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Subject: Tales Of Vengeance rss

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I wanted to start a thread for anyone interested in posting their own original stories with the characters and/or setting of the Vengeance game.



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Below is a story I created. It was inspired by the character Reverend Gray. It is a background story I came up with to explain why Reverend Gray is going on a rampage against the Rosari and the other gangs. If you enjoyed the story give it a thumbs up.

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Saint of Vengeance


I look upon myself in the mirror. I couldn’t recognize myself. The man staring back at me was someone else. Someone new. Someone who knew only rage. If I could weep, I would for the loss of somebody who was naive and hopeful. The loss of a good man.

My home was once a good home. I loved my neighborhood. I loved my neighbors. It wasn’t perfect but people were happy. They lived their happy lives. Now, people lived in fear. They hid in their homes and only went out when they needed to. Something parasitic and venomous had forced their way into my home. Little by little they poisoned my home. My good home has become diseased and is decaying. Something must be done. Someone must do something.

As a kid I got into trouble. I was a troublesome little imp. Nothing major. Graffiti, shoplifting, small things. As I look back, I can see that it was a call for attention. A single mother working all day. I was lonely and bored. I don’t blame her. She was providing for us the best she could.

One Sunday, she introduced me to Reverend Michael. He was a friend to my mother. He was a friend to the entire neighborhood. At first, I gave him a hard time. I didn’t need a babysitter. However, as time passed I learned to appreciate him. He treated me like a son. He taught me honor and respect. He taught me about empathy and understanding. He taught me that everyone was important no matter who they were. He taught me that it was important to help and protect those who needed it. He showed me how to be a man. He was a friend, mentor, and the father I never had.

As an adult I followed in his footsteps. I became a reverend just like him. A man of the cloth. When he passed I inherited his position. I became a spiritual leader and tried to lead by example. Just like Reverend Michael.

It was difficult at times. The economy suffered and the people suffered with it. The neighborhood suffered. I tried to counsel everyone with my sermons. Sweet but empty words. I was initially blind to the creeping corruption that infected my neighborhood. Soon, crime enveloped my home. Theft, prostitution, drugs, and violence. These newcomers brought evil with them. Again, I offered comforting but hallow sermons. I thought that was all I needed to make a change. Sweet but empty words.

I met Pedro. A young but bright boy. A mischievous imp but with great potential. He reminded me of how I was as a young boy. A hot headed kid with a hard working single mom. I knew I was meant to mentor him. Like Reverend Michael did for me, I would do the same for him.

He became a great student at school. Well behaved, athletic, and with straight A’s. He blossomed under my guidance. He was like a son to me. I was proud. Reverend Michael would be proud.

Things weren’t easy for him. His friends and cousins had joined a local gang. A dangerous gang with dangerous people. They were pressuring him to join. He told them no. He made me proud with his steadfast refusal to fall to their influence and threats. Even when they battered and bloodied him, he refused. I tended to his wounds and comforted him with my advice and stories. My sweet but empty words.

One day, Pedro came to me scared. The gang was offering him a final ultimatum. Join them or else. I thought it was just another day. Another threat that Pedro could have withstood. Pedro was scared. I comforted and counseled him. My sweet but empty words. He convinced me to accompany him back to his house. I agreed.

On the way back to his house his friends confronted us. Ambushed us. We were herded into a nearby alley like cattle. The clothing, tattoos, and demeanor made them unrecognizable to me. They were no longer the kids I knew who once played and laughed with Pedro. They had metamorphosed into something dark, cruel, and evil. Among them stood their leader. A man covered in tattoos. A man who exuded malevolence. A devil.

The devil mocked and laughed at Pedro for bringing me. The devil laughed at Pedro for being weak and for hiding behind me. The devil tempted Pedro to join him. Pedro refused the temptations. I smiled. The devil’s grin quickly became a scowl. A frightening look of anger. I heard a yell of help as they pulled Pedro away from me. I reached out to him but then a sudden intense pain overwhelmed me. I fell to my knees as Pedro yelled for my help. My leg was hurting. I heard the scrapping of metal on pavement. I tried to plead for mercy from the devil and his minions. I begged them to spare Pedro and let him go. I tried to be diplomatic even as my leg throbbed. Sweet but empty words. The devil just laughed.

