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The Inner Demons of Morgan Cromwell
- The Inner Demons of Morgan Cromwell -
A.k.a. The Black Knight’s Redemption
Note: I originally wrote this story back in 2007, under the name Chaos_Theocrat.
(Some people's inner demons stay within them. In the case of Morgan Cromwell, a tragic paladin, his inner demons became so powerful, that they found a way out. Morgan Cromwell lived during the age of Camelot, in a distant part of Britannia where the reign of King Arthur was not known. There, his tale unfolded as follows. There he had lived, and eventually there was he laid to his final, tortured, rest.)
“I don't remember what god or what goddess it was I had served. The life that I once lived is mine no longer. Whosoever finds this rough parchment and reads what has befallen me, know that I am at peace... but that peace came at a terrible cost. Do not disturb my final resting place, lest what claimed my life escapes me and claims some innocent!” I wrote those words as calmly as any man writing his own epitaph could. Any moment, I knew my past would catch up to me. Any moment, the grim ones would find me and take me to Hades forever. How did it come to this moment? I had wondered as I lay in the cold cellar of the old ruined tower, awaiting my end, with my sword clutched tightly in my hands. Would it hurt so much, to remember?
It seems a lifetime ago that I had broken from the brothers and sisters of the renowned knightly monastic order to which I had belonged. Unable to keep any vows of chastity, my soul was stolen by a beauty not of our deity, but of the flesh… in the form of a maid I met whilst serving the good of a small town called “East-haven”. She was not that beautiful; more of a tomboy than a lady such as most men desire... but she did something no lady of any court ever had before: she touched my heart, though my vows denied we could love one another. That was how I came to break all my vows... and perhaps, in a way, how I also came to lose my immortal soul. Yet, how was it her doing? But to think of that… I could not bear it! Better to think of the events that transpired which were good, not evil. But was it not evil, that I broke my vows? And so…
Her name was Gwen. A simple name was Gwen, for the simplest of lasses! Many a Gwen lived in many a village as backwoods as her own, and many more still dreamed as she did of seeking excitement abroad. I offered her all she dreamed of and more, and in turn she offered me her very heart and more. It was on that morrow, after our first night together, that I turned my back upon my former life, and the light as well as the dark: which it consisted of. We ventured into the nearby woods, so that my former comrades would never need to see us depart. They would stay in that village to protect it. They would do a fine duty indeed! But would they miss my presence? I doubted it. Gwen seemed to know these dark woods passing well, and a strange forcefulness overcame her the deeper we tread beneath the canopy of green, growing into a most darksome color as we went along the scant trails which it seemed had been made more for animals than men and women to walk. I asked her where we were going, for it occurred to me that she had some plan beyond mine of eluding my former comrades of the order. She would look at me most strangely whenever I spoke thusly to her and a glimmer of wicked purpose filled her eyes. What was it? A trick of my memory, as I recall these events, perhaps. But mayhap… there was indeed more to it that my mind rebels against my remembering? I must continue to recall what happened, and perhaps sense can be made of this thing!
I was swiftly to discover the fell answer to my curiosity when she took my arm and very nearly dragged me along a very old trail: which seemed adorned on the ground with broken cobblestones in various places. In the distance, ruins filled a clearing and in their midst I spied an ancient stone tower. Gwen was taking me to that tower, and my heart was loath to allow it. Soon, my tired eyes confirmed what my heart feared! For in the clearing, amidst all the rubble, a great many piles of bones, skeletons of men in a knightly garb not unlike my own… and mayhap once led along the same old path to their doom. Ivy and mold clung to them, but their forms were vivid. Fresh blood and fresh dead were near the tower, too. I tried to break free of my beloved's grasp but it was impossible! She was something else now: a force of nature, perhaps... or a force of death. With her free hand, she cast open the wooden door of the tower and then hurled me inside with the other. When I asked her what she was doing, she said with malice in her eyes: 'You shouldn't have withheld from me the truth about your past! Did you think I could not see into your very soul? That is one of my powers, and not the least mighty! In there, you will find either empty and forsaken ruins, or the evil you deny.' The door was closed and locked fast. I could not escape, and all that kept me from darkness was the time of day, for sunlight filtered in through cracks in the walls and ceiling, illuminating an empty stone chamber, square as the tower it was in, and full of the shadows which grew in length and form as hours fled. I felt the crawling of insects upon my hands and shook them off violently. I felt… other things, as well.
