Yspaddaden - Chapter 24

 Finngal, Nazhuu.

With a giant roar that pierced the ears of all who watched and echoed off the stone walls that surrounded the arena, Ko'Othuraka bellowed himself into a rage and threw himself at his opponent. Rasimon screamed his own war cry in answer and ran the several feet that separated the two foes, balling his hands into large fists. As they neared, the young ones around them held their breath in anticipation. The old ones looked on with envy. And the women's eyes held attraction.

Othurk and Rasimon collided with a resounding crash that could be heard even over the high walls that surrounded the crowd. Their hands beat against each others chests and stomachs, their horns clashed and cracked, sending sounds reverberating across the arena. Othurk gained the upper hand quickly, being slightly younger than Rasimon and more skilled. He grabbed the older minotaurs left horn and wrenched his head to the side, an action that would have severed a lesser beings neck instantly. Rasimon, however, rolled with the jerk and pulled Othurk down to the ground on top of him. Once lying in the dirt, Othurk stamped down with his knee, connecting with Rasimons belly. The crowd heard the connection and gave a roar in agreement. There were at least a hundred gathered, to watch the display that Othurk had called them to. Most were soldiers and fighters, men and women who Othurk had told only this morning of the army that marched their way. Each one of them had responded with joy and hunger for war. The country of Finngal had not seen a war or even a small skirmish for quite some time and most of them were becoming very restless. Othurk knew his people, but more importantly, he knew minotaurs and how they behaved. They could not simply sit around for too much longer without seeing some kind of battle, without expressing their stress in some way. Othurk himself had been cautious to bring war to the humans or the elves. Their alliances with the Dragons of late had grown quite strong, and while the Kind still adamantly denied any rumours of prejudice, every minotaur over the age of three knew the truth. No Dragon had ever Picked a minotaur, there were no nesting sites in all the country of Finngal. The Dragons did not even fly overhead. If they needed to get from Ynwfn to Epona, they would more likely take a long route, over the Southern Sea. They said it was because they did not want to incite anger and dissension among the more zealous of the Hull, the ones who really were prejudiced. But Othurk did not believe them. The Dragons and their Riders steered clear of the Hull. They did not like them. And the minotaurs were happy with that.

The crowd erupted again when Rasimon took Othurk by the body and lifted him up over his head, roaring in triumph. From this position, Rasimon could easily break Othurk's back against his knee in one fell swoop. It was a move that they taught their young very early on. But Othurk simply reached down and grasped the ring that sat in the large bulls nose. Rasimons eyes went red with fury as soon as he knew what was about to happen, but he hadn't the time to do anything about it. Othurk pulled upward, the iron ring jerking painfully against the soft inner part of his nostrils. His head jerked straight backward and Rasimon howled in pain and anger as he let go of Othurk and brought his hands to Othurk's, trying to pry them from the ring. But Othurk did not let go, even as he fell toward the sand. He landed on his two hooves and one hand, still gripping the ring in the other hand. Rasimon was on his hands and knees now, bending toward the king. He grunted and snorted in derision. Othurk slowly stood, raising the older minotaurs head upward to look at him. He stared into Rasimon's eyes, willing him to calm down and accept his defeat. When Rasimon did not, gripping the sand roughly, Othurk nodded, patted him on the cheek, and let go of the ring. He then turned to the crowd and spoke.

"This is what a soldier of the Hull is to be! Never backing down, never accepting defeat, fighting until he draws his last breath! Only a weak man would die in his bed, calmly, of a disease. A man of the Hull dies on the battlefield, cursing and praising the soul who murders him!" The crowd cheered. Othurk felt the movement behind him and turned, his fist outstretched, to connect solidly with the chest of Rasimon, who had risen from his position and attacked the king once more. The crowd booed Rasimon, but Othurk calmed them down with a raised hand. He turned back to Rasimon and offered a hand to his fallen foe. Rasimon declined and leapt to his feet, ready to continue the brawl. Othurk shook his head, a final command to back off and rejoin the crowd. Rasimon hated him in that moment, but obeyed his king. Othurk stared at the minotaurs gathered before him, men and women alike.

"Ynwfn marches against us even as we speak. Their king, AethelBald the Coward, does not ride with them. Instead he sends a woman in his stead!" The people around him booed again, and he could even hear a few of them scratching at their horns to show their true hatred of the man. "I do not doubt the courage and fortitude of any woman here, you are no less than any man. But when one sends another to fight for him, instead of strapping on armour and coming to meet his demise with courage, that is true cowardice, and I will not abide by it!" The crowd grew even more restless as he spoke. It was perhaps one of the longest speeches he had ever made in public. "We will meet them on the battlefield, we will fight like minotaurs, and we will kill every last one of them! And I will not send someone else in my place, I will lead you to your victory!"

