Cults & Ravens – HellsBest
The grand capital of Mivrill hummed ceremoniously, its brilliant white and gold towers stretching their hands to the sky in an effort to reach above the golden curtain that hid from them the dreary clouds who tried to tear and stab at the impenetrable golden silk that kept them out. This premeditating, quiet and soft song ran through each and every street, alley and home. Every bar, school and station. Even through the beautiful glass windows of the marvellous, miraculous prison. An outsider would scoff at such a building, cruelly complaining that it should be of black and grey complexion. Completely appalled at the glass mosaics and stunning gardens that decorated the domicile. Disgusted at the sight of clean rooms and luxurious meals. A mere outsider would not, could never, understand Mivrills’ distain of the dull and ugly. To have such a hideous establishment tower over even the most esteemed builds would be unheard of here. For this is the very same reason that Citlis cast his brilliant silk cape over his city, so that no dim and bleak sky could ever impose on the magnificence of his domain. His beautiful labyrinth of gold.
Sauntering through the glowing street, feet shaving the smooth and soft pavement. Though the wind flowed softly, a soft whisper caressed his ears, a manipulative purr scratching and clawing at his skull, attempting to penetrate and tear apart his mind. Uncomfortably, he continued down the wide street, fruitful stands and shops decorated the stunning city centre. Citizens flocked, skipped and galloped about the pace, as if entranced. More so than was common for even such a magical lane as this.
Leaning unsteadily atop a short ladder, a bouncy, exited young woman chirped. She stood barefoot, tiptoes holding her light frame as she stretched her hands to paint the letters she was so eager to write, on the wall of this unusually short building. It was one of the more natural buildings around, less gold and more green sprouting from a vast collection of plant pots and baskets she strung up by thin ropes. These plants hung like dreamcatchers, unusual and abstractly beautiful flowers and fruits bore from the bottom of these littered strings.
Reaching for the bottom of the ladder he shook it briefly, the girl at the top almost being launched from it like a feather in the wind. Her long, brown hair blossomed from being tucked into her shirt, blinding her. She slapped, shoved and bounced off of everything in her blinded fear, smacking a pot down below. Crashing down, the violent noise caused a short silence among the entire square, which was quickly ended and followed by the urgent shuffling of feet away from the tavern in which the girl was painting. Cautiously curling down into a ball on top of the ladder the girl gripped the standing part and dropped further to her knees. With no more fish-like flopping, she parted her now wild and messy hair from her eyes and shot vile daggers at the instigator of her disaster. In seeing that familiar face, her grim scowl twisted into an eerily wide grin, her blue doe eyes widening in further excitement. She steadily crawled down the wooden ladder and tackled her way into his arms, burrowing her head into his stomach. Pulling her head back, strands of wild hair sticking to his woollen jacket, she hungrily leered into his bright grey eyes. Reaching her petit, pale hands up to his face she, gripping and pulling, brought his head towards hers. Pressing forehead against forehead, she dimly sneered. A soft but malicious pink glint hid within her iris, grinning at him with unfiltered callous. “Dear, dear! Where have you been? You left me worried, and lonely. The only person I could talk to was, was Briek the creep. What a cruel leaving, Rike…what a cruel leaving.” She quietly wailed, a dim, lingering feeling of annoyance in her words. “I had work, I always have work – speaking of work, where is that creep Briek? I have something with him to talk about.” “Who care about that little rat? Do you like MY work?” She squealed joyfully, peeling away from him and raising her hands towards the sign she oh so tirelessly struggled over.
Looking up towards her gesture, the words “PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD” were painted in liquorice black on the side of this flowerbed of a tavern. “Why did you write this Fai?” Rike asked, concerned at the serious note that Fai had drawn on the side of such a tranquil wall. “How could you not hear of it? The festival is starting tonight silly. No matter where you went, you have to know of it?” She asked eagerly, a manic glow in her sweet eyes. “It starts in a minute dear! I’m just putting the finishing touches then we can go!” She cheerily turns and precariously clambers on the ladder again, taking up her brush to apply a fifth coating of black. Nervously, Rike asked” Oh, ok. I need to meet with Briek before we go, I’ll come back for the festival later, ok?” With a fearful and unsure grimace, she replied “Try and get that little rat out of that dirty tower, he needs to actually talk to real people instead of that scraggly fucking cat”.
