was a prosperous town that had not yet reached the size and status of a true city.
         He sought out a local pub or tavern where he might relax and drink, and catch up on local gossip. He had just spotted a suitable one and was heading off towards it when people began to talk excitedly and point in front of him, to where the local constable and some of his men were attending to a grief-stricken woman who lay bawling in the street.
         His heart went out to the lady, but it was none of his business, and he continued on his way, passing by the group on his way to the tavern, and overhearing the sob-choked story of how the woman had barely escaped from her village when it had been attacked by what she described as 'a demon in the guise of an angel.'
         Intrigued, he stopped and leaned over to view the scene, and that was when the young woman lifted her tear-stained face and met his own visage, and she screamed out in horror, pointing to him. "It is he! It is the demon!" she cried out, crawling back as fast as she could.
         As surprised as the young woman herself, he hardly had time to voice a rebuttal when he found half a dozen sword points at his throat. He spoke up. "Wait! I am not this demon she speaks of! You must believe me!"
         The constable looked first at him, then the panicked woman, then back at him, his eyes growing cold. He motioned to his men. "Detain him. I shall question him later."
         He was thus removed of his weapons and items, chained and tossed into a jail cell, and two stout men were assigned to guard him until the constable returned from further questioning with the accusing woman. He was annoyed that the people would think he a demon such as the woman had described. Did he have wings growing from his back? No, so how could he be her attacker? He knew that he could simply break free of this cell and escape from town, killing the people, should he please, yet that solution felt somehow...wrong to him. He knew he could do it, yet he felt he also shouldn't. It did not hold any appeal for him.
         Soon the constable returned, and took up a seat outside the cell, facing the incarcerated man. His eyes held no pity and no love for the man inside, as he began to question him. "What is your name?"
         He answered truthfully and without hesitation, "Michael."
         "Michael what?"
         "Just Michael."
         The constable raised an eyebrow at this, but continued. "The woman says that you have the exact same face as the thing that decimated her home. She also says that, while there are a few slight differences, your entire form is also exactly the same as this 'demon's'."
         He answered with a slight tinge of annoyance. "Do I have wings growing from my back, or a tattoo upon my arm?"
         The official appeared undaunted by the tone of voice, and answered back clearly and calmly. "No, you do not possess either of these, yet we cannot simply overlook the fact that you appear to be an almost exact duplicate of the monster that slaughtered those in her village. Until we have further evidence as to the identity of this fiend, you shall be kept here. Is that understood?"
         He sighed and lowered his gaze slightly. "Yes, it is understood."
         The constable nodded tersely and stood up. "Very well then." With that, he spoke a few words and instructions to the two guards, and left, leaving the room in silence.
         Michael sighed heavily and leaned his head back against the cold stone wall of his cell, looking up at the ceiling. Soon, his eyes closed, and he slept.