Hours? Soon it would be afternoon. Then nightfall! I searched the walls in a frantic fright… as behind me, or out of the corner of my eye, faintest forms began to manifest out of the stuff of those shadows, which grew with the hours. The voices: of these forms was as faint as they themselves, but grew as they had become more solid. Cloaked and hooded, with skeletal faces and red, piercing eyes. Like wraiths, they were, but a great deal more terrifying! 'You are ours, Morgan Cromwell, paladin no more! You were always ours, fiend! Remember what it is you were before joining the knights of that righteous order? You lied to them, you lied to that maiden, and you lied to yourself! Let us help you to remember... to remember... to remember all...'
The Prince of Lies was my deity, and long was it since I sold my soul to him for love of a woman. The Devil was not a kind god, nor one to allow a man to escape any bargain made to him. Once I was pledged unto him, it was too late... 'Gwen... her name was Gwen. Remember!' said the voices. And I remembered now! The woman who led me to the tower was the same who drove me into darkness. That was why I joined the order and became a paladin of the light... to be forgiven my sins and given redemption. For the sin of Devil worship especially! 'But how could you imagine that even a god of light could redeem you, Morgan? Her blood is yet fresh upon your soul, if not your hands... remember her now?' And I remembered having slain her, all in my madness at the time blaming her for the loss of my soul. Her murder was committed after I joined the order... after I was sworn to protect the innocent and uphold law and virtue in the land. I had lain with her still, whilst I was a holy knight! The sin was mine, not hers. And yet, I blamed her for all, and slew her for nothing. This was why I was now thrice damned! Her spirit had returned for vengeance, and roused my innermost demons from their slumber. God forgive me! I cried out, but God would never hear me again I feared.
Knowing I was near my end, I did pen my sad epitaph on a piece of parchment: which I had with me. I had enough ink for my quill, enough just to finish it and warn others who might stumble into this place wherein I was being rightly tormented. I remember! I said to those ghostly fiends who still haunted me. Now let your justice be: swift, and done before nightfall. At which they surrounded me like a pack of wolves, their breath as ice and their terrible eyes upon me... piercing into my soul. I heard at once the strong door crash open and Gwen came in. Little had I known she was not of this world! I could have saved myself this doom. But, alas, it was not meant to be! She came forward and touched her hands to my face. There was blood upon them and I was wearing it like the war paint of a savage! 'Your comrades: are no more, sir knight.' So she said matter-of-factly to me. 'Only one god are you obliged to, now and forever more. And truly, his name is Satan!' You sent me to him, that I might return from death to bring you back into his darkest service once more. Leave this hall of the dead, sir knight, and thus depart of these woods. Never again shall the way to this tower be open to you, unless I ever see you fail to serve our master. Then, I will return… and bring you back here to remind you whom we serve. Now, will you dedicate your service to the Red Dragon as of old? Or do you intend to persist in the folly of redemption! Answer me that, vile Morgan Cromwell. Thou knight of nothing! Answer me, now...' I answered her by shedding tears. I wept, not for myself, but for having brought a once-innocent soul such as Gwen's to this fate. She seemed ready to tear me asunder but then with the last light of the afternoon, a bright illumination filled the cruel chamber and all the wraiths of death fled from it. Gwen's eyes, at once became filled with sorrow and not hatred any longer. Her face twisted at one fine moment into an evil grin, mocking her beauty as the voice of evil Satan bellowed forth from her: 'No! He is my servant, Lucifer! Now is not thy own hour, it is not yet dawn! Let me take what is mine... let me...' And just as suddenly, her face was as her own again. She was saying... 'I can see into his soul and know he is truly repented! Let me forgive him for taking my life... let me...' and the inhuman voice of an angel called out: 'Enough! Morgan Cromwell, all that you have done was for love. All… save the life you took. That, you took out of fear and selfishness. But I am a forgiving goddess, and if you pledge your soul to me instead of Satan, I will redeem you. It is already too late for you to make peace with God! You… know… my name.'
