Rowan's Reckoning

III - Ellison

Ellison and his raiders sat hunkered down in their makeshift camp nestled within the dense woods of Cumberland Forest. It was a place of refuge from prying eyes. Capt. Aubuchon and his men could relax and gather their strength before embarking on their next mission. The crackling of the campfire provided a comforting warmth as Ellison pored over maps, strategizing their next move.  Suddenly, the silence of the camp was broken by the sound of hooves approaching. Ellison's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. The courier Lindsey had sent bearing Maxwell's message, trotted up to the edge of the camp. Ellison rose from his seat, his heart pounding with slight anxiety as to why this rider was here.  As the courier rode into the camp, Ellison's men instinctively formed a protective circle around their leader as the rider dismounted. He handed the sealed message from Maxwell to Ellison, who wasted no time breaking it open and reading the words scrawled upon the paper.  Ellison's gaze darkened with rage as he absorbed the contents of the message. Rowan and his lackeys would pay for what they have done.  Carver, Haversham, and their involvement in the atrocities committed under Rowan's behest would know the true meaning of pain. It was a revelation that fueled Ellison's determination to bring his wrath down onto the men responsible for his dear nephew's suffering.
"Mount up boys!" Ellison cried as he rallied his men, the fire of vengeance burning in his eyes. The camp quickly buzzed with activity as the Raiders prepared to ride out. Supplies were gathered, weapons checked, and horses saddled. Ellison shared the details of Maxwell's message with his trusted lieutenants, outlining their plan to first head towards St. Denis.  As they mounted their horses and prepared to leave the camp.
Ellison's voice rang out, commanding and resolute.
"We ride for St. Denis, men. We will bring an end to this cruelty that has befallen my dear nephew." 
The thunder of the hooves as the Raiders rode out, cut through the stillness of the forest. The journey towards St. Denis was filled with anticipation, each rider consumed by their own thoughts of what was to come. The townsfolk would witness the wrath of Devil Ran, and they would be awed and horrified by the sight of these heralds of doom.  After a few days' ride they approached the outskirts of St. Denis, the tension in the air grew so thick you could cut it. The townsfolk, caught off guard by the sudden arrival of Devil Ran and his riders. They watched in awe and horror as Ellison rode into the city, his horde following closely behind. The clatter of hooves echoed through the streets, causing people to peer out from behind half-closed shutters and hushed whispers to fill the air.  Ellison's gaze swept over the passing townsfolk as they stood frozen in place, his eyes burning with all the rage that had been building in him since leaving the camp. This was just the beginning of his mission, and the people of St. Denis would bear witness. But first, they needed to find and capture Rowan's lap dogs.  The Raiders faithfully followed their leader, trotting through the streets, their presence striking fear into the hearts of those who saw them, leaving them pondering why they were in the city. The streets fell silent as people hurriedly retreated into their homes, their whispers of concern filling the air.  Ellison's eyes scanned the darkened streets, his gaze cold and unyielding. He knew that they were somewhere in this city, and how they aided their cruel master in his reign of terror they wreaked on his poor nephew. He would not allow them to continue their wicked ways.  As they rode through the deserted streets, the Raiders fanned out, searching for any signs of the men they sought. The tension was thick in the air, the silence only broken by the distant sound of hooves on cobblestone.  Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, stumbling and clearly in a state of panic. It was Haversham, his face pale and beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He had heard of Ellison's arrival and was desperate to escape his wrath.  In the blink of an eye the Raiders quickly surrounded Haversham, their horses forming a barrier, trapping him within their midst.  Then without a word, the riders parted like the Red Sea, revealing their leader astride a charred black Missouri Fox Trotter. The horse snorted as it walked forward through the thick air of the city, sending a cloud of fine mist from out its nostrils, its eyes glowing a bright amber looking as if the mount was summoned from the deepest depths of hell itself. Ellison looked down at Haversham, gently tapping his Navy Colt against the horn of his saddle. He took a slow drag of his pipe from between his teeth and exhaled the smoke from his nose creating a haze around his face.  His piercing blue eyes narrowed as he approached the trembling man.
"You know who I am?" Ellison questioned calmly, Haversham slowly nodded his head,a look of pure terror was chiseled on his face. "Then you know you will answer for what you've done." He continued, "Once we find your little friend that's scurrying about this cesspool like the rodent he is."
Haversham's voice quivered as he choked out his words "Captain Aubuchon, please. I swear, I only did as I was told.  Please I beg, mercy... show me mercy!"  As he fell to his knees, he began sobbing uncontrollably into his hands.