Uneasily turning away and moving away, Rike furrowed his brow and continued along the street, down to the grandiose high-rise that Briek accommodated. Its vast spire impaled the curtain, its tip gleaming at Mivrills unseen stars. A pillar of gold and wisdom, it insulted the rest of the district. Beautiful hands of gold reached out from its mast, flowing banners displaying the crucified image of Citlis grasped onto the many fingertips. In the palms of these hands stood statues, gold and gracious, images of demigods and great legends alike. However, from behind the beautiful golden figure of Ferah, a large volume of black feathers sprouted. These two vast raven wings seemed to impose a sense of power from Ferah. Whether these marvellous appendages were installed by Briek while he was gone, or if they had always been there bored on Rike’s mind.
A very short distance, maybe a mere minute, from the tavern stood a large wooden platform. Purple banners were held higher than many of the tallest buildings, held firmly on iron poles behind this wooden circle platform. A gigantic crowd kneeled before it, heads down to the floor. It seemed like half the entire city of Mivrill had gathered here, in silent prayer. The majority of citizens had their backs to Briek’s Marvel, refusing to look upon its magnificence.
Tip-toeing past the vast crowd, not a single head raised in curiosity. The hum that echoed through the now otherwise empty streets and roads obviously sourced from this ever expanding landscape of people. Making through to the other side of this sea of backs and hair, the tremendous spiral tower awaited me.
Ten metres tall, the gargantuan gold crusted black oak door loomed before him. Warm and rough at the touch, Rike tried to push it open like always. This time however it refused to budge even an inch, as if barricaded from within. Not wanting to disturb the crowd by use of loud knocks or yelling he was completely stumped, until a clambering and clamping sound could be heard from above him. Tilting his head upwards, the wary and weary face of Sir Briek peered down at him. With suddenly widened eyes, a manic sense of urgency splattered on his face, Briek’s head disappeared from the window. Rapid footsteps slapped against stone stairs from behind the gate. An unapologetically violent grinding and screaming emitted from the door as it was reluctantly pried open. All that could be managed was a small gap into the darkness within. And eye and a mouth poked out and beckoned Rike to enter.
Cautiously squeezing through the slim opening in the grand door, Rike pops out on the other side, falling to his knees as his foot is caught on the door. Pulling his foot inside, losing his shoe in the process, he looks up and about. As the dark figure of his oldest – and at the same time his most ancient friend, he saw the scatterings of various broken objects: cages, vases, staffs and various exotic chairs and tables. After a brief grinding and screeching, the gate was finally shut. Turning around to try and see my friend, I was greeted by an interesting sight. A tall pile of drawers, tables, bookcases, doors, chairs, chests and beds held the gate shut. Briek had parted the sea of furniture to allow me entrance. Approaching me from this ravine within the chairs and tables, Briek was revealed by the dim candlelight that was sourced from little fires which hung off the walls. These flickering, soft lights followed underneath the spiralling staircase which led up the spire.
Solemnly peering down upon me, his posture straight and rigid, “Get up. You remind me of those grovelling bastards outside this tower, flooding the street like hungry rats.” Briek scorned unapologetically, patiently waiting for Rike to bring himself to his feet. Turning sharpish, he ascended the hypnotising spiral, leading Rike to the mast of his tower, below the spire. To his observation study.
Looking out of the various windows, Rike saw the true scale of those ‘Grovelling rats’ which Briek called them. To Rike, from this height, it certainly seemed to be as if rats had flooded the sacred city streets – the cobblestone beneath their masses unseeable. Rike saw that spaces where one would look directly at this very tower were completely empty. Still stunning, even when left bare and isolated, the flower covered tavern still remained beautiful as ever. Its decoration of lavender, lilies and lilac glistened did shine brightly, a purple and white aura lingering enveloping her little hostelry. The sign of which’s letters were imprinted on Rike’s mind, was out of sight, hidden from this tower. Possibly for the best.
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Boot against stone echoed rhythmically throughout the Marvel as they reached just below where the hands of gold bore their marvellous statues and banners, towering above the majority of towers, homes and shops in Mivrill. Here, Briek suddenly stopped and looked through an open window in animus abhorrence. “Remember my cat? Freya?” Briek asked gruffly. “That little weasel? Sure, cost me four pairs of boots with those razors imbedded in his paws.” In listening to this, Briek grunted humourlessly and continued up the stairs. As I followed a few steps behind, I slow down to glance at what he was so interested in. Underneath the downturned backhand of these golden human paw, hidden from Citlis’ light by the large banners these hands donned, were 5 pieces of bloodied fluff at the end of strings – strung up from each rich finger. Hung from the jutting statue were the poor feline’s quartered appendages: A single leg and arm, her bushy tail, her chubby black torso and her plump head – a large cleaver imbedded in her skull. Utter and absolute horror tore across Rike’s face, leaning over the banister to bellow out his guts below. “They’ll all be slitting their own throats within the hour, assured that the ferryman will escort them each personally to wherever they want their eternity to be. Sick, silver tongued psycho. We who refuse have been torn apart, left as pathetic puddles of blood and bone.”
