Old Gods and Kings

Ripped back and torn asunder, the monuments of the old kings were obliterated from where they stood for so many centuries. Revolution was the fire that fueled the people’s rage. From unfair and abusive taxing to classist discrimination the likes of which had not ever been seen before. For some, this was a sudden happening. Nothing could have prepared the populace of the upper classes for this revolt. Yet, for those who lived in the gutters of the kingdoms, this had been a long time coming. With nothing but the rags on their backs and the fury in their hearts, they marched on their lords. Ardent and stoic, these people had suffered long enough.

The march on the kingdom capital was a significant journey, though it did not stifle anyone’s passion. Once the word had been given, all in their path would either join the cause or be demolished. For those of royalty, there was no concern. In wake of this terror, they sat comfortably upon their thrones; how could these peasants threaten them? They had a nation’s army at their disposal. This oversight was folly, and would be their demise. In their delusions of grandeur, they believed these soldiers would cut down their kin. To consider a small amounts of gold stronger than blood ties was foolish, but this would never occur to any of them.

Upon arrival at the capital, the people cut through the illustrious city like a hurricane. There was no discrimination during the onslaught. Men, women, and children alike were all forced from their homes and into the streets. Stripped down and beaten, blood flying through the air until the cobblestones ran red. And like the cobbles of these royal roads, the people were covered with the blood of royals. Two shades of crimson mixed on a canvas of raw knuckles. Even at this horrific site, no one faltered. They knew the price of stopping after coming this far. There would be no mercy for their crimes, and no one would bat an eye at the punishment. They knew it would be ruthless, torturous, and would last as long as their bodies could stand. The only option left was to continue to ravage the city until there was one man left to answer for these atrocities: the crowned lord of Aelus Dahad, King Ennai Dahad.

A scream suddenly roused the king from his deep slumber. Before he had a chance to grasp what was happening, he was surrounded by enraged commoners; all the while, ripping at his illustrious leisurely attire. Exposed and unprotected, the king was dragged out into the courtyard and tied at the wrists to a gold statue of his father. As he looked up, trying to make out the scenery through the blood and tears, he could only see an uprising of peasants before him. All of them, throwing stones and shouting obscenities at the broken king. From the crowd, one man slowly walks out to the lord. The people went silent as this man stared into his king’s eyes. Ennai did not return his gaze.

“I only have two questions for you, my king.”

Ennai, choking back tears, met the eyes of the man; his stare pierced like a dagger.

“Do you know who I am?”

The lord could only manage to shake his head slowly. The man shakes his head in response.

“Shame. Well, maybe you can at least tell me this. What makes you think you can take everything from us?”

The lord mumbles something softly under his breath.

“I’m sorry my king, I couldn’t quite make that out. A bit louder for the audience, if you please.”

“It was my birth right.”

The man struck Ennai across the face, with such speed that it left a smoldering sensation paired with deep gashes that now seeped blood. “Louder!” the man roared.

Ennai cried out, “It was my birth right!”

The man gripped the ruined king’s blood-soaked visage, turning it towards the top of the courtyard. This is normally where the statues of the Six would be. To the chagrin of Ennai, his queen and five children were hoisted up by their ankles; one royal for each deity. The mob had flayed them alive, leaving them to bleed out from on high.

“They were far more innocent than yourself, they deserve to be close to the only things that could have saved them. Your place is down here, with your father. Just like the rest of us.”

Ennai began to mutter prayers, hoping to appease one of the Six enough to save him. His litanies would fall on deaf ears. For even if the Gods were to hear, his sins were far too grand for salvation. The once silent crowd began to chant. They were tired of the wait, they wanted the king to pay his debt. The man would not keep the people waiting, and with one swift motion, he slit Ennai’s throat. There were cheers all around as the king quickly bled out onto the ground.

The king was dead, the debt had been paid, and the citadel was torn apart with reckless abandon. Every building was demolished and every effigy defaced. No one prayed to the Six anymore. They were clearly no longer present, if they ever existed to begin with. When prayers fervently fled the mouths of the believers, it always seemed there was no answer for most. Even the royals had troubles with faith from time to time, but the fall of Aelus Dahad proved it for all. There are no gods, and now, there is no king; this is now the rise of the age of man.