[EVENT RP] The Reclamation of Tania

[WyvernSlayer]

Four days later...

The sky was pockmarked with flying beasts.  Arrows soared.  Magic missiles of various elemental affinities careened through the air.  And amidst all of that, there were the sounds of men yelling and metal clanging.

It was the sound of war.  And it made Father Vorosh sigh in resignation as he strolled through the ruined streets of the Tanian capital.

It had been several days since word of Bern's surprise attack.  A respectable contingent of the Lycian Guard had placed the city on lockdown, and most, if not all, of the civilians had managed to escape safely.  Now only soldiers remained, along with a few of the Church's healers.

Vorosh continued around the corner and eventually came to a makeshift barricade.  The man he was searching for was issuing orders, straining to raise his voice over the sounds of battle.

"Get that unit out of the streets!  They're killing us from those archer nests!"  the commanding officer yelled.  "You there!  Take your group around to the next street and get patched up!"

Ssskkeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!  A plume of fire soared overhead, shrieking over the city before slamming into one of the buildings behind them.  Father Vorosh did not look back at the destruction it wrought - instead, he stepped up behind the Lycian soldier and cleared his throat.

"Marshal Clamely," he said, just loud enough to be heard.

The soldier whirled around.  "Father!  What are you doing here?  It's not safe!"

The holy man held up his hand in reassurance.  "Elimine protects me, my child.  I have come to tell you to order a full retreat."

"What?!" Clamely exclaimed, before recognizing his outburst and calming himself.  "We can't let them have a foothold in our land, Your Grace..."

Vorosh frowned.  "Tell me, Marshal.  What is the latest report from the front?"

"We-" the marshal stopped himself, understanding that Vorosh already knew the answer.  He hung his head.  "We are having trouble competing with Bern's tactics.  They are exceptionally mobile, and we can't seem to pin down significant pockets of resistance."

"And your losses?" Vorosh's eyes threatened to pierce a hole in the marshal.

"...Substantial."  Clamely's voice trailed away.  Vorosh laid a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up.

"Do not worry," the father said.  "This will not be seen as a failure to protect Lycia."

"Your Grace...?"

"Permit me to act on your behalf."  This seemed to calm the marshal.  He took a deep breath, then turned to face his lieutenants.

Ssskkeeeeeeeeerrrrrrr!    Another meteor spell sang through the air and crashed into the clocktower high overhead.  A faint rumble ran through the path beneath Father Vorosh's feet, followed by panicked shouting.

"It's coming down!"    "Take cover!"    "Ruuuunnnnnn!"

"Get down!" screamed Clamely.  He and his officers crouched down low and covered their heads.  Vorosh looked up, directly overhead at the falling rubble.  He closed his eyes and reached one spindly arm straight up towards the sky.

"Your Grace!!" cried the marshal.

A warbling pillar of golden light surged up from the ground around the Father's feet.  It stretched up over his hand and jutted out another couple of meters before stretching out around the soldiers, like a fountain.  Massive chunks of masonry slammed into the dome of light with a deafening impact, deflecting harmlessly into the street.  Father Vorosh opened his eyes and glared at the marshal, a rare display of emotion.

"You must retreat now, Marshal."  As the stone rain ceased, Vorosh let down his hand, and the light bubble dispersed.

Mouth agape, Clamely struggled to regain his composure and signaled to his men.  One of them raised a horn to his lips and played a long, droning note that echoed throughout the battlefield.  As the Lycians retreated, Vorosh continued forwards, into the courtyard in the city's center.  A dead wyvern lay draped over the remains of the fountain, slowly rotting away - no doubt one of the first casualties of the battle.

Vorosh's expression slowly turned melancholy.  He reached into his robe and produced a tome of magic.  Its cover bore depictions of angels, circling in flight around a beam of light.  This was the legendary tome of Etruria - Aureola.

Forgive me, my children...

Father Vorosh opened the book and began reciting the words, a forgotten language from hundreds of years past.  Prayers to the gods above.  He could feel his very soul straining to focus.  All of his will, all of his faith - every fiber of his being was poured into the words as he looked towards the sky.

Off in the distance, some voice could be heard shouting in his direction.

"It's the head of the Church!  What's he doing?!"

"Prepare to fire!"

"Wait... look!  The clouds!"

Directly overhead, the dark clouds had begun to part ways.  A faint glimmer of light, almost like lightning, started to grow from behind the clouds.  Vorosh continued the incantation, his feet slowly lifting his wiry, pale frame off the ground.  He paid no heed to the fact that he was hovering; all that mattered was the prayer.  He kept his eyes fixed on the budding light above him.

Time slowed around him.  High in one of the buildings overlooking the courtyard, a Bernese officer gestured with his sword.  "Fire!"

As arrows were loosed, the skies were suddenly pierced by a beam of light.  It engulfed Vorosh, who was still chanting.

And then - silence.  Sound halted in the air.  Arrows slowed in their trajectory.  All eyes that were focused on the head of the church were blinded by a brilliant flash.  Almost instantaneously, the courtyard, the surrounding streets... the entire Tanian capital was awash with a powerful white light.

Finally, Vorosh's prayer slowed.  He did not dare open his eyes, lest he himself be blinded by the armageddon he was on the verge of unleashing.  He felt his feet settle back down on the ground.

"...amen."

Vorosh slammed the book shut.  As if tethered by a crossbow that had just been fired, all of the sound returned.  The wall of light evaporated arrows in mid-flight.  Residual magic from lesser tomes eroded away into nothing.  Shockwaves rippled through the ground, pulverizing the foundations of the surrounding buildings.  And every poor soul who had borne witness to the incredible flash of the spell was simply scoured from existence.  A savage impact echoed through the capital.

Vorosh dropped to his knees, panting.  There was a burning sensation in his chest.  After a moment to gather himself, he rose to his feet.

There were no more sounds of combat.  No more screaming wyverns.  No more soldiers.

There was nothing.  Nothing, save for the ruined buildings, threatening to buckle and collapse from the effects of the spell.  Alone in the center stood Father Vorosh.

"Gods forgive us..." he whispered.


Tania had been reclaimed.



-FIN-