Silas McCaran
Witch-Finder
Silas is a dispassionate man obsessed with hunting psykers. Once a lawman on his homeworld of Bianjing, Silas suffered tragedy one day when his birth family was killed by psychic phenomena caused by a loose psyker that survived the incident and fled. From that day Silas hunted the world for witches. This would earn him the moniker, Witch-Finder. It was a nickname of disgust and he often found himself at odds with the people of the planet. He found and killed around twenty-one witches in two years. Unfortunately, the twenty-first was the son of the planetary governor who had been hiding his powers. Silas knew and planted a bullet in his head. He had to flee from the planet and found himself on the planet of Sestra. He continued his work on the planet and was later noticed by an inquisitor's confidant. He refused to work with the inquisitor and as such was subdued and had a bomb collar planted on him to force him to work. Silas begrudgingly continues to work for the inquisitor as he's not doing much different from his work alone. He longs to kill the psyker acolytes around him.
Silas is repressing one key moment of that day. He caused the psychic phenomena as his nascent psykerhood exploded in a terrible inferno that claimed his family. He still does not know.
https://darkheresychainsofmalice.blogspot.com/2018/12/planet-bianjing-wip.html
Silas is repressing one key moment of that day. He caused the psychic phenomena as his nascent psykerhood exploded in a terrible inferno that claimed his family. He still does not know.
Silas is repressing one key moment of that day. He caused the psychic phenomena as his nascent psykerhood exploded in a terrible inferno that claimed his family. He still does not know.
Silas hunts for the man with the golden eyes to this day. The man who stole his family from him. However, at the moment before the flash, what Silas was looking at was a mirror he mistook for a figure. He had glanced at what he looked like when he summoned psykana.
Homeworld: Bianjinghttps://darkheresychainsofmalice.blogspot.com/2018/12/planet-bianjing-wip.html
Silas wakes up in a spartan room with very little furniture
other than a bed and a nightstand. He doesn’t understand why he’s there for
half a second when the memories come back. He remembers a horrible sizzling
pop and the smell of burnt wood. A horrid odor permeates through his mind, the
smell of polishing materials going up in flame. A horrid pungent sour scent
that makes him want to wretch. He remembers seeing them. Pa, ma, Lee, Anna, and
little Joe. Split seconds of horror dawning upon their faces as the man with
the golden eyes snarled a horrible grimace in front of him. Silas knows how he
got inside. The house was open. Everyone knew each other in Ji’s Ford. Except for the man with the golden eyes. He knew his neighbors Cy McEllan the blacksmith
and miss Nan Garvey the sewer. Across the street was Wei Leland the carpenter
nursing his broken toe after dropping his hammer on it. He waved to Silas on
his porch. Besides Mr. Leland was Ms. Zhiang at her general store and Mr.
Hearst the local barman that spent a lot of time at the general store while his
catman Zhao did most of the work at the bar itself. Aside from him was reverend
Bullock and his little temple found riverside. He could list off the other two
hundred inhabitants of the ford if he could, but not the man with the golden
eyes. Silas had just woken up, but he felt tired. That kind of tired that isn’t
sensical. It doesn’t come from exertion or over indulgent wakefulness. Just a
base tired that made him want to sleep forever. He thought about seeing them
fall. He can’t even bring a tear to his eye. He doesn’t know why.
He’d been called a sissy boy by his sis and brother for as
long as he could remember. Old sad tales, hurt animals, little bumps, and all
of those little things would bring out the waterworks. He didn’t feel like
crying. He felt like... nothing. He should be feeling. A rational part of him
said he should. Why wasn’t he feeling? He sits up on the side of the bed he’s
in with the covers off and looks around. He knows where he is by the crest of
the hill outside the window. He’s in old man Ji’s house. A descendant of the
original founder of this Bianjingan settlement. Modest place, honestly. Not
like the manse he grew up in. That’s what having a doctor that has to do the
work of four different professions for a mother will do. Too valuable not to
lavish gelt upon. He sits and he thinks why he can’t cry.
What will the folks think at the sheriff's office? He had
been deputized about two years ago at 23. More of a militia then a police force
is what he worked in. Keep the frontier bandits out along with the Tianghou.
