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Heirs of the ponderousness. Episode one, Wrath of the Chaplain's, Part one.


The woman had just started singing her daughter's favorite lullaby to meet a student who had to join my new minister when she heard shuffling sounds outside her door.


She pleased her drowsy baby into a cradle and grabbed a thick broom from her kitchen, she brandished it like a weapon and inched towards the door to investigate the disturbance.


Her husband had gone to trade cattle in the neighboring town, although she did not have his protection on nights like these.


She was confident she could rouse her fellow villagers with the tiniest of screams, she peered through the tiny gaps in the wooden slats of the door.


Her heartbeat quickened. Her mouth was dry.


She raised the boom higher and then flung open the door. There was nothing there, just the Dark Knight, the incessant chirping of insects and the glow of kerosene lamps inside her neighbor's huts. She let out a sigh of relief, then came a crashing noise from her barn located right behind the house. The panicked bleating of her precious goats and the fearful, trilling and cackling sounds of her well-loved chickens made her anxious.


She exited her home and close the door behind her. She ran straight for the barn while screaming for her neighbor's. A small crowd gathered in front of the barn in no time. Investigations conducted under the light of the wood and torches did not reveal the aftermath of a fox attack or the presence of a snake. I don't think there is anything to see here, the sarpanch, the leader of the village council, said. A bird call might have spooked the animals, everyone go back to your homes.


The woman thanked them for coming to her aid as they streamed out of the barn. She apologized for raising the alarm. Oh, no, that is fine. After all, what are neighbors for? You did good. I'm glad to have come down to check on the welfare of your animals, the statement said, waving a goodbye. The woman returned to her home and then closed her front door. She shook her head and smiled. Silly me, she thought.


She leaned the broom against the wall and returned to her daughter's cradle. That she screamed. The baby was nowhere to be seen. The Warriors strolled determinedly down the mud road leading to the village of Mata in the region.


A brother and a sister, two souls looking for redemption in a cruel world. Many centuries have passed since the great battle of Chitra. The tales of valor and bravery and the triumph of good over evil from the time of gods and mighty warriors, but now just that tales. Stories parents told their children to keep them from the truth. The truth that no avatar protected the lands of Bidart. Evil in the form of cruel rulers, mind demons, nefarious sorcerers, deadly bandits and hellspawn creatures reigned supreme, many learned scholars had considered the possibility that this truly could be the end times.


The brother was a warrior monk named the. He was turned six foot tall and dressed in saffron pans and a sleeveless top featuring four buttons that showcased his muscular arms, Malda shoulders and a broad chest.


His long, wavy hair cascaded down his back and his face exuded the serenity of someone who had mustered become Mayger, his comfortable shoes were made from deer hide and it featured soles that provided ample grip to execute athletic moves without compromising his footing. In his hands, he held a thick wooden staff, which seemed harmless and deadly at the same time. Harmless because it was not a bladed weapon, deadly because the hands that wounded it looked like it could unleash the fury of Sheba in an instant.


The man wore no jewelry, nor was he adorned in Awe-Inspiring tattoos, but his regal bearing drew the admiring eyes of every man and woman who passed by. The sister was a warrior hunter named Dorothy. She wore a light green top and brown pants that highlighted her life and muscular physique. A waist cold with splotches of green, brown and gray pressed against her stunning body. Her skin was beautiful, dark storm clouds and radiated a healthy glow. Her brown eyes exuded strength and twinkled with ferocious intelligence.


Her confident gait rattled the arrows in her leather quiver. The composite ball hung snugly across her back. A short sword with a handle that matched the colors of her waist waistcoat hung from a scabbard attached to her brown leather belt, her only adornment is a small necklace with a striking locket. Broken halves of the sun and the moon pressed together. The two came upon a crowd that had gathered around a crying woman in the village's central square. My baby, my poor baby, the woman said as she wailed at those vile creatures, took my baby.