He raised a fist in emotion and the crowd did likewise, copying his motions in a rallying cheer. He looked around at them and saw many who's eyes had turned red with bloodlust. That meant they were ready. They were ready for the war.

"I came into this world kicking and screaming, covered in someone else's blood.  And that is the way I want to leave it!"

The crowd could barely contain themselves. For a moment, Ko'Othuraka grew afraid. In this state, they would go into a rage and kill each other before waiting for the human army!

Hrodlious

Hrodlious strode confidently through the halls of the temple, carrying an incense candle with her. The train of her long, regal-looking robe dragged on the ground. It was black, studded with red rubies around the neck and wrists. The low-cut robe sat perfectly on her form, flowing with her movements as she walked toward her destination. She swung the candle on the string as she walked. Her hooves echoed in the massive halls, reverberating off the pillars and statues. The marble floor glistened her reflection back at her. Her ceremonial hood attached to her robe sat upon her horns, covering her head in subjection. Her nose ring made of pure iron hung heavily in her nostril. Her eyes glimmered as the firelight from the torches that hung along the hallway flickered in the dim-lit place. The hallways stretched far, extending all along the temple, straight down the middle. The sanctuaries and offices, sacrifice and veneration rooms sat off to either side, attached to the main hall by large wooden doors. As the sorcerous walked, she could hear the worship of the congregation all throughout the building. It was a haunting and exhilarating sound.

Hrodlious loved this building. She had built it up from nothing over the past cycles and it was her crowning glory, her finest achievement. Most places of worship in this country were small, one roomed, comparable to the huts that most minotaurs lived in. They were a simple folk. Why did they need a complicated religion? But that was not who Hrodlious was. She still counted herself fully a minotaur, but also something different, something more. She had power. She could do things that most could not. And she owed it all to her god.

The large cathedral sat high on a rocky hill, overlooking the city of Nazhuu. When at night, the lights from the place of worship could be seen for miles, shinning bright in the darkness. And the constant black smoke that poured from the large chimney could be seen even further away. That was where she was heading even now. The only room that didn't branch off to the side, but sat at the end of the long hallway. The Minstauthak. Place of Death. Where only the most holy of sacrifices took place.

Hrodlious felt her anticipation grow as she approached the Minstauthak. She could smell the smoke, feel the heat, hear the chanting that had already begun. Her hands gripped the incense candle harder, trying not to let it shake in anticipation. Her hooves clumped methodically as they carried her closer to the large room. The armies of Ynwfn were to arrive within the year and the proper measures must take place. The sacrifice must be made. Amen-Ra must be appeased.

She reached the door and a young female acolyte pressed against the large door and swung it open to reveal the ornate room. The stadium seating that sat in a circle around the center of the room was filled with the young, the old, the devout. Females all, they chanted in the ancient language that few now knew. The sounds were haunting and beautiful, rising and falling as the voices called out the prayers to the god they all served. As soon as she entered, everyone present stood and turned toward the door, never breaking the flow of the chanting. Hrodlious stopped inside the entrance and waited as the acolyte approached her from behind and grasped the cloak, pulling the hood from her head. The young girl reached around Hrodlious's shoulders and undid the clasp that sat on her chest. She then pulled the entire robe off her body and let it fall to the floor. Only then did Hrodlious continue.

She stepped forth and into the firelight. The giant flame that sat in the middle of the room was the only source of light in the sanctuary and it glowed ominously on the faces of all who were there. Their shadows bounced on the walls and ceiling, making the room feel more filled with people then it really was. Hrodlious looked around the room in joy. This is what she had worked for all her life, this is the dream she had strived to see fulfilled. Her, the leader of her own religion and surrounded by devout followers. It was a great feeling.

She came to the steps and started to climb up them. The steps led to a stone platform that sat just above the licking flames of fire. The platform could be accessed at four different points of stairs around the circle. The people around her climaxed in their chanting and sang beautifully as she rose toward the dais. Her hairy skin heated up quickly and started to singe slightly as the warmth from the fire tried to attack her. She rose confidently, never looking to either side, keeping her gaze steady on her destination. She had counted the steps many times and paused ever so slightly on number thirty-nine before rising and setting her hoof down on the top of the platform. As soon as she did, the chanting quit immediately. The rom went silent. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the breathing of the victim.

