Mobilization! II
• • • • • • • • Black Horde Frontline • • • • • • • •
His eyes hurt. A’yill shifted on his mattress, a heavy silk blanket pressed down over his chest. He blinked again as his eyes opened to a flash of dull green light; his breath was faint and he couldn’t sit up, resorting to simply lying there and observing his surroundings. He was in the medical brig he could tell that much from the insignia on the various wooden posts holding up the ceiling. He blinked again as his own body came into view, he breathed in sharply; he was covered in bandages, and for that matter he couldn’t really feel anything below his neck. He heard the click of stone and something pouring, a laborer-caste attendant pouring him a water coming into view as he moved his head. He winced as a waive of pain echoed ripped through his head as he did that.
“I’been ordered to tell you not yet to move, Elder.” The aid said slowly, “the Kahavi’ll kick in faster.
Kahavi, a numbing agent, that would explain his lack of lower feeling, and why his arms felt like they were expanding, “What...what happened. Where are we anchored?”
“On your flagship, Elder, in the gorge outside the city. We’ve been awaiting your orders, deeming our current location safe. Whatever you did in there silenced the horde.”
What I did to the horde? He could barely follow her, “gather...gather the other Commanders, quickly as possible, tell them to prepare for departure toward the Capitol.” He laid back as she walked briskly out of the room. He remembered opening the vial of Alchemic Fire, then a flash of light...those zealots, the horde-masters, they’d tried using magic to counter the attack...he smiled, “damn fools.” He mumbled.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
It took another few hours for the patrols to finish the rest of their search, afterwards two divisions were left in the city with a month’s supply to secure the territory. A’yill, after several more meetings with his various commanders, eventually succumbed to exhaustion, allowing his rule to be abated to a general council. Their plan from there was to travel back toward Ixthenpijn, and to discharge their allied garrison troops to secure the southern settlements as they travelled North; there wasn’t any doubt left in any of their minds, the fiasco ruling the Capitol had to be shut down, immediately. The last Ahnsijn was the first to be chosen for wartime in 40 years after the northern regions rebelled, if any time needed to keep that trend of martial focus, that time was now. The lapse in their following of God’s laws now clearly gave the Black Horde its opening to attack, and it was only through the devotion of these southern men that peace was temporarily restored. Such a political sickness as Izah to garner dictatorial power over the Capitol would require immense corruption, and it was their duty, as people of faith, and as warriors, to right the wrongs of their superiors. The only thing that stood in their way, was the Northern Army.
The Southern forces would reach Ixthenpijn within a day as travel along the standard routes was opened back up; the idea of the effort it would take to purify the tainted lands stung the minds of every one of them as they drifted downstream, black, corrupted water sloshing against the hulls of their armored ships. It was from Ixthenpijn that they departed directly forward, traveling along the western canal toward the Verdant Corridor, the countries heartland. They’re plan was to meet the northern Army at the cavern’s mouth, but it seemed apparent that God had different ideas, as the familiar whistle-cry of the warrior-caste rang out in the distance, bouncing off of the cavern walls.
The two forces divided according to protocol, interlocking their ships in an ever-elongating, defensive war-column. Wooden bough-bridges were tossed over the twin Flagships as the famed northern General Kír clasped hands with General A’yill, the latter inviting the former to celebrate in his private hall. No other entered alongside them, and the guards stationed outside to prevent those listening in themselves heard little of what was discussed. Naught but the faint smell of Kàvr passed through that closed door, and what was discussed was kept forever between the two. The only thing to escape was the message of the Generals themselves;
“The Capitol is under siege, not from without, but within. The Curate itself has begat corruption of the mind, and this lapse in the holy way of God has allowed the catastrophe we narrowly defeated to befall us. All those who wish to stop us in our necessary, righteous cause to Liberate our Priest-Caste from despotism, stay your course now, as your time in service of the Zàtol shall end without hesitation.” After they were finished, a mixture of northern and southern brigades were dispatched to secure the central settlements while the rest of their combined forces would continue north toward the Capitol, which they would reach within another days time.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The crowd roared as A’yill stepped out from under the shell-like hull shields onto the fore-bough of his Flagship. The Kyasii banner hung from nearly every building as his small contingent travelled up the long southern canal toward the High Temple, whose enormous, hexagonal outline dwarfing every other structure around them, its flat-top just grazing the cavern ceiling. Volthazaan itself seemed to expand in every direction, sprawling out in a mixture of haphazard mess and strict gridline, winding between the massive stone hills keeping up the cavern ceiling. The High Temple wasn’t the only structure, too, as masses of thick silhouettes of smaller, district temples quickly surrounded their troop as they reached further into the city. Networks of canals criss-crossed between the stone islands making up the various districts, bridges spiderwebbing overhead. And then there were the people, thousands upon thousands of them, the roar of their cries, echoing into a fever pitch before they even entered the city, was now simply deafening, interlaced only with the mixture of brass and steel drums, flutes and whistles, and the great bass horns of cities temples.
A’yill raised his arms to the crowd and the mass of people went wild; he gritted his teeth a little, he needed to keep attention on himself. Kír’s own elite squadron had continued north, bringing orders to take administrative control over garrisons controlling the northern-settlements. By the time they reached the middle-districts they received the signal from the eastern districts Temple, a series of flashes of light sparking out from its massive shape. Their troops had just assumed control over the major ports, disarming most of the outer guard while at the same time seizing the major barracks of the city. So far everything was going smoothly, after all, they were the twin High-Generals, who could question their authority, especially with half the city in fanfare.