Oh, he had to break up a bar fight now and them but the town was pretty
peaceful. He reaches down for his six-shooter and realizes he left it at the
sheriff's office. Shoot, he says. He’s feeling rather nonplussed and that’s what’s
frustrating. Why isn’t he mad? Why isn’t he distraught? Why does he feel like
he’s been inconvenienced terribly instead of... something? That’s when he feels
the throbbing pain in his head and grunts. He reaches up. Bandages. Must have
been knocked out by something. He can’t remember. He stares and thinks.
Last Tuesday at 10:20 PM
Eventually, there's a knock on the door. "Silas?"
calls put the voice of old man Ji. There's sadness in it, and tiredness too.
Last Tuesday at 10:21 PM
“Yes sir, Mr. Ji?”
Last Tuesday at 10:22 PM
"Mind if I come in?"
“Yes sir, you may.”
Last Tuesday at 10:25 PM
The door creaks open and Ji limps into the room. The old man
looks as old as Silas has seen him. He leans heavily on his cane next to the bed.
"How are you feeling?"
"Do you remember anything? You took a pretty hard hit
to the head."
Last Tuesday at 10:38 PM
“I feel... like... I have no words to truly spend when I
should have a levy of them, Mr. Ji. I remember we was in the parlor when there
was a man. I had an awful terrible migraine so I had lept up to imbibe
something to soothe my aching head. I walked up and there was a man there.
Shrouded in a coat and a hat and kerchief around his neck. I can’t remember his
face. Those eyes, though, Mr. Ji. Like sunset aflame across that hill out
there. Golden. Terrible. He held out a hand and all I remember was a flame
burst from him. Weren’t no canister nor tool in his hand. Then... here.”
“I saw them die.”
Last Tuesday at 10:43 PM
He takes his hat from his head and holds it over his heart.
"I'm so, so sorry, son. Everyone loved your family. Do you remember
anything else about this stranger? I'll tell the sherrif to put as big a bounty
on this monster's head as we can manage."
Last Tuesday at 10:45 PM
He puts his head in his hands and says, “I can’t. For the
life of me I can’t.” He looks up and asks, “do you know what that was?”
Last Tuesday at 10:47 PM
He hesitates, then sighs as he puts his hat back on his
head. He looks around, but seeing that there's no chairs in the guest room,
sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone about this
kind of thing, but you deserve to know. Just don't tell anyone, you hear?"
Last Tuesday at 10:48 PM
“I swear to it, Mr. Ji. Cross my heart, sir.”
Last Tuesday at 10:53 PM
He sighs again and runs the back of his neck. "Well,
it's part of my duties to the town to check young kids for ... strangeness.
Most of the time it's nothing, like it was with you, actually, and Mcellen and
Leland, but once in a while it's different. Those people are called Pyskers,
and they can do things. Strange things, terrible things, things we aren't
prepared to handle. So we send those Psykers off to the space port when the
tithe comes around, and they get shipped off to those as can handle that kind of
unnatural horror."
Last Tuesday at 10:53 PM
“...A ‘Psyker’.”
He rolls that word around in his head.
“Mr. Ji, y’all got a spade around?”
Last Tuesday at 10:58 PM
He nods. "Yes. We've been talking about what to do with
what's lef-" he winces and corrects himself. "Your family's bodies.
Anyone you want will help."
Last Tuesday at 11:02 PM
“I got to do this on my own. Thank you kindly, sir.” He says
dispassionately as he stands up. He goes and finds the spade. Then he walks to
the manse. He’s in the parlor again. Except it’s open to the world now. He
stands exactly where he was when it happened. He looks at where the man was.
The ash has covered any footsteps by now. He also looks and remembers the
wooden table behind the man. What was on it? That’s a strange question to ask,
he thinks. Don’t mean nothing now. But there was something standing upon it...
he bats that troublesome thought away. He begins to dig four graves a half mile
away from town. They had their picts taken on a hill together there. He goes
all day and all night.
Last Tuesday at 11:10 PM
Mr. Hearst comes by with some food in the evening and stands
awkwardly for a few minutes before leaving.
Last Tuesday at 11:11 PM
He doesn’t eat and keeps going at it.
He thinks over the time back in the parlor again and again.
