The story became a play as much as anything else now, the Myrian whirling and dancing around the flames as he acted out the fight between the two God and the Usurper. The children murmured and squealed alternately as he hacked at the air with his ax or thrust with his gladius, their parents exchanged apprehensive looks.
The Old Beard just smiled and held up one hand. That was enough for them, Razkar noticed.
"The fight rage and rage!" He shouted, parrying an invisible enemy and circling him, teeth bared. "But even though Myri was strong and fierce, she was still mortal, and gods have tricks. Ruros beat her weapon away-"
He barked out a war cry and his ax flew from his hand as if struck, gladius reversing, flashing towards his chest to the screams of his crowd-
-and froze. An inch from his guts.
His face became a mask of agonized defeat. Even the drums stopped in shock and soon all that could be heard on the deck was the indifferent crackling of the flames...
"Ruros... pierce Myri..." Razkar said, the pain in his voice hardly needing to be faked. The idea of the Goddess-Queen being injured in such a way... it was almost unthinkable. But these were the Old Times, and this was her genesis... and ascension. "He gloat as his sword went into her gut..."
He stood up, miming the act of twisting his gladius sadistically, relishing his unseen enemy's pain. Even the older children squirmed now, and a couple of the younger one huddled closed to their siblings. Razkar pressed on, knowing he was close to his crescendo.
"All was lost... Myrians in throne room, they weep and cry and roar. They not believe Myri could be hurt. But she went down... to one knee..." and so did Razkar, free hand vanishing from sight... only to leap up-
-and he jerked to his feet, lakan from his back sheath stabbed forward ahead of him in a blink, grim smile of bloody victory on his face.
"-and with new strength she plunged her glaive into Ruros chest. God Of War just laugh, no weapon... could... defeat..."
The Myrian toppled as if sickened by an unseen pallor, miming the last, disbelieving moments of Ruros as he staggered, bisected and impaled in that throne room centuries ago. He looked up in desperation.
"How... how can... this be...?"
Razkar's face morphed into that same look of grim victory, onyx eyes shining with cunning and satisfaction. He held up the gleaming lakan.
"The Ash'dene." He said, whispering the name like the blessing it was to his people. "The Battle Glaive... of Dira herself...!"
A shocked ripple ran through the group. Razkar chuckled as he saw some children jabber excitedly, cover their mouth. The elders were even enjoying the show, some of them having heard the same tale before but most not from a flesh-and-blood Myrian.
"She beat God of War... with cunning. She make deal with Dira. She win fight... before she even draw her blade... And Ruros fell, for Dira claim all, even gods..."
Razkar rose to his full height, arms spread wider and wider until his shadows were cast like an enormous bird of prey across the crowd. His voice was reverent, powerful but subdued, humbled by the being whose bravery and cunning and skill and sheer will had forged a new empire from a race of savages, who had slain a god and was now exulted wherever warriors clashed...
"And Myri took his heart... and his head... and his throne among the gods..."
The Old Beard just smiled and held up one hand. That was enough for them, Razkar noticed.
"The fight rage and rage!" He shouted, parrying an invisible enemy and circling him, teeth bared. "But even though Myri was strong and fierce, she was still mortal, and gods have tricks. Ruros beat her weapon away-"
He barked out a war cry and his ax flew from his hand as if struck, gladius reversing, flashing towards his chest to the screams of his crowd-
-and froze. An inch from his guts.
His face became a mask of agonized defeat. Even the drums stopped in shock and soon all that could be heard on the deck was the indifferent crackling of the flames...
"Ruros... pierce Myri..." Razkar said, the pain in his voice hardly needing to be faked. The idea of the Goddess-Queen being injured in such a way... it was almost unthinkable. But these were the Old Times, and this was her genesis... and ascension. "He gloat as his sword went into her gut..."
He stood up, miming the act of twisting his gladius sadistically, relishing his unseen enemy's pain. Even the older children squirmed now, and a couple of the younger one huddled closed to their siblings. Razkar pressed on, knowing he was close to his crescendo.
"All was lost... Myrians in throne room, they weep and cry and roar. They not believe Myri could be hurt. But she went down... to one knee..." and so did Razkar, free hand vanishing from sight... only to leap up-
-and he jerked to his feet, lakan from his back sheath stabbed forward ahead of him in a blink, grim smile of bloody victory on his face.
"-and with new strength she plunged her glaive into Ruros chest. God Of War just laugh, no weapon... could... defeat..."
The Myrian toppled as if sickened by an unseen pallor, miming the last, disbelieving moments of Ruros as he staggered, bisected and impaled in that throne room centuries ago. He looked up in desperation.
"How... how can... this be...?"
Razkar's face morphed into that same look of grim victory, onyx eyes shining with cunning and satisfaction. He held up the gleaming lakan.
"The Ash'dene." He said, whispering the name like the blessing it was to his people. "The Battle Glaive... of Dira herself...!"
A shocked ripple ran through the group. Razkar chuckled as he saw some children jabber excitedly, cover their mouth. The elders were even enjoying the show, some of them having heard the same tale before but most not from a flesh-and-blood Myrian.
"She beat God of War... with cunning. She make deal with Dira. She win fight... before she even draw her blade... And Ruros fell, for Dira claim all, even gods..."
Razkar rose to his full height, arms spread wider and wider until his shadows were cast like an enormous bird of prey across the crowd. His voice was reverent, powerful but subdued, humbled by the being whose bravery and cunning and skill and sheer will had forged a new empire from a race of savages, who had slain a god and was now exulted wherever warriors clashed...
"And Myri took his heart... and his head... and his throne among the gods..."