Lady Lucifer, forgive me! Thusly was how I wept at the sound of that gentle voice, more lovely than anything that I had heard in my life. Thusly was how my voice pledged itself to him, the God of my order… he whom I had forgotten during the long hours of my torment at Satan’s hands. My soul is yours, Dawn Star! Please, redeem me my sins. And at once Gwen was filled with Lucifer’s spirit. She had the light of the very sun in her eyes, and I closed mine, unable to look into them. I felt her kissing me, and I felt warmth like no other. She grasped my arm and cast me from the tower. The door shut and sealed itself of its' own accord. I then opened my eyes and tried to open that door once again. Gwen! I shouted, with my salty tears choking my hoarse voice. 'Let her be, my son, for she is long dead. Let her lie in that cold place, for did you not know it was her tomb?' I turned around, to see who spoke to me. It was an old man leaning hard upon an oaken staff. I did not know, old man. This I said to him and he chuckled, kicking one of the murdered knights out of the way as he came closer to me. 'Be gone from here soon, Morgan Cromwell, Knight of Lucifer. Leave the dead with the dead, and let me take you somewhere… where the living have need of you!' I asked him his name and proceeded to wipe the blood from my face with a cloth I tore from the shirt I wore beneath my armor. 'Merlin. Of Camelot, if you've heard of it out in this place I've seen on no maps of Earth compiled in civilized lands. Of course, likely it is, you've not heard of Camelot! Rural folk can be like that. Not that from where I hail from it's not rural, but you know what I mean, eh lad? At any rate, the world needs heroes, now and always. If you keep your heart true, I can introduce you to some folks who could put your sword to use for truly worthy causes. What say you, lad?' I agreed to accompany him unto Camelot. There was nothing left for me in East-haven any longer, and I was in need of new friends since everyone as I had known before was now dead. Perhaps this Merlin knew something of what had befallen me, for it was odd that he knew my name. I would have to ask him of that upon the way to Camelot. I have not ever heard of that kingdom! And yet soon it would come time to see it for myself. Would Lucifer keep me safe from my past... or would Satan stop at nothing to claim my soul? Only time would tell. And I had time aplenty… thanks be to God.
'Sir Morgan Cromwell, thereafter, was obliged to fight in the service of the defense of Camelot, against the invading Saxons. He fell in the defense of the innocents of that land, and was laid to rest secretly by but a single loyal squire and the mage known as Merlin. It was said he was entombed within a ruined tower in an old haunted wood… in a distant part of the land not to be found on any known map. Often, the odd solitary adventurer might pass the tower by, and notice in passing the inscription upon the wooden door… upon a pure golden plaque: ‘- Here lies Morgan Cromwell, a Knight of Lucifer, and his beloved Gwen, a maiden of East-haven. May they rest in their own paradise, free of the dark doings of this wicked world! –‘ And so it is said the plaque that bears the inscription glows with the light of the setting sun, and also at the dawn, and blinds those who would attempt to open that door. All around the tower lie scattered the brittle bones of fallen knights, and those who venture near it respectfully are said to incur the protection of their spirits… whilst others, of evil intent, are never seen again. This humble scribe, has not ever seen the tomb, nor found its’ location to know if this legend is true. But it is known to me that this was not simply a rural folk legend, but rather inspired by an actual event. I have visited the mage Merlin on at least one occasion to ask him of the hidden tower and he showed me the parchment that is mentioned in Morgan’s tale. So, for skeptics there is always that much proof... plus, my own time as a knight in the service of Camelot, wherein during the defense against the Saxons I myself had the dubious pleasure of fighting at the side of Sir Morgan Cromwell, whose ebon black armor and helm led to him being called by the title of ‘The Black Knight’. I knew him as a brave fighter who in the end: gave his life for others. It was he who told me his life’s story, so that I might record it, herein.'
– As recorded by Sir Lancelot, during his later years of monastic service following the fall of Camelot.
