“Oh, Helios; King of gods, master of the sun and patron of the true elves, hear your humble servants’ prayer!”
The high priest crawled in the dust of the offerings made in the honor of their god as he cried out in prayer before the leering golden statue of Helios. The grand temple was filled with desperate prayers of hundreds who had gathered there as the siege of the temple-town had proceeded.
“Blasphemers stand at our gates, seeking to defile this sacred ground, your holy temple! Your chosen empire is crumbling! We beg you, our lord, save us from this time of troubles!”
The silence that followed the priests’ calls was only interrupted by the occasional crash of the rebels’ siege machines pounding the town walls, and the far off shouting of the soldiers holding the line.
A month ago, the legion had fallen; The few that had escaped its’ destruction had sought shelter in the nearby towns still loyal to the empire.
With the heir of the imperial crown dead, the nation was in turmoil. Noble lords battled one another for supremacy even as the Human dogs gnawed away at their realm.
Now, even the holy town of Solin, erected in the honor of the god of gods, the father of Elves; The one true god of the sun, Helios; felt the wrath of the heretical vermin.
And now, Helios was silent.
“Bring in the next sacrifice!”
The silence broken, the wailing prayers of the masses resumed as a young human male was brought forwards in chains.
“Oh, Helios; Glorious and Radiant, please accept this, your humble servant’s gift.”
The man was cast down on the floor in front of the priest, and cried out as he hit the stone floor. In a swift movement, the priest slit his throat, and with a swift spell enveloped him in flames.
The priest felt a shiver running through his body as the smell of burning skin, hair and fat hit his nostrils, and far away a monstrous roar came echoing off the hillsides.
He knew that his god has heard his prayer.
“The enemy has breached the gates!”
His moment of reverie shattered as the alarm bells rung out over the town. The enemy had come.
“We’re through!” The exclamation came just as a loud crack rung through the air, and the mighty gate split in twain, the wooden bar keeping it shut cracked and broken.
“Anders, we’ll take it from here.”
He felt a hand squeezing his shoulder gently, as his focus returned to his body. He let loose a silent command to the undead that had manned the battering ram, and the metal-capped wooden log fell to the ground with a thud.
Looking behind himself, he saw Uther scanning the horizon, and Freidrich seemed cheery as he released the necromancer’s shoulder.
“Uther! It’s time.”
The holy warrior took a deep breath, and looked back to his companions. “Very well. Freidrich, order everyone into formations.”
Uther’s second nods, and mounts his horse with a practiced motion, before taking off and organizing the charge.
Uther still looked troubled, and Anders momentarily cursed his own inability to speak, and the other man’s illiteracy; as he wanted to say something, anything, to set the man at ease.
But to be honest, he was unsettled himself. He had no idea what had been the source of the monstrous roar, and he had no inclination to find out.
Uther looked at him for a moment.
“Well then..”
He walks over to his own mount, and slides up on the back of the powerful horse.
“Thank you for your aid.” He offers Anders a grateful nod, and Anders returns it, watching the reflective shape of the armor-clad human ride off towards battle.
As he rode through the formations of human and elven warriors at his command, Uther felt uneasy.
His heart seemed like it was caught in his throat, and his spine felt awash with tendrils of ice, and beads of sweat were forming on his brow.
Yet it was not the coming battle that had him so thoroughly rattled; no, it was that unearthly cry of malevolence that had rung out over the hills just minutes earlier that had let loose some primal fear, that like a poison now ran through his veins.
But he was fully aware that if he showed his fright, it would shatter the morale of his soldiers; the men and women that put their faith in him, and in his goddess.
He cleared his throat, and he knew he had the eyes and ears of his solders, one and all.
“Soldiers of Ashenvale.” His voice was steady. Good. He felt relieved that no unsteadiness had crept into his voice. He kept his face hard, and calm as he looked over the roughly two-thousand strong battle-group he was leading. There were many that had stood with him since the very beginning of the uprising, but yet many more that had joined much later.
“Once more we stand at the gates of our enemies, and once more we must bring violence and bloodshed. But within these walls hide slavers and murderers, upon whose hands the blood of countless innocents lay. We will bring justice to those who have perpetrated crimes against our peoples, and freedom to those who are kept in the yoke of slavery by these criminals.
“Follow me to the altars of these temples of misery! Follow me, and help me bring our brothers and sisters home!”