The crowd of villagers gathered around her, looked at her pitifully. Some had their hands pressed against the cheeks in an expression of helplessness. I can't believe this has happened in our village. An elderly woman remarked. How can we be of service? Asked the crowd, the villagers tender gaze towards the new arrivals, the Sarpanch stepped forward and said. This poor woman's baby was stolen by he couldn't bring himself to say the name Jobbins, those dreadful creatures live under the mud mounds over the western hills.


A middle aged man offered. How do you know chaplains are involved in this incident? They're the last we have seen their small clawed footprints.


There is no doubting who perpetrated this crime, The Sampan said. It would reside. Attacks by all manners of creatures were increasing across part of. He and his sister had faced innumerable falls in the last few years that were inhuman in origin. They will sacrifice it all to appease their vile gods. An old woman said with an air of dread. The mother started wailing loud at the Sepich appraised Rudra Anthraces appearance and asked, Can you help?


Really looked at Rudra and then back at the gathering, we will help you. We don't have much to give you. We are poor farmers, the Sarpanch said. I will be your slave for the rest of my life if you save my child, the mother said through a veil of tears.


We will accept whatever you give us. Who did said and is always a memory flashed across his mind, his parents weeping into the soil in front of their burning house, their childhood versions screaming in terror and confusion at the loss of their home and the sorrow of their parents.


The great Richard, the pointing his Yogananda at them, cursing them, aware of the bonobo's children in the lineage of Tanigaki, I curse you to wander the land Subotic as mercenaries, you are never to demand reward's accept whatever is given to you because you want your children to the day you are given the last leaf of the Sergeyevna as compensation.


Their parents had perished in the line of work. Now, it was just him and his sister wondering mercenaries questing the world to undo the curse that ruined their family, Rudra was yanked out of his reverie by the villagers who had fallen at his antipathies feet. They turn to their prospective saviors and sang their praises. Suddenly, two men who had been standing apart from the crowd and watching the proceedings stepped forward. They were dressed in dusty brown tunics and their filthy features were hidden under hoods.


One of them pulled out a knife from his waistband. The weaponless man said the mercenaries we have been looking for, the brother and sister duo, robbed Lord Niranjan to feed the poor saps.


He pulled out a sheet of paper featuring crude drawings of the intruder and waved it around for everyone to see. You are worth a thousand gold coins alive.


Your severed heads are worth 500 now. Why don't you drop your weapons and follow us like good children?


And what if we don't leave with you like good children? Dorothy said, then you will feel the wrath of our blades. The older of the two bounty hunters said, pulling out a long, serrated knife. This is your first and only warning. Gentlemen, leave us and spare yourself some broken bones, Pittodrie said. Then he looked at Dorothy and continued.


Who worse severed limbs, the bounty hunters chuckled and circled them like hyenas. Ridenhour told his staff on one finger for multiple rotations and then grabbed its midpoint with both hands. He then slid his right leg back and eased into a fighting stance. He glanced between her bow and her sword several times and shook her head. Come to sign brother readiness mind. That's your sister, ever the indecisive person. But as he poked a tongue at him, as she unsheathed her sword, she leveled the blade at the older bounty hunter.


This one's mine, she said. With shocking swiftness. The bounty hunters zigzagged and darted on nimble feet, confusing the warriors.


Their motion was a blur as they narrowed the distance between them and the in a flash and smashed her down onto her back. The bounty hunters then zipped off towards Rudra when they need him. They both ducked low and kicked his leg from underneath him. Redrill, landed on the floor, had his hands jarred with pain as he halted his fall with his palms. Interesting, Rudra said he found the divide and conquer techniques and their effortless, speedy movement interesting.


The bounty hunters were clearly trained in one of the famed assassin articles, in part it ran through the door, didn't have too much time to ponder the efficacy of their opulent martial prowess.


The bounty hunters asked deadly blades down towards the vital organs of their flawed price victims, children to the old way and escaped their downed positions in a beautifully synchronized move.


Then, with the fluidity of wildcats, they sprang up to their feet.


Redress from his staff towards the younger bounty hunters midsection. The powerful blow drew a string of bloody spittle and a rasping cough from the man who drew the wind towards her opponent, stunning him with her speed. And when she was right in front of him, she brought her blade down, scoring the man's flesh and clothes from the top of his forehead all the way down to his crotch.


