Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

The stunned Heletian sported a red face with torn and bloody cheeks. He’d been lucky, he still had his sight – many others around him didn’t.

The birds continued to attack, gouging and slashing, and bursting the eyes of any Kavist they could. Agonised howls filled the square as blinded warriors fell to their knees while dropping their swords.

Despite the gore of it, the Kavist charge went on – if slowed. And amidst the advance, Kave’s priests desperately worked to finish their own castings to end the threat from above. Two of them in the command worked especially hard to provide such relief, chanting and praying while rubbing flints together from where they kneeled.

When the ravens ended one attack, those that escaped the swinging swords, fists, and grabbing hands of the Kavists launched themselves back into the air. They rushed to gain height, before turning about to dive back down and seek fresh eye-flesh.

After the savage fury, marked by their harsh screech and deep caw, some began to squawk in surprise. No longer did their call hold anger, now it began to ring out with fright.

Above the square, as they sought fresh victims, some of the birds began to smoulder and leave singed and flaming feathers to fall free. Before long, it wasn’t just a few birds so afflicted, but most of the flock. Their pained sounds became more panicked until they started to burst aflame. The squealing birds then fell as balls of fire to land with sickening thuds amidst a haze of stinking smoke and singed feathers.

Warriors swatted other birds off their comrades before stomping them dead. In moments, Kave’s priests had seen the ravens finished.

With their warriors now free, their mighty charge could resume.

Krienta’s priests braced themselves. They knew that this would be a test, their biggest test, of their character and faith’s truth.

The Kavists closed the gap.

And from that other realm, Kave also watched. He paid heed to his followers here, as he did to them everywhere, but only the most deserving would receive any more gifts. Ultimately, the skills of his followers would decide who won their battles, not endless favours.

In contrast, Krienta was a god worshipped by only one people, of one region, of one world. The Heletians revered him, but no one else. He didn’t just watch, he worked to see his followers win, lest this be the beginning of his undoing.

The Krientan priests stood in front of the Loyalists, the ordinary townsfolk poor in weapons and skills, but rich in faith. The Loyalist force seemed outdone, until, led by Anton, their priests uttered a second curse.

The Inquisitor called out from above, “Krienta, you have seen their souls and sampled their truths, now lend us your power to cripple the heretics amongst these fools!”

His priests spread their arms, as they cried out, “May the carriers of heresy be struck lame!”

And again Krienta listened.

The lead Kavists froze with their swords in mid-swing, while their roaring voices failed. Some stood posed like statues, others just slowed as if burdened by cold-bitten joints strung with weak muscles on age-weary frames.

Many Kavists escaped this latest curse to continue the advance, but soon discovered that their way lay blocked by their crippled brethren. The Kavists’battle cry, its roar halved by sickened throats, fell into confusion.

Some of Kave’s priests sought a divine solution to this latest trial, others raised their swords and called out fresh rally cries.

Emboldened by Krienta’s support, his priests moved on with their plan. Half of them drew knives and stepped forward to begin their bloody tasks, seeing them slash at exposed throats and stab at undefended hearts and bellies. In moments, the white robes of the Church of Baimiopia turned red.

The square spread half full of Krienta’s cursed, the Kavists too sickly to do anything but wait for the advance of his blood-drenched priests. There was hope for them though; their fellows were passing through the maze that their blighted bodies had created, and they came unaffected and free.

Krienta’s priests held knives and daggers, but were poor in the skills of wielding them. Having to face the swords of enraged Kavists was an unbalanced contest, yet they didn’t shy away from it.

Anton’s voice rolled out again, “And with their wilting bodies and sour souls, let their minds be fouled!”

And Krienta’s priests, those who’d stayed in place during the slaughter of the lame, cried, “May the heretics taste of lunacy’s flower!”

Again, desperate to win the day, lest this be the first defeat in a long line that would leave his people, church, and ultimately himself vanquished, Krienta granted the request.

Kave laughed at his divine rival’s desperation. He’d never so lower himself, besides the world held more than one battle this day; wars raged in far off places where the stakes were greater. He wished his followers well, but left them to prove themselves.

The advancing Kavists spilled through the tangle of their blind and lame brethren to cut into the Krientan priests, but again their charge was to be stilled. Some of their number slowed, seeming to be struck down like their fellows, but they hadn’t – they suffered a different fate.

Instead of taking ill and coming to a stop, the newly cursed kept moving, but stumbled and blundered. Some left trails of drool as they wandered, others groaned and mewled, while some simply sat down and trembled. A few dropped their weapons, while others cut at themselves. One poor wretch stabbed at a lame fellow’s back, as if trying to cut a way through.

Baruna and I came into the square near the opera house. We climbed the grand old building’s front steps and surveyed the terrible scene. This was the bleak world promised by Death, a world of blood and war detailed with carnage and decay.

The Kavists continued their advance, passing their cursed and wounded. Some of their fellows managed to shake off their blights, only to reach for their dropped weapons and croak out renewed battle cries.

Left as it was, the Kavists would win through skill and numbers.

But it wasn’t to be left.

To balance the Kavist advance, more and more of the pious Heletians pushed past their priests’ breaking line. They charged with whatever weapons they had to hand, but also armed with faith and determination.

Already the cobbles lay thick with bodies and gore.

Blood and more blood…

Strangely, crowds gathered at the edges of the square to watch the macabre spectacle. Before long, some of their number also joined in.

Bloody chaos, and it only deepened…

Standing there with Baruna, I realised that it was the city that stood forsaken and not me. They just couldn’t see it. Even in the confusion of battle, people kept away from me.

They were crazy!

And above it all Anton watched.

Surprisingly, I could read his feelings. Like mine, they ran strong right now, making them difficult to shield. He’d also had enough of the fighting, but for so many different reasons.

He wanted it finished; not just the battle, but the whole uprising. The disgust on his face for the Kavists and Reformers was plain. He wanted them crushed, it setting his anger to burn and flare.

He cried into the celestial, “Enough!”

And I could feel him gather power as he bound it with his rage. He asked of Krienta a mighty blessing, and his god, so desperate to hold Ossard, gave him what he wanted.

His power deepened, then doubled, and then began to surge as though Krienta himself touched the Inquisitor.

Baruna looked to me with nervous eyes, her calm shaken. “I can feel something, something coming, something woven of shadow, anger, and fear.”

She wasn’t alone, many in the square also began to look about with unease.