A.k.a. The Black Knight’s Redemption
Note: I originally wrote this story back in 2007, under the name Chaos_Theocrat.
(Some people's inner demons stay within them. In the case of Morgan Cromwell, a tragic paladin, his inner demons became so powerful, that they found a way out. Morgan Cromwell lived during the age of Camelot, in a distant part of Britannia where the reign of King Arthur was not known. There, his tale unfolded as follows. There he had lived, and eventually there was he laid to his final, tortured, rest.)
“I don't remember what god or what goddess it was I had served. The life that I once lived is mine no longer. Whosoever finds this rough parchment and reads what has befallen me, know that I am at peace... but that peace came at a terrible cost. Do not disturb my final resting place, lest what claimed my life escapes me and claims some innocent!” I wrote those words as calmly as any man writing his own epitaph could. Any moment, I knew my past would catch up to me. Any moment, the grim ones would find me and take me to Hades forever. How did it come to this moment? I had wondered as I lay in the cold cellar of the old ruined tower, awaiting my end, with my sword clutched tightly in my hands. Would it hurt so much, to remember?
It seems a lifetime ago that I had broken from the brothers and sisters of the renowned knightly monastic order to which I had belonged. Unable to keep any vows of chastity, my soul was stolen by a beauty not of our deity, but of the flesh… in the form of a maid I met whilst serving the good of a small town called “East-haven”. She was not that beautiful; more of a tomboy than a lady such as most men desire... but she did something no lady of any court ever had before: she touched my heart, though my vows denied we could love one another. That was how I came to break all my vows... and perhaps, in a way, how I also came to lose my immortal soul. Yet, how was it her doing? But to think of that… I could not bear it! Better to think of the events that transpired which were good, not evil. But was it not evil, that I broke my vows? And so…
Her name was Gwen. A simple name was Gwen, for the simplest of lasses! Many a Gwen lived in many a village as backwoods as her own, and many more still dreamed as she did of seeking excitement abroad. I offered her all she dreamed of and more, and in turn she offered me her very heart and more. It was on that morrow, after our first night together, that I turned my back upon my former life, and the light as well as the dark: which it consisted of. We ventured into the nearby woods, so that my former comrades would never need to see us depart. They would stay in that village to protect it. They would do a fine duty indeed! But would they miss my presence? I doubted it. Gwen seemed to know these dark woods passing well, and a strange forcefulness overcame her the deeper we tread beneath the canopy of green, growing into a most darksome color as we went along the scant trails which it seemed had been made more for animals than men and women to walk. I asked her where we were going, for it occurred to me that she had some plan beyond mine of eluding my former comrades of the order. She would look at me most strangely whenever I spoke thusly to her and a glimmer of wicked purpose filled her eyes. What was it? A trick of my memory, as I recall these events, perhaps. But mayhap… there was indeed more to it that my mind rebels against my remembering? I must continue to recall what happened, and perhaps sense can be made of this thing!
I was swiftly to discover the fell answer to my curiosity when she took my arm and very nearly dragged me along a very old trail: which seemed adorned on the ground with broken cobblestones in various places. In the distance, ruins filled a clearing and in their midst I spied an ancient stone tower. Gwen was taking me to that tower, and my heart was loath to allow it. Soon, my tired eyes confirmed what my heart feared! For in the clearing, amidst all the rubble, a great many piles of bones, skeletons of men in a knightly garb not unlike my own… and mayhap once led along the same old path to their doom. Ivy and mold clung to them, but their forms were vivid. Fresh blood and fresh dead were near the tower, too. I tried to break free of my beloved's grasp but it was impossible! She was something else now: a force of nature, perhaps... or a force of death. With her free hand, she cast open the wooden door of the tower and then hurled me inside with the other. When I asked her what she was doing, she said with malice in her eyes: 'You shouldn't have withheld from me the truth about your past! Did you think I could not see into your very soul? That is one of my powers, and not the least mighty! In there, you will find either empty and forsaken ruins, or the evil you deny.' The door was closed and locked fast. I could not escape, and all that kept me from darkness was the time of day, for sunlight filtered in through cracks in the walls and ceiling, illuminating an empty stone chamber, square as the tower it was in, and full of the shadows which grew in length and form as hours fled. I felt the crawling of insects upon my hands and shook them off violently. I felt… other things, as well.
