The Animus Scroll (Pilot)

PROLOGUE

Gana’fali

The old man stood on a high plateau surrounded by mountain peaks, a place to which his aching bones had only just managed to bring him after a full day’s climb. But to be here on this night, lit dimly as it was by the weak Tenthmonth moon, was critical. It was from this place, after all, that the culmination of his life’s work would originate.

For here his beauties gathered, and soon he would turn them loose to feed on the blood of the Osbendi, the Profaners.

The old man had raised his beauties – his vitau’hi – from hatchlings and had tamed and trained them. It was under his tutelage that they had grown not into wild beasts wasting the land and the creatures on it, but rather into obedient and useful servants of the god Ur’akeen. It was that training which would soon deliver Ur’akeen and his followers a holy miracle.

Tonight the Udar would recapture the sacred shore of Gana’fali from the Profaners, who had seized it a generation hence, erecting a fortress with high stone walls and weapons of evil magic to protect their decadent hordes to the north. Tonight the vitau’hi would be the tip of the spear through the hearts of the vile enemy.

After tonight, a Great Holy War would commence, which would finally end seventeen hundred years of blood-struggle and deliver the manifest destiny for the Udar. Ur’akeen demanded it, and so it would be.

The old man looked over his three hundred pupils. He walked among them, reaching up to gently scratch their breasts and necks, eliciting light cooing noises and the soft thump-thump-thump from their wiggling, excited tails. This activity went on for some time, as the old man insisted on giving loving attention to each before sending them on their mission.

Finally, he had completed his rounds. The hour had come, and it was time for the vitau’hi to complete their destiny as servants of Ur’akeen.

The old man ascended to the highest point of the plateau, and he stood some distance from his beauties, who wobbled ahead to form a semi-circle around him, the rustling of feathers and the thump-thump-thump of expectation filling the air.

“Fefalo!” he called. The three hundred spread their wings. “Tonight you shall cleanse the land with the blood of the Profaner!”

The old man raised his arms, and the vitau’hi leapt into the air, flapping their wings to rise into the night.

The old man motioned his staff forward to the east, toward the mountains and victory. The three hundred began their short journey over the peaks to the sacred shore.