He has a lot of time to think. He remembers something. The man had outstretched
his hand and... he had smiled. He remembers a single word, “boom.” (What he saw
was him stretching his hand out to the mirror in horror and trying to shout
‘get out the room!’ with a terrified grimace.)
His hand has splinters on it from the constant friction with
the shovel.
Last Tuesday at 11:18 PM
The hard earth yields only slowly, but it does yield. Inch
by bloody inch, four deep holes take ship. Eventually, the undertaker drives up
in a horse drawn carriage.
Last Tuesday at 11:20 PM
He leans on the shovel with his mouth agape and he breathes.
He is a sweaty dirty mess and he aches. He needs sleep. He needs a bath. He
needs a change of clothes. He looks up at the undertaker.
Last Tuesday at 11:23 PM
Arthur McEilas nods respectfully at him. He's wearing the
same black, worn suit he always does. He examines the holes and quietly says
"These are fine graves. I'm sure your family will sleep easy, here."
Last Tuesday at 11:24 PM
“Thank you, Mr. McEilas. That’s mighty nice of you to say.”
Last Tuesday at 11:27 PM
He nods again in acknowledgment and asks "I have
gravestones prepared if you like, or I can provide you with materials to make
them if you prefer."
Last Tuesday at 11:27 PM
“I don’t mind you taking over for those. I’m plum tired.”
Last Tuesday at 11:30 PM
He nods again. "Do you want to lower the bodies with
me, or should I rig one of the horses?" He pauses and then adds
"There's no shame if you don't. It's a hard task."
Last Tuesday at 11:30 PM
“I can lower them.”
“With you, I mean,” he amends.
Last Tuesday at 11:34 PM
He nods and goes around to the back of the wagon, where the
coffins lie. He puts his hands on the largest and asks "Do you have a
preference to order?"
Last Tuesday at 11:35 PM
“Ma and pa should be next to each other. Maybe with Lee on
Ma’s left and Anna on Pa’s right. Joe to the left of Lee.”
“Let’s do them left to right by Pa, Ma, Anna, Lee, and Joe.
Because... together and age, you know?”
Last Tuesday at 11:47 PM
"I do." He helps Silas take out the coffins one by
one and lay them in their graves. They seem oddly light.
Last Tuesday at 11:51 PM
He doesn’t want to think about it. He stands above them. He
tries to think of something to say for two minutes straight in horribly
uncomfortable silence. Then he just starts to fill the holes with dirt.
Last Tuesday at 11:56 PM
Arthur asks "Do you want me to say a few words?"
Last Tuesday at 11:57 PM
“...yeah, I think that would be appropriate.” He stops.
January 1, 2020
Yesterday at 12:01 AM
He gives a short speech. It's not too personal, mostly
entreating the God-Emperor to keep them safe at his side and let them rest
peacefully, assurances they will be dearly missed, and the like. Some might
find it to be a comfort, however small.
Yesterday at 12:02 AM
Silas listens to it and does feel a small bit of comfort to
it.
Yesterday at 12:05 AM
Arthur finishes, and closes the prayer book he read
from. "You can organize a proper funeral with Bullock, if you wish. My
condolences, Mr. Silas."
Yesterday at 12:06 AM
“Thank you, Mr. McEilas.” He says. He continues to fill in
the holes.
He finishes. Then kneels down.
His eyes are watering, then he tears up, then he starts
crying into the ground while he kneels. His racking sobs fill the air.
Yesterday at 12:09 AM
The undertaker departs. There is silence, aside from his
cries.
Yesterday at 12:11 AM
He still doesn’t understand why this happened and as he
looks up with his tear-strewn face to the sky, his hazel eyes shine in the
sunlight. He kneels there and even after his crying has slowed to choking
coughs he just kneels there. Looking up to the sky.
Yesterday at 12:13 AM
It is clear and blue. A beautiful day.
Yesterday at 12:16 AM
He eventually stands. He looks over the graves. Then he
walks off. He goes to the sheriffs' office. Throws down his badge. Takes his gun.
Takes his horse from the stable that still stood. He rides off.
(This story is continued in the post Witch-Finder's Origins: https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7622948005789456921#editor/target=post;postID=6974750805572487229;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=9;src=postname
(This story is continued in the post Witch-Finder's Origins: https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=7622948005789456921#editor/target=post;postID=6974750805572487229;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=9;src=postname
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