Hours? Soon it would be afternoon. Then nightfall! I searched the walls in a frantic fright… as behind me, or out of the corner of my eye, faintest forms began to manifest out of the stuff of those shadows, which grew with the hours. The voices: of these forms was as faint as they themselves, but grew as they had become more solid. Cloaked and hooded, with skeletal faces and red, piercing eyes. Like wraiths, they were, but a great deal more terrifying! 'You are ours, Morgan Cromwell, paladin no more! You were always ours, fiend! Remember what it is you were before joining the knights of that righteous order? You lied to them, you lied to that maiden, and you lied to yourself! Let us help you to remember... to remember... to remember all...'
The Prince of Lies was my deity, and long was it since I sold my soul to him for love of a woman. The Devil was not a kind god, nor one to allow a man to escape any bargain made to him. Once I was pledged unto him, it was too late... 'Gwen... her name was Gwen. Remember!' said the voices. And I remembered now! The woman who led me to the tower was the same who drove me into darkness. That was why I joined the order and became a paladin of the light... to be forgiven my sins and given redemption. For the sin of Devil worship especially! 'But how could you imagine that even a god of light could redeem you, Morgan? Her blood is yet fresh upon your soul, if not your hands... remember her now?' And I remembered having slain her, all in my madness at the time blaming her for the loss of my soul. Her murder was committed after I joined the order... after I was sworn to protect the innocent and uphold law and virtue in the land. I had lain with her still, whilst I was a holy knight! The sin was mine, not hers. And yet, I blamed her for all, and slew her for nothing. This was why I was now thrice damned! Her spirit had returned for vengeance, and roused my innermost demons from their slumber. God forgive me! I cried out, but God would never hear me again I feared.
Knowing I was near my end, I did pen my sad epitaph on a piece of parchment: which I had with me. I had enough ink for my quill, enough just to finish it and warn others who might stumble into this place wherein I was being rightly tormented. I remember! I said to those ghostly fiends who still haunted me. Now let your justice be: swift, and done before nightfall. At which they surrounded me like a pack of wolves, their breath as ice and their terrible eyes upon me... piercing into my soul. I heard at once the strong door crash open and Gwen came in. Little had I known she was not of this world! I could have saved myself this doom. But, alas, it was not meant to be! She came forward and touched her hands to my face. There was blood upon them and I was wearing it like the war paint of a savage! 'Your comrades: are no more, sir knight.' So she said matter-of-factly to me. 'Only one god are you obliged to, now and forever more. And truly, his name is Satan!' You sent me to him, that I might return from death to bring you back into his darkest service once more. Leave this hall of the dead, sir knight, and thus depart of these woods. Never again shall the way to this tower be open to you, unless I ever see you fail to serve our master. Then, I will return… and bring you back here to remind you whom we serve. Now, will you dedicate your service to the Red Dragon as of old? Or do you intend to persist in the folly of redemption! Answer me that, vile Morgan Cromwell. Thou knight of nothing! Answer me, now...' I answered her by shedding tears. I wept, not for myself, but for having brought a once-innocent soul such as Gwen's to this fate. She seemed ready to tear me asunder but then with the last light of the afternoon, a bright illumination filled the cruel chamber and all the wraiths of death fled from it. Gwen's eyes, at once became filled with sorrow and not hatred any longer. Her face twisted at one fine moment into an evil grin, mocking her beauty as the voice of evil Satan bellowed forth from her: 'No! He is my servant, Lucifer! Now is not thy own hour, it is not yet dawn! Let me take what is mine... let me...' And just as suddenly, her face was as her own again. She was saying... 'I can see into his soul and know he is truly repented! Let me forgive him for taking my life... let me...' and the inhuman voice of an angel called out: 'Enough! Morgan Cromwell, all that you have done was for love. All… save the life you took. That, you took out of fear and selfishness. But I am a forgiving goddess, and if you pledge your soul to me instead of Satan, I will redeem you. It is already too late for you to make peace with God! You… know… my name.'
