Epilogue

Here is the too long postponed conclusion to the 3rd International Campaign Day!

Epilogue:

At the Green Lady’s call the waters of the Frozen Sea course down, covering the Ogre Lands in a cleansing wave of glacial rivers. As the wall of water advances upon the war torn city, Cathius stands at the height of the tallest tower and extends his hands outwards. On his right hand is the shining Obelisk, its now white stone pulsing with a golden light that seems to bend towards the deity’s outstretched hand, coursing through the air to touch against his palm. Cathius’s left hand is extended towards the coming flood. He closes his eyes as if lost in deep thought.

Below there are the survivors of the campaign, huddled together against the coming deluge. They can hear the roaring thunder of the water as it devours the distance between them, tearing up plants, rocks and topsoil in an angry tantrum of foaming death. They sit in silence, even the babies do not wail or weep in the tense doom that sits about them. Every eye is cast aloft to stare at the Shining One standing above them with arms outstretched.

Cathius, reaching deep within the reservoir of power generated by the Obelisk, pulling the light away from it and channelling it towards the roaring torrent crashing towards the city. A shimmering wall seems to grow in the path of the water, branching out like the wedge of an axe into the foaming waves. The high golden wall stretches upwards further and further until it stands taller than the threatening freezing waters, extending out and away until it surrounds both the city and the Obelisk, even going out over the edge of the Abyss which now looms so close to the shining tower so recently converted.

 

The entire city waits with baited breath now as the waters close the distance against the shining barrier. The earth shakes as the progress of the water crashes against the impenetrable wall of holiness, diverting to either side of the city and the Obelisk. The high waves roar and wail against the protective light but pass harmlessly to either side until they crash down into the fiery Abyss far below.

Atop the tower, a straining Cassius balls his fists and directs the force of the water into forming deep channels at the base of his golden wall. The concentration of maintaining the barrier and directing the water would be too much for anything less than a god, but his eyes never waiver and the wall never falters. Gradually the water begins to form a channel that courses around the wall, following its path like someone had traced it with a stick. Satisfied with this, Cathius shifts his focus to the earth beneath the city.

Cupping his hands at his waist, the deity raises his arms slowly and as he does so the ground begins to shudder. A groaning, crackling moan issues fort from the dust and the city begins to rise. Gradually at first, but then faster the ground pushes its way towards the heavens, further increasing the depth of the channel through which the steadily coursing waters now flow, pouring ceaselessly over the edge of the Abyss in an endless waterfall.

Finally the ground ceases its trembling and the inhabitants climb their walls to gaze out over the newly shaped landscape. The city now sits on a raised plateau, where far below rolls the never tiring wash of a newly formed fork in a mighty river that tumbles into the fiery depths of the chasm below. A steady stream of mist now wafts up from the depths, smelling of sulfur and brimstone and choking the air with its oppressive tongues of white smog.

Cathius descends from his high tower, where he is met by the High Abbess Sadria at its base.

“My Lord!” she gasps falling to her knees. Cathius waves for her to stand but she remains bowed, her eyes planted firmly to the cobblestones beneath her.

“Rise, my child.” Cathius’s voice is gruff and filled with gravel. Sadria slowly pushes herself to her feet but still refuses to meet his gaze.

“We have beaten back the invaders,” She speaks softly. “But my lord, there are not enough troops to hold this position, not within our own ranks.” Her words come haltingly as if she is afraid of his reaction.

“Where have all our allies gone? Have they left us so soon?” Cathius gestures out at the gathering of warriors and armies making camp within the broken down remains of the city.

“They are not Basilean, my Lord! They do not answer to the Hegemon! Do you mean to leave this stronghold in the hands of these heathens!?” Sadria’s face screws up as she speaks as if she is about to speak.

“Did not the Brotherhood lose their home in the opening salvo of this war? Give it to them to safeguard, they kept the watch so well previously, let them continue to do so now.” Cathius turns to walk away for he is weary and would have his rest.

“The Brotherhood!” Sadria sputters. “That group of sacrilegious anarchists! Those usurpers of our rights as your chosen people! You would give this over to them?!” Cathius stops and his brows darken. For a moment the air seems to cool around him and Sadria takes a step back. Cathius speaks without turning.

“You would do well to remember your place, Abbess, this is neither advisable counsel you would seek to give, nor is it sound. Be mindful of your arrogance, for these of the Brotherhood did sacrifice alongside us these many months, doing the work of many more beyond them. They are driven by righteous vengeance and they need a place to shelter.” With this Cathius turns slowly and lowers his face to within inches of the High Abbess. “See that my will is done!” Sadria squeaks and runs away towards the camps, not daring to look behind her. Cathius straightens his back and smiles.

The Hegemony would not be pleased, but they would not dare naysay one of their Shining Ones, and so his wishes would be carried out. The Brotherhood would be granted their refuge, perhaps in turn swearing loyalty to Basilea, or at the very least a more substantial truce between the two factions. In time perhaps the Brotherhood would rebuild and once again ride to battle under the blazons of the flowing tide. For today they would rebuild, along with the rest of Mantica who sat weeping beneath the sores of the horrible war that had been fought.

The golden rays of the sun now peak over the distant mountains, bathing the world in a golden light that dances and plays off the newly formed rivers flowing far below the city. Despite the death and destruction that ringed them all, Cathius feels the stirrings of hope within him for the first time since his coming into the world, and tilts his head back to laugh as the feeling expands throughout his chest and into his limbs.

Even as the laughter escaped, however, there comes a darkness into his mind and a voice so horribly familiar reminds him from somewhere reserved for his darkest nightmares that while the two halves have been made whole, the darker side still exists and will patiently await its chance to escape into this fractured world. Cathius tries to ignore this voice and pushes it back down deep inside himself. He stares at the sunlight as it plays through the steaming clouds, producing shafts of foggy light that seem to make the city glow and considers the price this bright moment’s peace has bought him.

 
He tries not to consider the still chuckling voice deep inside his mind that threatens to overwhelm him.