Hrodlious strode forth, the incense candle still held firm in her hand. She circled once around the raised stone that sat in the middle of the platform and set the candle on the edge near the hooves. The girl that lay there stared at the sorcerous with determination and fear. Her eyes glistened with held back tears and her hands were clenched in solid fists. No ropes held her in place, none were needed. She would not budge an inch, never wavering in her devotion to her god. Sweat poured down her face and splashed on the stone, evaporating quickly with the heat. Her breath came in quick gasps that she tried to hide. Hrodlious did not begrudge her her weakness. It would be hard for anyone to keep one's breathing in check, once put in this particular situation. Hrodlious looked down into the girls face and smiled at her, reaching a hand out and stroking her cheek ever so slightly. The girl tried to smile back but failed. She was so scared.

Hrodlious raised her hands and motioned for the crowd to be seated. Everyone was in a position to gaze upon the ceremony and no one said a word to anyone. No one wanted to miss it. After they had sat down, Hrodlious began her speech. Sweat poured off her face as well, as the heat tried to suck every bit of moisture from her body. But she would not budge.

"Tonight, we achieve a dream greater than any I have ever had! Many has been the time you have witnessed a sacrifice made upon this alter, many has been the body of cow and sheep slaughtered. Many has been the time that blood has dripped down these stones and fallen into the fire of our lord and king! Many has been the exaltation poured from your lips! But never have we witnessed such devotion, such love for our god as we will see here today! You, the women of our kind, the humble servants of Amenakalota, will witness love as you have never known possible! One of our own, our dear sister, will give herself and her life for our cause, to appease our lord and to visit his kingdom to ask him to bless our armies in this war we shall see soon! She has volunteered to go to the unknown, to look upon the face of him who murders, and to dare speak her voice into his ears! We send our blessings with her, and wish her the most speedy journey! Raise your voices with me, sisters, as we send our own on the final voyage, as we send her off into the unknown, to kneel in the presence of Amen-Ra, LORD OF THE NIGHT!"

They erupted in chanting and prayers, screams and curses. Everyone gathered themselves into a fury as Hrodlious reached for the leather bound hilt of the long bladed knife that sat nearby. She touched the blade with her finger and cursed as the heat of the metal bit her. She set her hands on the stone and ignored the heat coming from it. She stared into the face of the girl, a young follower not yet fifteen, and smiled once more. This time she smiled back. Hrodlious gripped her hand in hers. The screams around them seemed to become blotted out as she leaned in closer to the girl.

"What is your name young one?"

The girl had to gulp back her fear before answering.

"Neveen. I am here to do my lords will."

"And so you shall. Never before have we asked so much of one of our own. You shall become the first, Neveenek, to travel to the deepest pits of the kingdom of Him Who Angers. Trust in yourself, follow your head strongly, and do not fail us. We must not fail our god."

Neveen nodded.

"I shall. This war will be won. I promise you that."

Hrodlious smiled sweetly and leaned in even closer so that her lips brushed against Neveen's ear.

"Curse the war. Machinations of silly men. Meet our god, young one. Do that much for me. Someday I will follow and join you in his presence. Then will the plans become clear to you."

Neveen looked at her curiously, but Hrodlious did not let her reply.

"Hulaka sto malikenta. Ko mik do. Relokastauthak."

With those final, parting words, Hrodlious stood up straight and raised the stone knife above her head. The light from the flames glistened off the sweat that had gathered all over her naked body. The chants rose into a resounding crescendo. Hrodlious gave one last echoing cry.

"KulataRa!"

The knife slid smoothly into Neveenek's belly. Her eyes went wide and her hands grasped at the empty air. She grunted as she strove to stay alive, pumping blood for as long as she could survive. The blood poured out as Hrodlious had hoped. She pulled the knife out and it slid again smoothly. Neveenek arched her back and she cried out as the blood spurted up into the air, falling on the stone, on the sorcerous, and into the fire. Then she went limp and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. The remaining blood gushed for a moment more, then slowly abated as the dead body died and the heart stopped pumping. The blood that lay on the stone table slowly dripped downward, gathering in the grooves that had been cut into the marble, flowing out and dripping into the flames. Hrodlious looked all around her as the females that filled the arena went into a wild dance, letting their bodies become overwhelmed. A few of them fainted from the exertion. Hrodlious took the knife that had cut the life from Neveenek and pressed the blade against her wrist. Her own blood dripped down slowly, mixing with the blood from Neveenek. She whispered a small prayer to her god.

"Take my sacrifice as well, Holy Ra. I will follow soon."