The Beginning of the End

The weather was stormy, once again. Rain, wind, lightning and thunder. The same as always. Above the sounds of pattering rain and clapping thunder were screaming voice; scared, angry, or dying. Occasionally, it was a mixture of all three. The battlefield was a village, completely cleared of civilians. The Black Hand had taken residence there now. Archers surounded the village, shooting down any who foolishly left themselves uncovered. Meanwhile, small squads of soldiers constantly probed the perimeter.

One squad would attempt to break through on one side of the village. The cultists would rush to fend them off. An instant later, another squad would attack the otherside of the village. This tactic forced the Black Hand troops to stay on their feet, constantly moving. Outnumbered as they were, they had to eliminate any threat immediately, or drive them off instead. Either way, Peerha's forces were breaking through.

"Sounds like we got through." Jekhel whispered.

"Sounds like it." Peerha agreed.

On the other side of the village, frantic shouts sounded, followed immediately by the clanging of steel on steel.

"It's our turn." Peerha whspered. The nine others around him nodded in agreement.

Peerha led the way. He stepped out from the large stone they'd been hiding behind, and quickly sprinted across the open space from safety to the perimeters of the village. His men followed just as quickly. An arrow whistled by, only a foot from his head. Peerha looked up to the buildings, sword raised, ready to try and deflect any more arrows. He knew his chances were less than good, but he had to try. Lightning forked across the darkened sky, and Peerha felt as if his stomach had erased itself from existence. Standing on the roof of a house, was the black outline of a lone archer. His arm was moving from shoulder to his shest, were all deatil was blurred by darkness. But Peerha knew what it meant. He'd reloaded.

Peerha gritted his teeth and listened for wial of another arrow being fired. He heard the whistle of an arrow go by, but he didn't try to swat at it. It had come from behind. His own archers had shot at the enemy. A thud told Peerha that he had no more arrows to fear. Peerha thanked every God he knew.

At last, he and the rest of his squad reached the perimeters of the village. They sneaked their way along the walls of the house the archer had been standing on. Once they reached the edge, he peered around the corner. He saw a large space that stretched twenty feet across and went some forty feet down to the main square where a chapel to the Nine had been built.Peerha could tell that the chapel was the cultist's last stand. Already, archers were taking postions on it's roof top. Victory was close. Still, it was not yet time to relaxe. Often times, it was the end of the battle that was the most dangerous.

Cautious as ever, Peerha jumped over the barrier of furniture that had been hastily contructed. As he landed, a cultist looked at him in surpise. Peerha grabbed his knife and threw it at the man. He had enough sense to move aside, and the knife ran into the wall. The cultist sprinted for his life to the chapel. One of Peerha's took out his own throwing knife, and took careful aim. The cultist was thirt feet away when the man threw his weapon. It sailed forward, and soon the darkness enveloped the blade. But they all saw the Cultist's figure drop to the ground like as if it had been hit in the head by something sharp and deadly.

"Your good." Peerha nodded. In reply, the man simply shrugged, as if a feat like this was normal for him. "Ok, you five, take the other side of this street. Go cautiously. We're going straight down the road, but first we're going to enter all six building along the way; clear them out. You take that three, we take this three. If you bite off more than you can chew, spit it out and re-group."

Everyone nodded in agreement and moved out. Peerha walked to the front of the house, and peered out onto the porch. Nothing was there. Keeping an eye out for archers, he stepped onto the porch and moved to the door. Once all the others had taken up positions, they crashed into the house. Two of them smashed through the windows, while Peerha kicked down the door and stampeded in.

The building was only one story, and it had only two rooms. The large living area and the smaller bedroom. Absolutely no one was in the living area. Two troops went into the bedroom. They came back and shook their heads. Nothing. Peerha relieved. It could have been worse.

The next two houses they cleared went down in the exact same fashion. They stampeded in, searched every room, and found nothing. The same had happened with the other mini-squad. All the cultists had piled into the chapel by now. Peerha's squad re-grouped and viewed the chapel from within one of the buildings.

Archers had taken postions all over the rooftops. About twenty of them could be seen from Peerha's point of view. He was willing to bet his life on it. And to some extent, he was. Inside the chapel, he had no idea how many there were inside. Some suggested simply burning the chapel down, but Peerha refused. He did not approve of burning down villages and towns, simply because the enemy is holed up there.

"Go tell the Archers to move in." Peerha ordered. A scout nodded and ran out the door. A few minutes later, and a single flaming arrow was shooting across the sky. It was the signal to tell the Archers it was safe to advance. Peerha gave them ten minutes to find positions. Meanwhile, he looked for something to use as a battering ram. Nothing. So he went with plan B.