Almost dragging Rike, Briek reaches his marvellous study. Books litter the ground, their shelves and cases barricading the door below. Little light enters this room, a single window that points towards the tavern, and the gathering. Warm candles adorned the soft stone walls, giving out a modest light. Taking a deep, heavy sigh. “That snake, he slithered his way into this city and corrupted these simple people, fake promises of a magnificent afterlife. Putrid lies, they are…. I’ve seen a glimpse of it. A stream, black water flowing in an indecipherable direction. There’ll be no togetherness, no joy – but struggle for a final resting place, which shall never come.”
He shuffles hastily across the room, the red and blue mosaic carpet bouncing his feet along. Reaching his desk, he pushed aside a few documents and scrolls. Beneath these – a pure silver short sword. Taking this into his rough, worn elderly hands he turned back to Rike and held it out. Without a word he approached, an uncertain and weary expression stretching across his face as the blade was pushed into his arms. It was quite pretty. The surprisingly sharp tip of the weapon turned outwards, splitting into diagonal little horns. The split itself was a mere inch of the tip, stabbing or impaling would be nothing arduous. However, on grip of this dirk was a mechanical handle jutting from it. Rike grasped the grip in his hand and turned the handle clockwise. An amused look in Briek’s eyes assured him. As he turned the jutting handle, the split of the blade grew taller, the forked end expanding – slanted. “It would be very vile for the victim to pull this out of him, a large wound in doing so. Its not very useful for combat, barely at all. The sides are almost blunt! But....to assassinate? To drive into a man’s back? Yes, very useful for that.”
Briek smiled warmly, gripping Rike’s steady shoulder. “Before the festival ends, I command you to kill him. He will be standing upon that wooden podium I watched you pass.” He pulled his hand away and walked up to the window, looking out upon the disgusting crowd. “There is an exit in this tower, it leads to the roof of the building beside it, the bakery. Travel along the road till you reach your tavern. Descend the steps and stop your wife from going. Convince her, tie her up, anything. I wouldn’t enjoy seeing that lovely girl seeping blood in the street as they cave in my gate. No, save her, please. I know this is an obvious thought for you, but don’t treat it as unimportant for that very reason.” He sadly muttered, his eyes flickering down towards the crowd every now and again. “Approach from the way to took to reach me. His back will surely be open to you. His followers refuse to look upon my tower, it’s a painful reminder of their least appreciative denizen. Once his spine is on the floor, run… As far and as fast as you can. You will survive, I assure you. You will.” He continued, solemnly. “Your time is terse, make abrupt haste!” Briek finally commanded, handing Rike a bony key and shuffling him down the stairs. As Rike turned his head to look at his oldest friend, Briek swiftly escaped his sight, retreating to his desk.
Determined, Rike set off across rooftops, the ceremonious hum leaving shivers down his spine. As he got a glimpse of the roof of the grass encrusted tavern he longed to reach, an eerily docile hiss scratched his ears. Snapping his head to the right and crouching ever so slightly, Rike peered at the snake of a man that slithered up the back of the podium. His thin, purple eyes cruelly burned itself into his retina. Rike, heavily uneased, continued across the masts of the buildings. Before the bastard could let that silver tongue penetrate his ears, he quickly clambered down the staircase that tilted down from the tavern’s rooftop.
Blunted words unsuccessfully assaulted the walls, unintelligible buzzes and hums seeped from under doors and through thin-glass windows. Dead silence within the saloon left Rike uneasy, only vile words from that podium struggling to invade and incapacitate his thoughts. Feet against the hard wooden floor, Rike crept cautiously through, pushing past tiny stools and tables, decorated to resemble daffodils.
Slipping past the bar and into the backroom, expecting to find Fai working between a collection of beautiful roses and lavender, Rike was sourly distressed. Slumped gracelessly in a pool of her own blood, Fai rested eternally. Her legs and skirt dyed crimson – the scarlet slit in her wrists wider than her gaping maw. There was no work currently fulfilled between these vast bouquets. In subdued indignation Rike swiftly left, closing the door respectfully behind him.
