City of Gold

Anomen was troubled after his time in Brindhal 's company. He had closely
witnessed the dark power inherent in the Bhaal child, and no matter
Brindhal's intent, it caused a crisis of faith. His confidence in Helm
shaken, Anomen traveled without aim until arriving in the frontiers of
Maztica. This was during the revolt of Yamash, an evil cleric that raised a
demonic conquering horde. Anomen was drawn into the conflict, helping to
organize the besieged Maztican soldiers, but he found he could not
effectively train them without speaking of duty and the role a guardian must
play; he was teaching the doctrine of Helm, and understanding it more as he
did. In the end, his words rang true, and Yamash fell to the Disciples of
Anomen, a new Order for a new land.

In a silent room of the temple of Quotal, a pair of weathered and bejeweled hands was deft as they reached into a glass jar and extracted a handful of crackling, yellow petals. These were particularly fine and strong hands which had worked the fields of mayz, and had cradled babies, lifting them to the bright Maztican skies. These were the hands of Yamash, the Nexalan High Priest of Quotal who had done these things, and more. Yamash himself had not ploughed a field in several years and the babies he had cradled were now mostly grown; now his fingers and wrists were covered in gold and jewels, reflecting the trappings of a new life. The High Priest had been born a man of the people, though, and lived to serve.

These hands had seen joy and love, peace and prosperity, but were now engaged in much graver tasks. Yamash took a few seconds to admire the dried flowers, observing their rich yellow color and their intense, soporific scent before he dropped them into a mortar and began to grind. They crackled somewhat and their aroma intensified, filling the air with pungent smells. One did not take the Tagatia flower lightly, though – too much exposure to its richness was known to dull the senses, to put a man to sleep no matter how much pain he was in. Tagatia was a sacred flower, especially valued by Zaltec.

Zaltec. The Man-eater.

Around the temple there were cries— the skies, which had been anything but grey for so long, were finally black and thundering, and the hillside and valley farmers were praying for rain to feed their fields. There was famine in Nexal, and the Gods, though they had taunted the people, had not answered the prayers of the layfolk. They had instead delivered to them crimson skies and the winged beast, the son of Nalcetona, and storms of sand from the South. Yamash and his clergy had asked Qotal the Feathered Serpent to save his people, to come back to them, but the Serpent God too had remained silent and all the priests in Nexal together could not feed thousands with prayers alone.

That left only one thing to get their attention, and it was not something that Yamash relished in the least – the Gods were hungry. This was the reason that Yamash was invoking the power of the Tagatia flower.

The Gods are hungry, he reminded himself as he took another handful of petals and began once more to grind. The teachings of generations past came back unbidden, and with them mixed feelings— everyone in Nexal knew about the olden times when the Gods demanded blood, but things were not as barbaric now. At least, they hadn't been until Cordell came, when the hidden Zaltecian priests and others folks began their bloodletting once more.

The Gods are hungry. It was like a mantra, and only by repeating the hypnotic phrase could Yamash keep up the tedious work. They were hungry, but he was not to become one of the monstrous Zaltecians – Qotal would see to that.

When the petals had been ground into a fine powder, he poured them into a small bowl and brought them to a large stone slab upon which were laid several other items – a cloth, a chalice, a dagger. The slab itself was a curiosity, built from a stone of such dark red it was almost black and inlaid with a complex network of gilded channels and grooves. They flowed down the slab's sides and onto the floor weaving nasty patterns of pagan visages and unsettling, abstract pictures. Yamash was somewhat glad that the stone was too dark to pick out anything else, and the patterns far too complicated to discern.

Also upon the slab lay Chilmalma, his eldest daughter, lying quietly on her back. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern but she was awake, and her eyes darted across the room. nervously Yamash admired her courage – his own composure would have crumbled long ago, had he been in the same situation.

"Will it hurt, father?" she asked, glancing up at him at his approach.

He looked into his daughter's dark eyes and his heart wrenched. "No, Chil," he lied, bringing a hand up to stroke her cheek. "You'll be fine."

With his other hand be brought the bowl of powder up and blew lightly upon it. The fine, yellow powder billowed in a cloud that settled upon Chilmalma's body in a yellow cascade of perfume, and the girl closed her black eyes for the last time. Her breath slowed, nearly to a stop – the power of the Tagatia had taken hold, and allowed Yamash to perform his bloody task.

Later, as the priest held up his bloodied hands at the statue of Zaltec, the sky thundered a final time and with a flash of lightning, began to pour down its bounty. The joyful cries of the people echoed from the valley below, but to Yamash the world was as silent as a grave.

Qotal, it seemed, had abandoned his people once more, and the patterns in the stone were more horrible than he could ever have imagined.

Author's Note: I know... this is a repost. Unfortunately, I couldn't log into my own account, having deleted the e-mail I registered with, and not remembering my password, so I created this one to add the (possibly?) long-awaited third chapter to this. I write when the passion takes me- I dearly hope it doesn't take another 4 years for the 4th chapter to come out. :/

Anyway - the purpose of the prologue is to set the stage for Yamash here. You'll see much more of him later, promise.