The sky was tinted the color of blood as Ruesello beheld the sovereign sun’s rising for the first time. It had just begun its ascent climbing the distant craggy peaks of the Aduula’s Horn mountain range. It would be several hours before its much larger sister Woe rose to join it, over powering its waning rust colored hue with intense white light. The climate of this morning was just as any other, arid and dry. Dust mingled with sand whipped by howling winds stirred  swirling clouds, reflecting an eerie otherworldly red glow. Four heavily cloaked figures walked ahead, leaning into the wind. The old sapphire eyed man walked beside him, donning a black cloak trimmed with golden thread work. He turned his head to meet the eyes of the young God.

“Your victory was impressive .”

The old man’s whispered words were all but lost in the howling gale as Ruesello read his lips more than heard him.

Ruesello looked on in silent contemplation weighing this grizzled and weathered figure before responding.  “Oh is that so? I consider it more of a tragedy than anything.”

The old man grunted indecisively as his eyes searched the young God’s face, rapidly darting.

“And just what is so tragic about surviving?”

“The cost that such a thing comes.”

The old man smiled blood, as the light played off colorless teeth.

“You, whom is not yet a day born wishes to question the savagery of our ways?”

“I don’t question , I only accept the reality of it all, is hard to stomach.”

“Of all the rain that fills the celestial heavens mi lord, you are but a single drop of water. Somewhere in your peoples finite wisdom they came to covet intelligence and cunning ahead of brute force. You are a product of this and nothing more; you are what you have been made.”

Now it was Ruesello’s turn to be dumbfounded, he squinted with a hint of disbelief.  The old man spoke.

“You don’t believe me ? Allow me to make things not so clouded so that you truly understand how fragile your existence is. Than you might understand that there is reverence in our traditions.”

 “There is reverence in making me killer moments after my first breath?”

The old man took an exasperated breath pausing for the briefest of seconds before speaking

“No mi lord, killing is your identity. You will come to understand this in time… I can see now time, must teach you patience child. When you are ready to learn and not show such impudence, I'll find you. Excuse me- your people await.”

He turned to watch the old man, shuffle back the direction they had traveled doing nothing to mask the irritation in his body language.  He disappeared, swallowed up by the crisscrossing winds of the coming sand storm.

 The journey south was one made in silence with only his shadow to keep him company. Ruesello’s escorting party remained aloof not even chancing a glance back.  Time moved on at a crawl, prolonging each footstep. Sand that had once seemed cool and comfortable to the touch had become cruel and cutting. His feet had become bloodied and raw eventually blistering as Woe took her place in the heavens. The heat grew unbearable as the sights and sounds of the journey changed from shifting dunes and roaring winds to the caw of circling birds above the craterous chasm he now walked along the edge of.

After some time, the monotony of the journey was interrupted by the fast pounding of tribal drums. From the distance it almost gave the allusion of a thunder crack that carried on from underground. His feet cooled mercifully as the path brought him into the shade of the large mountain.

Sparse green growth dotted the landscape here fed by narrow man made channels of water.  The drums grew louder echoing off the rocky peaks mingling with unintelligible chants.  Smoke rose from flames licking, above high stone walls. The smell of cooked meats filled the air with a pungent aroma that made the young God’s mouth water. He followed his small procession that had formed a single file line. They stopped at the cities entrance before a pair of crossed spears.

“Who begs entrance into the holy city of the Sovrons and the revered God of death.”

Two guards stood to either side of the gateway dressed in primitive armor made of bleached bone. The one speaking raised his spear toward the hood of the lead robed figure.

Ebony locks fell free as the figure at spear point quickly tugged the hood from her head. Ladonya was a woman soft featured with a hard tone.

“None beg, you fool we escort your new God, if you had any sense about you, you would fall on your face and beg for your life for this indiscretion.”

“You speak blasphemy none have bested Jombyyl in over twenty thousand suns. He is invincible!”

“As high priestess of the thirteenth order, you dare question me. You dare make accusations that I lie.”

Ruesello  looked the man up and down standing the same distance from the guard, he had from Jombyyl. The man’s beady eyes peeked out from the hollow eye sockets of the gigantic elk skull with bad intent.

“You dare insult a member of my priesthood from your lowly position!!”

The guard Spat at Ruesello’s feet.

“You are no God of mine! In life and death I serve only Jombyyl, I will never serve a lowly, puny bastard Chagras, from a whore mother such as Chambliss.”

“Mi lord allow me to make him the first blood sacrifice I make in your name!”

“Try it whore priestess and I will slay you and your pretender God where you stand.”

Ruesello’s eyes took on a haunting leer, a devilish smile split his face as his unbridled temper got the better of him.  “Allow me to tell you how your fool of a god died. - Let’s see first I chopped off his hands, than I sliced out his eyes. I impaled him on his own sword before ultimately- beheading him.

The guard dropped the spear. He made a move to unsheathe his sword that he never completed. His face went white as his mouth twisted in fear. His shock filled eyes watched in the throes of death. The quivering mass in Ruesello’s fist had once been the man’s throat. With a gurgling of blood he attempted to speak, falling lifeless to the ground crimson pooling around the feet of his brother guard.

“How about this one lord, shall he die too? Shall I kill him for you?”

The priestess was already reaching for her blade as Ruesello stepped toward the man. Well if he could be called that, he had barely passed his boyhood.

 “What’s your name guard.”

 “Basul Mi Lord.”

“Well Basul, are you foolish enough to die for your beloved Jombyyl.”

The boy shook with such fright his knees knocked together with a hollow rattle.

 “No your Godship I am not so foolish.”

 “Good I harbor no desire to spill more blood this day.”

  “Open the gates Basul.”

  “At once Mi Lord"