His clothes split open in the middle of revealing his filthy body and a long, bloody red mark left by the shorthold.


They took advantage of his surprise look, she rushed at him and brought the flat part of her blade and her fists together. Sandwiching his face in between them. His jaw broke at several vital junctions and his teeth shattered as he leaned in pain and stumbled back there. He landed a powerful front kick that landed the man on the back of his head and knocked him out cold.


His opponent recovered from the blow he had eaten and left at him with a razor blade aimed straight at his heart, Rudra took a deep breath, calculating the vector of the man's motion across space and his mind swiftly determined the perfect moment just laid aside from the path of the opulence asking weapon. He did so with the smoothness of water flowing across Mossy Pebbles. Then he slammed the staff down on the man's back in mid-flight.


Is that broke and he landed on the dusty courtyard with a force that cracked his ribs, that he let out a cry of pain that was heart rending. Anyone else, the artist and the whole village square broke into applause. Drew, the intruder climbed the hill that overlooked the village, the scale of the scrubland that extended for miles for signs of anthills that signaled entrances to the underground layer of the Japanese, they didn't have to try to hide. Dotted across the landscape, but hundreds of mounds shaped like weathered canyon mountains built up with mud, they were a lot taller than the ones constructed by ants.


Well, the siblings had fought many mythical creatures before, they had never encountered Jonathan's goblin like creatures that dwelled in underground lairs.


They were set to be erstwhile rulers of Batalla, the underworld kingdom, once their status as undisputed rulers of the underworld was lost after the battle of good shape, that they were hunted by humans who believed they had mystical powers which would grant their captors good fortune and immense wealth.


They were captured and enslaved in attics, fed tody and steamed tapioca laced with honey, caged and worshipped till age or disease or suicide took away their life bred. Given this nature and the constant threat posed by human poachers, the siblings found the situation highly unusual. Why would they risk the wrath of the villagers by stealing a baby? To what end? They did not remember reading the charts were flesh eaters in their mythology classes in Nylander, Google. Their minds clouded by doubts.


The two warriors climbed down the hill to search amongst the ocean of mounds and dry shrubs that extended as far as their eyes could see. A dry wind blew through the land, whispering warnings. The afternoon sun was burning hot, making the trudge through the sandy soil onerous. Dorothy was increasingly paranoid that they were being followed. Do you think about our parents that are just the queston pierced through her veil of suspicions and then as an aching, quivering arrow in her heart?


I try not to that, he said sadly in the village, but the bounty hunters declared our lineage. I saw them in my mind's eye weeping into the soil in front of our burning home. 023 said, Brother, we honor them by continuing their quest to remove the curse upon our family, he said. I didn't know that. I miss them, too, but we must not let the sadness cloud the clarity of Aldama. Who knows? This time we might earn the reward that banishes Tiger's curse into the void that it came from there.


He said, I don't know what I would do if I lost you. Hurdlers said, you will never lose me, Dorothy said, clutching her necklace.


A statement was more than symbolic. The golden chain was a family heirloom that had been passed down from generation to generation, rumored to be crafted on the banks of the Holy Pampas. It over my artisans. Blessed by goddess Saraswati, the piece of jewelry would act as a beacon should the world get lost. They were approaching a grove with an unusually high concentration of the melons, and as if that wasn't enough to raise their hackles, the shrubs around them shook violently.


Blurry green and yellow shapes appeared and disappeared in their peripheral vision. On your God, Sister Ed said. Suddenly, the ground underneath their feet fell away and the siblings tumbled down a shop and landed hard on a cave floor.


Before they could recover from the impact, many clawed hands dragged them away into tunnels that branched away separately into many chambers of the underworld kingdom, really shouted out to his sister. She shouted back, but her voice was quickly growing faint and distant. Heirs of the Punitiveness is a wine studio production written and narrated by Nikesh Moodily, produced by Sonia Karana and Bidgee got them. Sound design and editing by Shri Oberoi are designed by Russian comrade.