Broken Ability Part 1-6

Twice over the next several days the village was assailed, firstly by a lone wolfang and second by a slugula, a giant slug beast with a hard back that was said to roll over travelers and suck them inside to be digested. Since only a few of the newly formed guard had no magiks, a party couldn’t be formed to leave the village for news but we had only to wait for the worst of it.

On the third day after we returned to the village a group of riders approached from the north road. They all wore black and rode fine horses, a rarity in our region. They came in a single line to fit the fine steeds on the road.

They stopped at the guard on the main road and were let through, almost without pause. Word spread quickly to me in the form of Rose coming as a messenger to the farm.

We all gathered in the square; a few timid villagers animals still tied about making the crowd even tighter. The black garbed riders stood, four of them hooded and faceless while the fifth spoke with Hayfoot on the dais. There was a brief discussion before the chief yielded the podium to a black-haired woman with a broad brimmed hat that hung low over her eyes.

A booming chorus came from the hooded riders, “Listen closely, people of Hallan!” A fell hush spread over the crowd.

“I am Pripya, member of the left hand of the Nazcam!” the woman’s shrill voice sounded over us, assaulting my ears. I instantly disliked the woman and felt uneasy.

“Left hand?” I muttered.

“Way they’re organized,” a woman next to me whispered, gripping her shawl about herself. “Strange I know, call themselves body parts. Rights stronger than left I think, and their leader is the head or mouth or whatever. Those hooded ones, they’re the feet. Called Faceless.”

Pripya swelled her chest, then shouted, “Cypress city and it’s council of Elders has fallen to the northern city of Igner ruled by your King Breknik and monsters from the unclaimed territories!”

The woman paused while the crowd gasped and murmured, then continued. “Cypress city and the surrounding territories are now under the control of the Nazcam clan by proxy!”

At this a few cries went up from the crowd. They were quickly squashed under the sharp eyes of the speaker however, a dubious threat lurking behind them.
As she surveyed the crowd, I noticed several tattoos on her neck, barely visible below the neck of her cloak.

“The Nazcam clan will be happy to let you continue in peace, so long as you accept our rule! The monsters in the surrounding area will also be taken care of by our members as soon as possible and future occurrences will be dealt with. For now, you may all rest easy knowing that you are in good hands.”

“Good hands…” a man murmured next to me.

“What does she mean?” I asked uncertainly.

“She means, lad,” he said, raising his voice above the quiet crowd, “That we’re now under the rule of cultist lunatics, filthy scum that betrayed their own principles and watched their city burn! Nazcam are worse than traitors!”
A few other members of the crowd echoed agreement, but most were silent. I glanced to the hooded figures behind Pripya, each pulling down their face coverings to reveal sinister grins. Chief Hayfoot looked white in the face, but most disturbing was the stare of distaste that Pripya wore.

“You!” She cried, pointing a finger. “Come up here! Now!” The crowd fell silent, all eyes turning to the man. He shifted his eyes here and there, searching for support but finding none.

“I don’t know what came over me,” the man said, shaking his head. A second later he grimaced, fury in his eyes.

“Well, come on then!” he shouted. “You all know of their reputation! She’s just told us they betrayed our own council!”

Suddenly, two of the Nazcam that had been across the square grabbed each of the man’s arms, wheeling him about.

I gasped at the empty space where he had stood and the impeccable speed of the riders to move without being noticed.

“How did they do that?” A woman next to me breathed, echoing my thoughts.

The man began to struggle, his hands illuminated with some type of magiks but it made no difference to those who bore him forward.

A wide berth was given to both the Nazcam and stage at that point, villagers pressing in on themselves to get away. I stood on tiptoes and watched as the man was drug up the dais steps, then forced to his knees in front of Pripya.

“Would you like to duel with me?” she said loudly.

The man was enraged, “I suppose even if I win, you’ll kill me, won’t you? All you dirty Nazcam are good for is to lie and skulk in the shadows, killing and taking what’s not yours!”

Pripya maintained the blank expression as the riders fell back into line. Hayfoot came to Pripya’s side, gesturing here and there, his words obvious, though unheard.

Pripya clasped Hayfoots forearm, leaning to whisper something in his ear. His face was to the crowd, so our hearts fell as what little color had remained disappeared. Hayfoot withdrew to the side of the dais, hands limply at his side.

“Now, back to you,” Pripya called, “You won’t die… so long as you’re able to survive my attacks!”

“Fine then,” the man cried, allowed to rise. He was pouring sweat, homespun shirt open at the collar. I sensed his desperation and fear, listening closely, I heard his heart pounding. “But if I best you, all you bastards leave this village alone!”
Pripya paused, smiled coyly.

“Certainly. If you win this duel, then we shall withdraw. On a count of three then? Chief Hayfoot, would you do the honors?”
The pair met each other, then turned back-to-back

and stepped three strides apart. Chief Hayfoot reluctantly approached the middle of the space.
Hayfoot rose both of his black robed arms high, his voice ringing over the silence of the square.

“Mikhael of Hallan, you have accepted a duel with Pripya of the Nazcam clan. This duel will last until one of the combatants is unable to continue-”

“To the death, chieftain,” Pripya interjected.

The crowd sucked in a breath. Off to my right, just before the stage a woman sobbed.  

Hayfoot paused, looking to Mikhael. He nodded and set his feet, hands aglow. The chieftain raised both his trembling arms, striking a t-like pose.