Ellison's anger surged through him, his grip on his reins tightening. "Did you show mercy to my nephew?" He spoke out to him in a low cold tone.
Haversham's eyes darted around, searching for an escape. "Please, Captain, spare me. I can help you. I can, I swear, please just let me go."  Ellison looked on at Haversham pleading for his life, and couldn't help but ponder if Waylon had pleaded with them in a similar manner, only to have it fall upon deaf ears in the end.  His rage surged, he looked to one of his men and gave a nod.  Without hesitation a lasso was thrown around Havershams throat, and he was violently dragged to the ground.  Haversham choked and gasped for breath as the rope constricted around his airway.  Just then the other group of Raiders that split off to find Carver came trotting down the street.  They had Carver in tow dragging him behind the group in the same manner as Haversham.  The lieutenant leading the group rode up to their Captain and gave a nod confirming that they had successfully completed their mission.  Ellison gave a nod back and waved his hand around in the hair to signal it was time to move out.  As they all conferred they left at a parade pace, dragging Haversham and Carver behind them.  The citizens who walked the streets looked on in horror at what they were witnessing, but none dared to speak up in protest...
Ellison and his Raiders then embarked on their journey from St. Denis to Rhodes, dragging Haversham and Carver behind them every step of the way. The two men, their faces bruised and bloodied, endured the physical and mental torment inflicted upon them by the relentless riders.  The towns they passed through along the way looked on in astonishment and fear as the Raiders paraded their captives through the streets. The sight of Haversham and Carver, bound by ropes around their necks, served as a chilling warning to all who witnessed it.  As they made their way to Rhodes, the news of Ellison's arrival in the state had spread like wildfire. The townsfolk whispered in hushed tones, recounting tales of the infamous "Devil Ran" Aubuchon and his merciless Raiders. The anticipation of their arrival hung heavy in the air, with the townspeople unsure of what fate awaited them.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Capt. Aubuchon and his Raiders reached the outskirts of Rhodes.  As they rode through the silent street, the tension grew. The townsfolk peeked through their windows, watching in terror as the Raiders approached with their captives in tow. Haversham and Carver, their bodies battered and their spirits broken, stumbled along, their every movement a testament to the suffering they had endured.  As Ellison and his Raiders continued their march up the main street of Rhodes, and a sense of fear filled the air. The townsfolk watched in horror as the two men struggled and gasped for breath, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.  The procession came to a halt in the center of town, drawing the attention of the few brave souls who dared to venture out. Ellison dismounted his horse, his eyes scanning the faces of the onlookers, his presence commanding respect and fear.  He turned to face the town Marshal's office, his gaze cold as he locked eyes with the lawmen. Chance Hart the town Marshal and his deputies, aware of the impending confrontation, stood at the ready, their stone faces a mere mask for the anxiety and apprehension they were all feeling.  The Marshal, visibly shaken by the grisly scene before them, stepped forward hesitantly.
"Chance, I trust you have a good reason for allowing this injustice to go on unchecked," Ellison spoke, his voice laced with anger and contempt.
The Marshal, his voice trembling, tried to explain himself. "Captain Aubuchon, please understand that we have been trying to gather evidence against Rowan and his two boys. But we feared for our lives and the lives of our families if we acted too hastily on the matter."
Ellison's gaze pierced through the Marshal's feeble excuses.
"Fear is not an excuse for turning a blind eye to the suffering of the innocent. My nephew was tortured by that... that thing who calls himself a man, under your watch!" Ellison screamed, "Something your predecessor LaSalle would've never let fall to the wayside." Ellison's voice calmed. "Your inaction makes you just as guilty as Rowan."
Chance's face turned pale, coming to the realization that his time on this Earth was soon coming to a cease. "Please, Captain, spare me. I can help you bring Rowan to justice. I swear it."  His voice filled with desperation. But Ellison's heart had hardened, consumed by vengeance. He turned away from the pleading Marshal and waved his hand, signaling to his men.  His raiders stepped forward, their rifles and shotguns at the ready. Without hesitation, they opened fire, the shots rang out, and as the echoes of gunfire faded, the lifeless bodies of the Marshal and his Deputies riddled the office porch like a grotesque display of decoration. The townsfolk erupted in gasps and cries, horrified by the brutality they had just witnessed. Ellison mounted his horse once again, his eyes burning with a relentless fire. He looked out at the shaken crowd and spoke with a voice that carried a chilling finality.
