The Death of Semash Part 1

The streets of the dead city were, for the first time in nearly a century, teeming with life. Hundreds, if not thousands, of figures swarmed and scrambled over the the sides of the old stone buildings. Angry yells and bone-chilling shrieks rose from the mob as they rushed towards the temple district. While no member of the mass carried so much as a club, it was still an intimidating sight. Short climbing claws made serviceable weapons on their own, never mind the mouth-full of bone-crushing teeth. The walls that surrounded the temple district were nearly six times the height of any individual- but the gates had long since rotted away, and the walls provided precious little protection from creatures that could scale them near effortlessly.

A few fell, jostled off the walls by their kin. It looked like one or two were actually thrown from the walls. And yet, many of those who fell rose again to continue the climb. More lay still, but most of the fallen limped away to nurse their wounds. The fall may have restored their sanity- for this mob was on the verge of a berserk, blood-drenched frenzy. And all because of one self-declared prophet who had no idea of the scale of chaos he was about to unleash.

From the roof of the Temple of Njaa Tupu, the highest point of the city, Alqu watched with blood-red eyes. Bones were woven into his mane- finger-bones and teeth, for the most part, but still far larger than anything that could have come from a Na'Njaa. Two bone knives hung from his loose, black clothing- so unlike the more common bright reds and yellows in the mass below. Soon, he would have to descend from his perch, and face the vicious throng. Soon, he would have to try and set everything straight.

Dozens of temples spilled hundreds of priests into the dusty streets. There were the green-and-silver garb of Khonolasu's watchers, there the vivid blue-and-yellow Taisjka's medicine men. Maasiq's brown-and-red garbed hunters took the fore, closing ranks like a pack of hyenas faced with a larger predator. The beasts themselves were mingled amongst them, their whooping war-call echoing even to the peak of the ziggurat. They presented a fearsome barrier- one that caused the mob to stall. It seemed that the common folk were not as sure of their course as they could be. After all, the priests spoke with the gods. They had their blessing, their favour and a measure of their power. Even driven by rage, even backed by the predatory confidence that was part of their nature, the mob feared and respected that power.

All the more as the priests showed no real surprise at the sudden invasion of the inner city. A small, grim smile crossed the Ancient's face. He could imagine the thoughts of the angry common folk below. They had expected to catch the priests off-guard. They had expected disorganisation and panic in the face of their onslaught- not an army closing ranks. The gods had warned them. The gods protected them. Certainty and ferocity would begin to crumble, to be replaced with fear and doubt. Thus the mob would begin to splinter. But there would be bloodshed before the day was through- of that there was no doubt. Whoever had given the mob purpose would not allow his ambitions to be stalled simply because of a few blood-crazed fanatics. Even as he watched, one of the rioters darted forwards to snap at the line of hunter-priest, only to stagger and fall before he reached the line. From his perch, Alqu watched the mob ripple and draw back from the fallen Na'Njaa, before a few more surged forwards at different points in the line. Most suffered the same fate as the first, falling before they reached the line of Maasiq's Chosen. One was less fortunate and staggered within reach of the hunter-priests. Moments later he lay face down in the dirt, bleeding from a deep rake across the gut. Maasiq's Chosen were terrible foes, and quite capable of killing even another Na'Njaa with just their claws. The fact that the rebel would live meant that his long-standing orders were being heeded. Or that the priests below realised that they were being watched, and feared the consequences of disobedience.

Alqu the Ancient rose from his seat, glancing towards the setting sun. It had been seventy years now since that terrible day- the day the Na'Njaa had inherited this city. He utter a quiet prayer to whatever god was listening as he lifted the relic from the alter in front of him. It was a skull, coated in copper and far larger than any Na'Njaa's skull. It took both hand to lift the relic from its resting place, and he was old enough that lifting it was a strain. The copper had done nothing to lighten the massive bones. Seventy years since he had killed the skull's former owner. The skull was almost as large as his withered torso, and appeared Njaa, but it was subtly wrong. The eyes were slightly too small, the nasal cavity too large and the teeth were different- so very different. He snarled at the skull for a moment, his mane bristling aggressively, before shaking off the old rage. He need not worry about the spirit of the skull's owner- he had to look forwards and build his own people a future- and to see that the Njaa-chuki did not drag his people into oblivion as well.