That horrid sign: its ebony lettering spurred him onwards. Dirk firmly in hand, Rike sauntered slowly down cobbled road, savouring this approaching slaughter.
“Oh death – last of all godly blessings! Grant this pitiful assembly audience, for just a mere moment. We beg for your love, to grant the gracious gift of deliverance – the deserved Eden we were promised when Citlis freed humanity from its cursed immortality!” The Herald wept, Nile tears stalking down his cheeks. Violet and Gold patterns adorned his limp robes, a puddle of expensive silk trailing him as he slithered back and forth across the stage. Dry black hair was held firmly in a plump bun atop his head – purple eyes kissed the tops of his bent patrons’ heads. A brief distance away, unseen by the masses of twisted residents, Rike crept up behind the persuasive bastard, ready for his short sword to embrace this bastard’s back.
Atop a distance rooftop, black wings hook down from the edge, eagerly watching, waiting for the imminent opportunity. Bothered plum eyes fixed themselves upon the dark figure nesting upon the bakery’s crown, his speech interrupted. Attention caught, Rike hastily clambered up short wooden steps, charging forwards and imbedding his dirk within the spine of the preoccupied snake. His shivering, shaking shriek was overwhelmed by the abrupt roar of a mauve, spiralling inferno that gushed out from the wound that Rike inflicted to his back. Wrapping around them, the violet blaze trapped Rike from escape.
Leisurely, the cruel herald turned his eyes to face him. His face grew elongated, eyes dragging downwards – as if melting. His teeth bent outwards, his bun dropping down, masses of long, greasy charcoal hair reaching down to his back – where it weakly attempted to pull the weapon out. In this hideous state the foul herald shared resemblance more with horse than with man. Tears replaced themselves with grim, spilling blood that stained his snout and teeth – which curled into a vile grin. Wet, drooping eyes glinted with an undisguisable malice. Shifting his jaw, cruel words eagerly awaited to be let free, to tear apart and diminish Rike’s courage.
Gripping the mechanism Rike wound clockwise, brave in his terror. The dirk dug deeper, slowly cutting through more innards of the beast – he tightened his face as he prepared for this beast to wear away at his soul.
However, before the disgusting bastard could let out even a shallow holler, a black volley of ebony plumage plummeted through the eye of the plum inferno, its silver talons outstretched. Imbedding into the beast’s thick neck, the charcoal fowl tore at him – crimson strings and lumps attempting to keep the horrid creature’s head on his shoulder. To no avail. With a mere foot, the enormous raven decapitated the silver tongued monster. Strands of scarlet gripped onto his head from the separated base of his neck, pleading to have him returned, in which the raven ignored. Covered by a coat of void, the raven reached out with its spare claw for the sword impaled in the now exterminate pest’s back – ripping it out effortlessly. With all of this, it shot up through the fading inferno, disappearing from sight.
Thinning out completely, the last flickering’s and embers die away, exposing Rike on the podium, the beheaded body of the manipulative monster lain limp on the wooden platform. Bent heads cautiously turn up to face him, bloody fury spreading through the suddenly aware crowd. Robbed of eternal Eden, they surge forwards in despair, weep-ing and screaming as the crowd of a thousand mindless people rush him. Turning heel, Rike sprinted from the city, for the muddy hill he came from hours prior.
The golden curtain wept gently, difficult puddles and small rivers forming along the muddy track as Rike rushed aimlessly – a frenzied mob close knowing at his heel. Unarmed, even the thought of keeping them at a more acceptable distance was un-precedented. Ahead of him, a sharp cliff-face. Looking to face the vile mob a grim acceptance flashed in his mind. This feeling was promptly brushed aside by the warm embrace of jet black plumage that enveloped him – muscular brown arms wrapping around his chest as he is pulled from the cliff-side up into the weeping sky. A void, misty robe kept rubbing against Rike’s face, hiding the bird-eye view of golden Mivrill from him.
Now distant, Mivrill stared after them as they flew across the vast countryside – the bleak, chained Moon goddess Ferah soon to be the only light Rike they’ll see for the longest time.
Harsh slamming against the Marvel’s gate had been happening for the past hour, the strength of 30 residents unable to shift it. Peering in disgust from his study Briek descends down the spiral staircase, stopping himself to take a look at his unbeloved feline’s hanging limbs. Sharp cracks echoed through the spire, axes and saws brought to the door in savage fury.