Welcome to Cove

Well this is the same story from differen't viewpoints - it was an exercise from an Open University course in creative writing i did a few years ago.

I passed the course *woots* but never really took it further. Gah!

You'll probably recognise a few names - I aint too original ;) anyway I hope you enjoy.

p.s. My grammar and diction probably suck - in fact i know they do :D.


Blood on my hands, blood on my soul. Well one will be easier to clean than the other. What folly made me carry out the order? The world has gone mad. One day I am the conqueror of nations, liberator of the weak and now I’m the slayer of innocent women and children. I need to sit down.

I walk over to the church steps, weary and with a heavy heart. The steps are the only place free from the carnage of sacked city, an island of light amidst the rivers of blood that flow freely through the once great city of Morana. I realise that I’m still holding my sabre. Looking at it haunts me; guilt strips me of my strength. I let it clatter to the floor and slump against the steps.

Thinking back to the successful campaigns in the north despair touches me. There in the lands I’d freed rose petals were laid wherever I walked. Now all I can picture is the streets of Hell paved with the thousands of souls we have slaughtered this day. I need to be free of this madness.

Just as I fear all is lost for me I hear the voices of children playing in the bell tower above. These innocents will not be butchered. I swear it. I unbuckle my breastplate as I climb the stairs. The uniform I once loved is now too much of a burden for me.

I reach the bell tower to see faces of friends from my youth. What wizardry is this?
“Come on Per, join us.”
One by one they jump from the tower before I can reach them. Madness.
“No!”
I peer out of the tower, voices splitting my mind. I dare not trust my eyes. They are not dashed on the street below but are swimming in the warmth of lake Gaia. The great lake will indeed cleanse my soul.
“I am coming my friends.”



What madness had driven Perun to carry out that order. The slain lay everywhere; no man, woman or beast was left alive in the once great city of Morana. After hours of bloodlust Perun tried to rationalise what he’d done.

Every invasion of his homeland had used Morana as a staging point. Every murderous raiding party and act of genocide had originated from there. But now he was no better than them with the blood of women and children on his hands. How had it come to this, he was a professional soldier not a barabarian.

He slumped against the church steps. Perun the Liberator, Perun the Conqueror they had called him. Rose petals strewn wherever he trod. What would he be called now? Perun the sacker of cities, Perun the Baby Killer?

It had been a bloody and bitter campaign with no quarter asked or given but that didn’t excuse the carnage that had taken place. He and his men had been deranged, like a pack of rabid wolves.

Perun’s head ached as he climbed the stairs to the bell tower. He’d heard the voices of children. These innocents would not be butchered. As he reached the tower he was confronted by the faces of friends from his youth. What wizardry was this?

One by one they jumped from the bell tower. Perun looked to the street below. No! Madness! Perun slumped to the window’s ledge tears welling in his eyes.

Was he going mad? They were not dashed against the cobbled street, they were swimming in lake Gaia. The great lake would indeed wash away his sins Perun thought as he too dived from the tower to join his friends once more.