01-SPREAD YOUR BODY TO THE WIND

Choked and clogged, the streets had become packed with a writhing mass. The people and barricades clogging the streets, and stopping the flow of the capital's life blood through its veins. The small rebellion had grown into a mass clot that threatened to kill the capital of the theocracy Panchasha. The revolution of the people, had twisted their faces into ugly grimances, as they jeered at what was taking place upon the formerly holy dais that stood before the largest and most ornate building in the now crumbling holy capital of the Panchashakan religion, the largest chapel in all the world. What was happening up upon the dais of the goddess of the winds was nothing more than a cruelty disguised as justice.

Since the fall of the people's oppressors the once opulent building had begun to lose its perpetual shein. Instead of the clergy and people of the city protecting it, it was now under siege. As the greatest standing symbols to the former ruling parties of the city, too many in the revolution saw the building as an eyesore, so by the day it became more damaged under the angry machinations of the citizenry of the capital. Its shine having been stripped away little by little by foul words of graffiti, rotten produce, and other unnamable detritus that was better not spoken of. To the peoples recollection, this building and the attached institute hadn’t belonged to the gods for a very long time. No, they would swear up and down that it had long ago fallen. Only to then be co-opted by the corrupt nobles and clergy members. In all the ways that it mattered to the leaders of the revolt it was a house of sin, whose halls need to be cleansed, but not with soap and water, but with the blood of those who had misused its hallowed halls.

The peoples kindness had been worn away, like a mill stone slowly turning wheat into ground flour. Year after year and day after day they had been stepped upon and struggled beneath the unkind heels of their “betters”. Masters that had abused them until finally they were forced to strike out, like a loyal dog beating and unfed. Now the voice of people of Panchasha had screamed out, and together they had used their collective power to flip the table, upsetting the game board, and those who were once on top of the pile had now found themselves buried beneath it. In truth, It had only been a matter of time, for as the church had lost the hearts of the citizens, the guard, and the military, their opposition had gained its powers.

The guards had been forced to harshly punish the citizens with one-sided laws, while the nobles lived a life of perversion, often going so far as to get away with murder. People starved in the streets while the upper crust grew fat and lazy, harshly taxing the people, and all but stealing the food from their children's mouths. Extorting the people for healing services, which the church and institute had a monopoly on. The never ending skirmishes of the troops, many young men and women dying in the service of greed. Greed had co-opted many into military service, either to their own betterment, or to serve time as a debit slave. The Panchashakan religions greed had caused them to justify wars and land grabs against their neighbors, not because they worshiped the wrong gods, but that they worshiped them in the wrong way. Attacking the “barbarians” with their own barbarism. “strike them before they could strike first” they had said so many times. Years of greed and abuse on all fronts had resulted in this “reward” for their actions.

The people had graciously followed the example of their former betters, had become rulers by the violence of their own hands. Ripping and tearing at the foundations of their once great nation. In them a warped and twisted rage had taken root, and it had turned them into one massive hate-filled mob. Many of which delighted in revenge and bloodshed they felt owed. Their cries of vengeance and hate ringing out from the windows and barricades, their horse voices sounding almost as a roar. A beast within the peoples hearts had been awakened. A beast that lusted for blood and would find it. All day long they had found the blood they hungered for, but their appetite was insatiable.

Even the heavens seem to agree with them, as the sky above at sunset mirrored the rage of the people as it glowed in hateful hues of reds and oranges. It was as if the sky itself seeked to burn the world beneath it, as it shone with a malicious threat and menace. The day was slow to yield to the darkness of the coming night, but soon their fun would end for the day, only for it to rouse itself again in the morning like a rooster, but with a carrion call.

Before the gilded halls of the theocracy of the Panchashakan religion stood, The Red Square. The Red Square was one of the most infamous places on the continent. It was one of the religions holiest of sites. Like many holy sites it had had the pleasure of seeing plenty of blood and atrocities throughout the history of Pinchasha and the Pinchashakan religion itself. At the foot of the landmark stood a grim monument and dais, for hundreds upon hundreds of years those who stood upon the dais were met with the quick brutal ends, all they were torn apart by invisible blades of wind that the monument could produce.

These blades had been fed the blood of the witches, evil necromancers, foul demons, conniving cultists, and those who had just been unfortunate to be of a different faith. It was said that the unholy would feel every cut and every slice, that to them the few seconds of brutal bloodshed would be made to feel like hours, and that they would be spared no pain for the misdeeds they had dealt. In the past, it had only been used as a righteous weapon that was meant to pass judgment on those with evil in their hearts. Over time however, it had since been utilized to punish anyone who spoke out against mistreatment, stole food to feed their family, or just happened to displease a noble, sometimes by doing little more than attempting to exist. They had turned its cruelty into a symbol of their power. A power that could be further co-opted if you stepped out of line. It had been a threat wielded against those of the lower class.