As he stopped his speech, Uther heard cheers ring out from the assembled warriors, and they raised their weapons in tribute.
“Forwards!”
With his final command, he seemed to have dispelled the last of the worry from his soldiers’ minds, and as one the former slaves, now armed and armored to the teeth, marched on the temple city before them, and Uther rode at the front.
But still, his gaze was oft drawn away towards the horizon; scanning for the horror he had heard from far, far away.
As his mount passed the chokepoint of the gates, the elven defenders rose up against Uther with spears;
One slid harmlessly off his platemail, but another caught his mount in the flank.
The mighty beast rose up on his hind legs, thrashing with iron-shod hooves, knocking both the assailants to the ground.
But with the sudden motion, Uther himself lost his seating, and fell backwards onto the ground, with his heavy steel armor clattering onto the cobbled streets with thundering force.
For a moment, Uther’s vision blurred, his ears rang and he tasted copper in his mouth; but as a dark shape stood above him, he dispatched his injuries with a thought, sending waves of his goddess’ energies coursing to his wounds.
The elven soldier, dressed in the garb of a temple guard, made a motion to thrust his sharp sword at Uthers’ now exposed neck.
Reacting as much on instinct as anything else, Uther landed a crushing kick at the guards’ kneecap, and he felt it shatter beneath the metal of his sabaton.
The guard fell onto his good knee, and Uther swung at his head with the wicked pike on the back end of his new warhammer.
The small, nimble; yet incredibly deadly weapon was a significant upgrade from the brutish smiths’ hammer he had wielded in the past, and it tore straight through his opponent’s’ helmet like fired from an crossbow.
The guard didn’t have time to scream before he crumpled to the ground; but as he fell the first of Uther’s soldiers’ had followed him through the breech, and Uther found many helping hands returning to his feet.
His mount, bleeding profusely from the spear still stuck to its’ side, was still bucking and kicking at anything that dared draw too close; and Uther knew that while it was not likely to bleed to death just yet, he also didn’t have either time or opportunity to mend its’ wounds as of yet.
“Press on! Victory is at hand!”
“Yes sir!” rang out from many of the warriors surrounding him; and indeed, victory was at hand. Around him, the guards still standing scattered or surrendered. Now, all that was left was to clean up the remaining hostiles.
The doors to the temple burst open, and the gasps and cries of terror emanating from those gathered within rang out through the otherwise silent place.
In the doorway stood a shape that looked aflame in the daylight seeping in from behind him, and in his hand rested a wicked hammer, already dripping with the blood of the temple’s guardians. The crowds cowered in the relative darkness of the sanctum, the braziers having been put out to, hopefully, buy the people time before their enemies came upon them.
The human, clad from head to toe in glittering steel, strode into the main chambers with an unquestionable authority in his step.
He stopped before the priest, who was standing tall in front of the holiest of statues of the one true god among gods.
For a moment, there was silence as the two mens’ gazes met, then the human looked around, spying the huddled worshippers within.
Taking this brief second of distraction in hand, the priest’s hand lashed forth, whipping with it purifying magical flame.
The crowd gasped as the flame licked the plate of the human’s armor fruitlessly; but still the human staggered back, surprised by the sudden aggression from the holy man.
“Die, heretic scum!” the priest shouted, before his throat was impacted by a gauntleted fist, turning any further words into wheezing gasps for breath.
Tendrils of light licked where the flame had come into contact with the human’s plate, and the human sighed in relief; before grasping the priest by the collar, and hoisting him into the air.
“You really should pick your fights more carefully, priest.” the human said in a surprisingly gentle tone, before gently tossing the elf backwards, with the old elf landing arse first in the dust on the ground.
“Everybody, listen up! Stay where you are, and no harm will come to you! We aren’t savages, and we have no wish to cause undue bloodshe-”
The man’s voice trickled off as he saw something on the ground, amidst the dust before the altar.
Taking a quick step forwards, he whisked a yellow-beige skull from the ground, and held it in his hand.
There was a long moment of silence, but then in a sudden flash of movement the human’s weapon lashed forth, and with a sickening wet tearing sound, the priest’s head was torn loose, and flew across the temple hall; before rolling to a stop among the screaming witnesses.
And then, as if answering a cue, a monstrous roar rang through the building, accompanied by panicked screams from outside.