“This duel will continue until the death of one of the combatants with the terms set. If Mikhael is the victor, the Nazcam shall leave with no hold over the village. And if Pripya is the victor…”

“Then no more of you fools shall have to die!” she cried.

A shudder ran through the crowd.
“Mikhael, why?!” the wailing woman cried from just before the dais. I recognized Sarah, the young child still held in her arms, gazing up with tear strewn eyes.

“The terms are set! Do both parties agree?” The pair nodded.

“Then the duel shall begin on my count,” Hayfoot said, taking several great steps back.

“Don’t be afraid, my love,” Mikhael shouted. “Cover his eyes.”
“One,” Hayfoot counted, “two… three!”
Before the air stirred with Hayfoots breath Mikhael came, flying forward with fists ablaze. There was a strange distortion in the air around them, making near colors bend and blur.
Pripya dodged, hopping off to the side as Mikhael pursued her.
Mikhael lunged again, closing the distance to inches, but still Pripya leapt away, easily escaping. He struck, missing her and hitting the dais floor. His fist flew straight through, sending a strange black mist in the air as the whole stage shuddered. This game continued for a few moments before it became clear that Mikhael couldn’t strike Pripya.

“Huff, huff,” Mikhael panted in the center of the cleared space, watching Pripya stand a short distance away, arms at her sides. Finally, the stony expressionlessness disappeared, replaced with a sinister grin.

“Surely that’s not all you can do? A man with as big a mouth as yours, but such little real strength. What a shame!”

Pripya lunged this time. Mikhael stood his ground, crouching low and springing forward with a deep red fist. At the last moment Pripya set her foot, bringing a knee over Mikhael’s guard and into his chin. Even without my magiks I heard his jaw snap.

“Mikhael!” Sarah cried again, struggling mightily against several others who held her back.

Mikhael dropped, stunned. Just as he recovered Pripya attacked. She stepped forward into a strong punch straight into his guard that sent Mikhael toppling head over heels.

“At this rate, I won’t need any magiks to defeat you!” Pripya cried.

“Likeh ‘ell ooh will!” Mikhael said, cupping his hands together. From the point where his hands met, the color distortion grew, lancing out towards Pripya.
Her grin disappeared, but so did she. Pripya tucked into a tight ball and rolled under the attack, springing to her feet beside Mikhael and bringing an elbow down across his arms. The distortion arced downwards, cutting through the dais and sending up a great plume of mist. She followed up with a swift spinning backfist strike to the head, then nimbly dodged as Mikhael threw an arm out wildly.

From behind, Pripya gripped Mikhael’s left leg with both hands, pulling across with her weight. Mikhael somehow kept his feet, but was thrown off balance, leaving him open. Pripya rolled again, straight through Mikhael’s open legs and sprang up behind him.
This time, Mikhael was ready. Clasping his hands behind him, he fired a small distortion blow. The blur hit Pripya square in the stomach, causing her to wince and dodge backwards.
“So that’s your power, huh?” she said, grinning.
Mikhael spun, mouth agape, blood dripping out the edge.

“Ow arr ooh stanning?” he asked, leaning to one side.

“I won’t need magiks to defeat you,” Pripya sneered, springing forward. She feinted up and then brought her right hand down into Mikhael’s stomach, causing him to double over. Then, an elbow crashed into the back of his head, flattening him to the ground.

She stood over him, foot on the back of his neck, grinding his face to the wood.  

“Look closely people of Hallan! Those who resist, shall be put down.”

Mikhael was still struggling when Pripya dropped to a knee between his shoulders, forcing him back down. Her hands gripped either side of his head and she gazed over crowd, hardly bothered by the man writhing beneath her.
Smiling, she twisted hard, turning Mikhaels head far enough around to shatter his neck with a sickening snap.

Chief Hayfoot fell to one knee.

The villagers restraining Sarah forgot themselves in their shock and she broke away, climbing the stage to where Pripya kneeled over Mikhael. Her child remained wailing in the arms of another.

“Monster!” she cried, rushing at her. Pripya neatly flattened and rolled, using her weight to knock the woman’s legs from under her. Before anyone else could move, she had worked her way over Sarah, pinning her at the waist with both knees.
“Should’ve covered his eyes,” Pripya laughed, hands gripping Sarah’s head tightly. She let out a bloodcurdling scream as Pripya lifted, wrenching hard enough to twist her head around backwards.

Pripya stood, smiling at the crowd. No one dared to breath except Sarah’s wailing son.

“Right, now that’s settled!” Pripya called as she stepped back onto the small podium.

“Now… there won’t be many changes to your daily life, only the wonderful benefits as I mentioned before. If any of you have complaints or issues, I urge you to speak with me before I return to the city. My men and I will remain in the inn until tomorrow.”

With that she stepped down and the Nazcam followed, all of them striding across the square to the inn. The crowd parted without a word.

“A moment!” a guardsman called in a wounded voice, “The chief would like to speak!”

He then fell to his knees, accepting two villagers stripped robes to cover the bodies of the slain.

Hayfoot gripped either side of the podium, his mouth opening and closing twice before speaking.

“My dear people of Hallan… I would ask that we all accept this transition as best we can. Despite what you may feel or believe about the Nazcam clan, they represent our new governing body. It’s been promised to me that they won’t interfere much with our day to day lives, so please.” The chief paused, visibly shaken.

“Please… do not do anything without thinking it through.”

His eyes drifted to the still forms on the stage.