"This is the price of your silence, your complacency. Rowan will soon answer for what he's done," Ellison paused and slowly turned his gaze down to Carver and Haversham, "and so will all who have aided him."  He spoke, his voice low, his words cold as ice. Exhausted and broken, the two men's faces were painted with that of pure terror at what was yet to come as they looked into Ellison's eyes. Knowing that their suffering has not truly yet begun. He raised his hand, signaling his men to prepare for the next leg of their journey. The Raiders mounted their horses, the ropes still tethering Haversham and Carver to their saddles. The procession resumed, the townsfolk looking on in a mix of fear, shock, and mourning.  Ellison and his Raiders rode off towards Eastwood Estate, leaving behind a town forever changed by the brutal display of their power.  As they made their way towards their destination, Ellison's mind was consumed by thoughts of Waylon, who had suffered under Rowan's tyranny. His heart burned with a fire he had not felt since fighting in the war.  But deep down he felt a great sense of guilt knowing that he himself is the one who left his dear nephew in Rowan's care to begin with.  As the moon cast an eerie glow over the silent and somber Eastwood estate, Ellison and his Raiders approached the house with otherworldly stealth. They moved like shadows, their presence concealed by the cover of darkness. Their eyes were fixed on the bedroom window, where Rowan lay peacefully unaware of the impending doom that awaited him.  With calculated precision, the Raiders infiltrated the estate, avoiding any creaking floorboards or squeaking doors. They made their way to Rowan's bedroom, their steps muffled from their careful and practiced movement. As they reached the door, Ellison raised a hand, signaling his men to halt. He pushed the door open slowly, revealing Rowan's slumbering figure. The man who had caused so much pain and suffering to his beloved nephew now lay defenseless, his fate hanging in his hands. Ellison's eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and satisfaction. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment where Rowan's cruelty would be served back to him tenfold.  With a silent nod, Ellison motioned for two of his Raiders to enter the room. They moved swiftly, grabbing Rowan by the arms and forcefully dragging him out of bed. Rowan's eyes shot open, a look of confusion and fear on his face as he was abruptly torn from his dreams. Carver and Haversham, their bodies battered and bruised from the relentless journey, watched as Rowan was dragged outside.  The night air chilled his sweat-soaked body. The moonlight bathed the scene in an ethereal glow, casting long, haunting shadows on the ground. The tension in the air was as thick as the nearby swamplands, as if even nature itself held its breath, awaiting the impending judgment. The three men knew what was about to unfold, and the thought sent shivers down their spines. This was the moment of reckoning they had been waiting for, the moment where they would face the consequences of their actions, Ellison intended to make them all pay for their sins.  In the dim moonlight, Carver and Haversham stood before Rowan, their faces pale with dread.  Ellison's voice cut through the night, filled with a cold not even the mountains of Ambarino knew.
"Rowan, you thought you could get away with what you've done without facing my cruelty?  You will have the front-row seat to bear witness. But before I deal with you, your rat friends here will face their own punishment, and all your sins will be laid bare for all to see."  With a nod, Ellison motioned for his Raiders to bring forth a wooden stake and rope. The Raiders worked quickly, securing Rowan tightly to the stake, his arms outstretched in a cruel imitation of the cross. The fear in Rowan's eyes was now matched by the fear etched on the faces of his comrades.  Ellison made another gesture, and his raiders swiftly bound Carver and Haversham to nearby trees. The ropes tightened around their wrists and ankles, rendering them immobile. Fear coursed through their veins, Carver and Haversham exchanged fearful glances, knowing that their fates were sealed. They had played a part in the torture and mutilation of his nephew. Their bodies trembled as they awaited their punishment.  Ellison approached Carver first, his eyes filled with a rage so fierce that not even the deepest ocean could quench the fire. 
Carver's voice quivered as he tried to form words. "Captain, please... I... I didn't mean for things to go this far. I was just following orders..."
Ellison's gaze hardened, his voice laced with venom. "Following orders? That is no excuse for the pain and suffering you have caused to that boy in there. Anything and everything I've ever asked of my men, they did because they wanted to do it..." With a swift motion, Ellison unsheathed his knife, its gleaming blade reflecting in the moonlight. Carver's eyes widened in terror as Ellison moved towards him with malicious intent. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was followed by a gut-wrenching scream, as Ellison brought the blade down upon Carver's forehead.  Haversham watched in horror as his accomplice writhed in pain, blood staining the ground beneath him. He knew that his own punishment would soon follow. His trembling intensified as Carver's pleas became incomprehensible, his screams muffled as Ellison took his trophy from Carver's body. The cries of pain filled the air as Ellison took Carver's scalp and handed it off to one of his men.