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Ever since the theocracy had fallen however, it had supped on far richer blood. The monument was said to have been created by Edelstrid as a gift to the first prophet of the theocracy. Edelstrid was the goddess of the sky and the four winds, and the dias in the red square was a tool of divine justice. From the people's perspective, it had been misused for so long that Edelstrid’s justice had lost all meaning, but now the tool was once more bringing divine punishment and justice to the deserving. Someone had once said the winds of change blew on the dais. The people had fought for that change. Many revolutionaries scorned the Chapel and its opulence, but embraced the bloody dias. So, it had once more become a symbol of change, and now also a symbol for the people’s revolution.

Every day since the fall, all day long, the cool blades of air had been utilized in cutting down the ancient families of Panchsha and corrupt clergy of the faith. It devoured many victims, from the oldest of grandmothers to the youngest of children, all of whom had been judged traitors. They had taken to sacrificing thousands of sympathizers per day. The Pope himself would someday be sacrificed as well.

Once long ago, when the nation was new the old families of the nobility had stood for something. Their forebears had earned their place in the hierarchy by coming together in fraternity as heroes to vanquish foul foes in the name of gods and country, and in doing so, created a new safe place for Panshachakan believers. Once they stories of the men and women of strong character. Those that had stood on the front line of the Crusade for Panshacha.

Their progeny however, had grown pompous and arrogant. Corpulus men of soft chins, porcine stomachs, and weak honor, who had once been a rarity in the upper classes, had grown to become the norm. Many, having grown fat feasting on the labor of their lessors. Not just feasting, but throwing lavash week long parties. Eating cakes when the people could barely afford bread. Dancing in debauchery as the citizens could barely afford shoes. While the people toiled and starved to death; the holymen wore silken vestments and read from pages trimmed in gold. Centuries of mistreatment had embolden the people.

As the sky's fire light started to quench itself, so too did the violence on the dais of Edestrid’s monument begin to die out. The days carnage slowed not due to a lack of villains to persecute, but due to the fact that as the light fell dark things would come out drawn out by the smell of fresh blood wafting on the breeze, and so for the meantime the people of the mob dispersed back to the makeshift shelters, tents, and barricades that had been erected in the streets.

In the depths of the evening people could find other amusement, for as the night drew closer captured blue bloods would be brought to the barricades, where trials, under the eyes of the revolution, could be viewed, and punishments scheduled for the following day.

Day after day, foolish individuals attempted to evade the clutches of the retribution. Giving only two avenues of survival and fighting wasn’t one of them, not anymore. They could hide or they could flee, but in any case the people enjoyed the sport of the hunt.

Those who had previously put on lavash extravagance, and privet balls for their amusement, had now had stooped to using various costumes and disguises and under fabricated falsehood; they tried to escape the city via one of the guard houses found at the the four cardinal directions of the capital. Hoping to reach one of the country's neighbors in hopes of salvation. If they could escape, maybe they could find foreign aid or even sympathy that could be turned against the revolution. It was their disparate hope that a force could be mustered that would allow them to undo the changes that the revolutionaries had bled for and that would not stand. No noble or former clergy that was currently trapped in the capital could be allowed to go free.

Guard houses that were now full of seasoned soldiers, and volunteers from the citizens' newly formed militia. Attempting both magic and non-magical disguises, poor unpracticed attempts at altering their body shape or attire had been laughable. They had neither the skill or guile necessary to pull off pretending to be beggars and vagrants. Most had been so detached from their people they didn’t even know of their plights, blinded by their riches as they were. The people found cruel humor in the charade the nobles put on, as many failed escape attempts had led to the capture of such individuals. The trap was closing in on their holier than thou necks.

Those captured were brought before the people as traitors. The revolution found them all negligent, as they had all neglected their duties to properly shepard the people, and the payment had come due. Now as rats they hid for their lives in a vain attempt to avoid the bill.

Many failed escape attempts had led to the capture of such individuals. The trap closed in on their holier than now necks. Giving only two avenues of survival and fighting wasn’t one of them. They could hide or they could flee, but in any case the people reveled in the sport of the hunt.

Somewhere found in hiding, of course, others in their cowardice, had tried to flee the city and the retribution of the people. Hunted and stopped at gates leaving the city, they would be dragged before the fledgling officials of the rebellion. These trials were little more than a mockery staged to satiate the foul appetites of the gathered mob, all of which ended in cruel torture and death on the dais.

Men now garnered fame as those who could so expertly capture fleeing nobles where held up as a shining example to theirs peers. Capture and subsequent trail was been coming a fast track to promotion and riches.

So far only one entity had been able to rain on their grim parade. The entity that had been dubbed, “The White Bird.”