Lady Lucifer, forgive me! Thusly was how I wept at the sound of that gentle voice, more lovely than anything that I had heard in my life. Thusly was how my voice pledged itself to him, the God of my order… he whom I had forgotten during the long hours of my torment at Satan’s hands. My soul is yours, Dawn Star! Please, redeem me my sins. And at once Gwen was filled with Lucifer’s spirit. She had the light of the very sun in her eyes, and I closed mine, unable to look into them. I felt her kissing me, and I felt warmth like no other. She grasped my arm and cast me from the tower. The door shut and sealed itself of its' own accord. I then opened my eyes and tried to open that door once again. Gwen! I shouted, with my salty tears choking my hoarse voice. 'Let her be, my son, for she is long dead. Let her lie in that cold place, for did you not know it was her tomb?' I turned around, to see who spoke to me. It was an old man leaning hard upon an oaken staff. I did not know, old man. This I said to him and he chuckled, kicking one of the murdered knights out of the way as he came closer to me. 'Be gone from here soon, Morgan Cromwell, Knight of Lucifer. Leave the dead with the dead, and let me take you somewhere… where the living have need of you!' I asked him his name and proceeded to wipe the blood from my face with a cloth I tore from the shirt I wore beneath my armor. 'Merlin. Of Camelot, if you've heard of it out in this place I've seen on no maps of Earth compiled in civilized lands. Of course, likely it is, you've not heard of Camelot! Rural folk can be like that. Not that from where I hail from it's not rural, but you know what I mean, eh lad? At any rate, the world needs heroes, now and always. If you keep your heart true, I can introduce you to some folks who could put your sword to use for truly worthy causes. What say you, lad?' I agreed to accompany him unto Camelot. There was nothing left for me in East-haven any longer, and I was in need of new friends since everyone as I had known before was now dead. Perhaps this Merlin knew something of what had befallen me, for it was odd that he knew my name. I would have to ask him of that upon the way to Camelot. I have not ever heard of that kingdom! And yet soon it would come time to see it for myself. Would Lucifer keep me safe from my past... or would Satan stop at nothing to claim my soul? Only time would tell. And I had time aplenty… thanks be to God.
'Sir Morgan Cromwell, thereafter, was obliged to fight in the service of the defense of Camelot, against the invading Saxons. He fell in the defense of the innocents of that land, and was laid to rest secretly by but a single loyal squire and the mage known as Merlin. It was said he was entombed within a ruined tower in an old haunted wood… in a distant part of the land not to be found on any known map. Often, the odd solitary adventurer might pass the tower by, and notice in passing the inscription upon the wooden door… upon a pure golden plaque: ‘- Here lies Morgan Cromwell, a Knight of Lucifer, and his beloved Gwen, a maiden of East-haven. May they rest in their own paradise, free of the dark doings of this wicked world! –‘ And so it is said the plaque that bears the inscription glows with the light of the setting sun, and also at the dawn, and blinds those who would attempt to open that door. All around the tower lie scattered the brittle bones of fallen knights, and those who venture near it respectfully are said to incur the protection of their spirits… whilst others, of evil intent, are never seen again. This humble scribe, has not ever seen the tomb, nor found its’ location to know if this legend is true. But it is known to me that this was not simply a rural folk legend, but rather inspired by an actual event. I have visited the mage Merlin on at least one occasion to ask him of the hidden tower and he showed me the parchment that is mentioned in Morgan’s tale. So, for skeptics there is always that much proof... plus, my own time as a knight in the service of Camelot, wherein during the defense against the Saxons I myself had the dubious pleasure of fighting at the side of Sir Morgan Cromwell, whose ebon black armor and helm led to him being called by the title of ‘The Black Knight’. I knew him as a brave fighter who in the end: gave his life for others. It was he who told me his life’s story, so that I might record it, herein.'
– As recorded by Sir Lancelot, during his later years of monastic service following the fall of Camelot.
Published 30th Jan 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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