"Get a fire going," Ellison ordered, his voice cruel and unforgiving. "Start heating up a skillet as hot as it can without losing integrity." His men moved with purpose, gathering sticks and logs, along with hay from the stables, to fuel the flames. The fire erupted, and a skillet was placed on top, heating up to a searing temperature.  Turning back to Carver, Ellison freed his right hand, holding it gently.
"These are the hands that have brought my Waylon so much pain, so much anguish." Ellison spoke, his grip tightening as he grabbed hold of Carver's index finger. Slowly, he began to bend it backwards, each tendon and joint snapping with a sickening sound. Carver's screams pierced the night as he writhed in agony. The raiders watched on, their faces cold and emotionless, witnessing their leader's sadistic display.

As the grotesque contortion continued, the skillet reached its desired heat. Ellison paused and ordered one of his men to have the fiery tool ready for when he commanded. Turning back to Carver, his eyes filled with a twisted satisfaction, Ellison resumed his torment.
"Now then.." he paused, "back to it." Ellison grabbed hold of Carver's mangled hand and, with his blade, began to carve and chop through the wrist. Time seemed to stretch on as Ellison finally freed the hand from the arm.  He motioned to the man by the fire, his eyes cold and empty.
"Jonah, cauterize the flesh," he commanded, his voice steady. "We don't want him expiring on us just yet." Carefully, Jonah picked up the red-hot tool from the fire and approached Carver's mangled wrist. With precision, he pressed the searing metal against the heavily bleeding nub, causing an intense sizzle and the smell of burning flesh to fill the air. In that moment, Carver let out no screams as the unbearable pain sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.  Ellison grabbed Carver's face, his grip firm and unforgiving. He forced one of Carver's eyes open, searching for any sign of life. He saw the dim flicker of a dying ember, indicating that Carver still clung to a thread of existence. Ellison released his hold, allowing Carver's head to slump back.
"Well, he didn't last very long, did he?" Ellison's gaze shifted to Haversham, who was trembling so violently that the tree he was tied to shook. Taking a step toward Haversham, Ellison heard the desperate pleas for mercy.
"Please!" Haversham's voice cracked with desperation, his pleas filled with a longing for mercy. "Captain Aubuchon mercy! I'm sorry, I'm sorry for what I've done! If you let me go, I promise you'll never see or hear from me again." His words poured out in a torrent of desperation, a last-ditch effort to elicit even a sliver of sympathy. Ellison's eyes narrowed as he regarded the sorry excuse for a human being, his mind weighing the options before him.
"You know, back in the beginning of the war.  We had all kinds of Yankees surrender to me and my Ghosts."  He began, his voice laced with a mix of reminiscence and bitterness. "In those early days, we showed them mercy. We fed them, cared for them, and provided aid to their injured. We even gave them fires and blankets to help them stay warm in the cold nights." Ellison's gaze shifted from Haversham to his group of raiders, their eyes locked with his, sharing in the memories of a time long gone.
"We were true sons of the South back then," Ellison continued, his voice tinged with regret and a hint of anger. "We wanted to show our enemies that we were not the savage, mindless beasts the bluebelly newsletters made us out to be. Hoping to change their opinions of us, to make them see our humanity." Ellison's eyes scanned his men, their expressions ranging from nostalgia to hardened resolve. He then walked over and knelt by the fire, his knife still in hand. Positioning himself in front of Haversham, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames that illuminated his face.
"But one night..." Ellison's voice trailed off, a darkness creeping into his eyes. The flames reflected in his gaze, casting an eerie glow upon his features. "After a long hard fight in Fayetteville, me and my men had taken about 15 Yankee prisoners. We showed them mercy, and that night..." he briefly paused.  "They repaid our kindness with betrayal. They slit the throats of their guards, one of whom was a boy no older than 15. And to further rub salt into the wound, they set our tents ablaze while we slept." Ellison's eyes lifted from the fire, meeting Haversham's terrified gaze. Haversham could sense the emergence of the devil within Captain Aubuchon, a darkness he had only heard stories about.  "That night, we hunted those men down like the vermin they were..." Ellison's voice grew colder, his grip tightening on the knife in his hand. "The things we did to them, the atrocities we committed to their mortal flesh... forever cemented my place in hell." Ellison stood, his gaze fixed upon Haversham, his eyes burning with the intensity of hellfire. With deliberate steps, he closed the distance between them, the red-hot blade of his knife glinting in the firelight. Haversham's scream pierced the night, a sound that would awaken even the dead, as Devil Ran unleashed his wrath.