The devil laughed at me. He laughed at Pedro. He laughed at our misery and suffering. He then proceeded to beat Pedro. The sound of metal on pavement. I tried to get up. A quick movement of something came at my face. SWISH! The intense pain once more. The world swirled as my head ached. My vision blurred and my hearing momentarily faded with a loud ringing that soon passed. I soon heard laughter and screaming mixed into a cacophony of sound. A twisted, nightmarish song of hell. I lifted my head and saw a horrifying sight. The devil and his minions were upon Pedro like scavengers on a wounded animal. With fists, feet, bricks, bottles, and bats they beat Pedro. Pedro screamed and pleaded with each breathe. He then stopped. They then dragged his limp body near me. I cried. They laughed. They devil sat on Pedro with a grin and told me that all that has happened was my fault. Perhaps, he was right. He then took out a blade and sliced Pedro’s neck. Warm crimson fluid poured. The air smelled like copper pennies. I was reminded of what happened to animals at a slaughterhouse. I cried. They laughed.

The devil spoke to me. He said it was my turn. The familiar intense pain overwhelmed me once again. I couldn’t move. Pain covered me like a blanket as I was beaten and pummeled. Every time I dared to look up my face would be bludgeoned. The world swirled around me as my focus came and left. Voices were garbled as if underwater. A chorus of laughter with my moaning. I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning. I tried to curl into a fetal position but no longer possess the strength to do so. I was limp. I was tossed around like a rag doll. I couldn’t think. I only knew pain. I wished for death. My vision darkened. Even though it was the afternoon, night rapidly fell upon me. Sounds disappeared. I had only silence and darkness. My consciousness left. I knew nothing. I knew oblivion.

I slowly awoke. My body was stiff and ached. It felt like how I imagined rigor mortis would feel. I felt as though I was the living dead. My body refused to move. It took herculean effort to make small movements. The air was perfumed with the odors of blood, piss, and vomit. The ground was cold and sticky. As I opened my swollen eyes I could see Pedro. Cold, lifeless, and swarmed by flies. I failed Pedro. I failed this neighborhood. I failed Reverend Michael.
I forced myself to stand. There is nothing I can do for Pedro. Someone will find him and alert the authorities. I forced my legs to move. It was difficult to move. I felt pain. I was unbalanced. I must have looked like a drunkard from a distance. I wished I was. I must have looked like a monster up close. I deserved it. I chuckled to myself. I managed to shamble my way back home. I fell into my bed and lost consciousness again. Sweet nothingness. Sweet oblivion.
I awoke. I wished I was still asleep. I removed my filthy clothes and took a shower. I needed to cleanse my body. I found the first aid kit and tended to my wounds. I put on fresh clothes. I took some leftover painkillers from my medicine cabinet and headed to the kitchen. I found a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen and guzzled a glass down with my pills. Comforting, burning liquid down my throat. I should have called the police but I was ashamed. I was angry. I was angry at myself for being weak and foolish. I was angry at Pedro for dragging me into this situation. I was angry at the gang for what they did to me. I was angry at the devil for what he did to Pedro.

I look upon myself in the mirror. I couldn’t recognize myself. The man staring back at me was someone else. Someone new. Someone who knew only rage. If I could weep, I would for the loss of somebody who was naive and hopeful. The loss of a good man.

Perhaps, the devil and his minions did me a favor in their own twisted way. A garden with weeds cannot truly flourish. The weeds need to be pulled. The weeds need to be removed. This neighborhood is my garden.
This neighborhood looked toward me for guidance and I failed them. Pedro looked toward me for protection and I failed him. I am the shepherd of this flock. When a wolf threatens a shepherd’s flock, the shepherd does not talk to the wolf but fights the wolf. Action is needed. Not my speeches and sermons. My sweet but empty words. The devil and his gang need to disappear for my neighborhood to be safe and happy.

I walk swiftly to the closet. I open the door and look within. From the top of the closet I grab the binoculars and a shoebox. From the side of the closet I grab my baseball bat. The same bat I used as a child. Old but strong. I go to the kitchen table and open the shoebox. Inside was the revolver and its ammunition. A gift given to me by my mother to be used to protect myself. It was as if she knew I would need it for this day. I load the gun. I thought I would never need it. I was wrong. I stuff the binoculars into one pocket. I put the gun into the other pocket. I grab the bottle of whiskey and take several gulps from the bottle. I grab the bat. I head toward the door.

I need to find that devil. I need to find out who he is. I need to find out where he is. I need him to suffer for his sins. I will teach him to fear the Lord! I will teach him to fear ME! I will punish him and everyone who follows him. The Lord may forgive but I cannot.

As I pass through my door and unto the street I reflect upon my thoughts. A holy crusade is needed. If I must endure hell to protect my people, then so be it. My neighborhood needs an avenger. I shall become its saint of vengeance.


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Awesome work NecroNuke!
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