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"Are they crazy? They have no way to break down our doors, but they are charging. It's suicide."

The man in charge of the cultists was perplexed. He watched through a window as he saw troops charging straight at the chapel doors, as if it would magically open itself. That's when the door froze into ice.

"Enchanted arrows?" the leader guessed.

The next instant, the door exploded in a shower of sparks as a lightning arrow hit it.

"We're all gonna die." murmured the man.

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Peerha stepped through broken doorway, following the heels of three of his comrades. They immediately spread out to the sides, allowing room for more soldiers to invade quickly. Peerha took to the right as more came in from behind. He parried a blow that was sent his way and unleashed a wave of attackes on the mna, driving him backwards. The man stripped on a bench and fell to the ground. Instead of finishing him, he kicked away his sword and turned his back on him, focusing on deadlier foes.

He started advancing on one cultist, but he stopped suddenly and allowed a spear to fly past him. He looked over to the thrower, who looked severely dissapointed. The man struggled to unsheath his broadsword. Peerha stomped after him. The man drew his broadsword and looked up at Peerha. He was right in front of him. He made a motion to strike, but Peerha was already swinging. His sword went into his chest and out the other end. Peerha removed his sword and continued after the target he'd originally chosen.

Once again, he was waylaid by another enemy. Peerha dispatched him quickly enough, but when he found his chosen opponent, he found he'd been killed already. In fact, nearly everyone had been. Only a few cultists were left, and they quickly scampered upstairs. Peerha watched his men follow them up, and he left them to it. Only three cultists had ran upstiars. Ten of his own had chased after them.

Since the battle was over, he began to relaxe. He sat down on a bench and started looking around. Everything was messed up, and blood and bodies were the most prominent decorations the chapel had now. But as he continued to view the chapel, the more he saw it's original decor. On the walls, he could see nine different murals, each one depicting the Nine, and the beliefs that that each of those Gods had layed down.

"Someone spent some time on this." Peerha thought.

Then he remembered the church bell. He'd seen it from the outside, and had seen what looked like carvings on it. Peerha got up and decided to check them out. He got up from the bench and went upstairs. His men passed him on the way.

"Nothing but dead guys up there sir." one of them said.

"Just checking out the church bells." Peerha answered.

"Need backup?"

"No, I don't expect to meet anyone there. Besides, I can handle it even if I run into some unwanted comapny." Peerha grinned, patting his Longsword's handle.

"I understand sir." he grinned back.

Peerha continued on his way. Once he reached the top of the stairs, he found himself staring down a corridor with multiple doors. He walked all the way to the end. Halfway there, he found the bodies the soldier had been talking about earlier. Peerha tried to avoid the mess, but found that impossible, so simply walked straight through. His boots left bloody prints for twelve steps until it finally started to fade away.

At the end of the hall, there was a door that led to the rooftop of the cathedral. Peerha opened it up and walked around the edge of the building until he found the ladder that led straight to the bell tower. He climbed carefully; it was still raining. One slip, and he'd be tumbling to his death. Peerha continued in spit of this, and soon reached the end.

The ladder was leaning against the wall of the small platform where people rung the bell. Peerha clambered over and stepped onto the wooden floor. Peerha frowned when he saw the bell. Upon it was not a single carving. Not even a painting. It was as plain as dirt. 'Then what was that strange shape I saw outlined against the bell?' Peerha wondered. Just then, a sneeze sounded on the otherside of the bell.

Peerha drew his dagger nstead of his sword. If it came to combat, he wouldn't have the room to swing here. Slowly, he took one reserved step at a time, circling the bell. Once he was halfway around, he found his suspect.

The man had his back turned to Peerha, and he looked him up and down, trying to size him up. The only logical guess was that this man was a Black Hand Cultist. He certainly wore the colors. But this man was dressed like no other cultist he'd ever seen.

The man wore the exact same black tunic and pants as the other cultists. But what seperated him from a common trooper was that he had no weapons on him at all. Since he carried no weapons, Peerha would have thought he was a mage. But then, he was not wearing the robes of a mage either. Peerha was dumbfounded.

Not wanting to risk anything, Peerha went went with the safest option he could. He gripped his weapon tightly and raised the dagger behind his head. Peerha brought his fist crashing down, the pommel of his blade connecting with the back of the man's skull with a dull thud. The alledged cultist hit the ground, knocked out cold.