General Kír stepped out onto the dockyard of the western interior-port, the smooth sides of the High-Temple rising just above him. A look of shock overtook the barrack-commander standing before him and his troop. “We have orders from High-Temple to begin securing the Capitol, new orders for your men will be delivered shortly.” The thin man said; Kír stretched his back ever so slightly, pushing to display a sense of inherent superiority he always saw the Priests exude over himself. The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, “but, but sir I thought we were meant to remain on duty for the next few weeks after General A’yill…er…the Southern General’s arrival?”
Kír’s eyes narrowed, “Well, your orders, obviously have been changed.” And he continued on, his own regiment streaming past the thin line of men. Take. The. Bait. “General…where is the seal of confirmation?” The Commander stuttered before turning firm; time seemed to freeze around them. God damn them, the jig was up. Kír let out a low whistle and his men sprung into action, the eight of them easily overpowering the five surrounding the commander; In a single motion he turned, unsheathed his dagger, and plunged it into the back of the man, taking him completely by surprise. All he could do was whimper as he struggled to the ground. Within another 30 minutes his men had surrounded the High-Temple and were making their way up its secondary passageways.
A’yill blinked as darkness descended over them, the gilded stone archway of the High-Temples main dockyard curving above them. Twin columns of text rising up along the columns on either side: “Enter here ye, the flow, and all who’s way it guides, for here stays the light of the holy, and the passageway of God.” The dockyard was itself located in one of the many chambers inhabiting what was left of the stone-landmass the High-Temple rested on. In here the flow of the canals cut out, leading to thin pool shimmering blue against the black stone-walls, while glow crystals lit the way up along a wide stone staircase. Wooden cranes and unloading tools lay unwound, just grazing the water, large metal hooks hovering just above them as the convoy of ships fit into the various docking-sections. Below the bough, lined up along the stone dock, was an array of priest-caste and A’yill gritted his teeth, they were lower-officials sure, but he wasn’t about to take chances.”
“Elders! I thank you for gracing me with your presence upon my hasty arrival. According to formalities and protocol, I seek of course an audience only with the Curate Authority to inform them personally of the situation, as well as to receive my set of new orders for the defense of the Holy Land in these trying times.”
“Of course, General A’yill.” One said softly, A’yill’s eye twitched at the insult of being referred to only as ‘general’, insolent, senile, corrupt, the lot of them. “We only seek to know the location of your forces?”
“My forces?” He feinted looking confused, “They’re currently occupying the southern settlements of course, with the area in such disarray it seemed only natural to refortify the security of the region as quickly as possible. But with the danger of our current situation I felt it necessary to still keep with the process of making pilgrimage to the Capitol personally.” His faced remained unmoving as the men and women below him examined him. After a moment he had his men lower a drop-bridge and his feet finally touched dry land. The group of them continued up the passageway, continuing for a while before the clatter of noise betrayed their location, and they entered into the entry chamber. It was a wide passageway filled with a menagerie of pack-animals, people, and wagons of just about every substance. They travelled along one of the side-passages used by the Priests to avoid contact with the lower-castes, passing up between the honeycomb of Scribe-Caste chambers before finally, they were met first with quiet, then with a soft breeze as the stone hallway opened up onto a balcony overlooking the city. They continued winding up the passageway, passing under the shadow of the stone columns, before finally they made a steep curve inward, passing past lines of inscription before the tunnel opened up, and before them lay the Central-Chamer, home of the High Curate.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The room went quiet as A’yill and his men, the Southern Commanders, entered the room. The various Curators passed glances to each other while the man below them, a veritable war hero, stepped into the circular stage that was the Curate Chamber. “Welcome, General A’yill of the Southern Army, we see you bring news of a great victory on this holytide?” A voice called out from amongst the crowd.
He looked around at the men and women standing around him and cleared his throat, “I do, Curators, Guides of the Holy Land.” He suppressed a smile as nervous looks echoed in response. He was well aware how touchy their collective status’s had become in recent times.
“This is good news then.” Another called out, and in a moment A’yill locked eyes with Lawspeaker Izah. Witch, he thought to himself, Witch and Heathen. “Of course, my Lawspeaker,” He started, “The faith of our people has forever banished the hated Black Horde from our lands. The Light Kyasii shines through the barbarous Darkness.”
“The Light Kyasii shines through the barbarous Darkness.” A chorus of voices echoed in response.
A’yill cleared his throat, “My Curate, my Guides, with the threat banished, do you believe it is finally time to start the long-awaited Ahnsijn Process?”
The air in the room froze, all eyes locked onto the general. “That is above the decision of your Caste, A’yill, do not grow drunk on the spill of your victory.” One of the Curators said.
The decision of his Caste, his holy duty. A’yill thought for a moment, what did that all mean. Who was he to cast doubt on the decisions of these people as a mere Warrior? “Excuse me Curators, I merely wish to see true and full order returned to the Holy Land now that the enemy force is, for the time being, broken.”
“Yet they remain.” Izah said slowly, cold eyes boring into A’yill’s
“My Curator?”
“A new enemy force mounts itself at the Northern Border. As your status as a Warrior-General, does it not suit you to travel there with all due haste? You’ve no doubt heard of the Kuora incursion?”
“I…have, Lawspeaker.” He paused, turning back to look at the door, there was no going back now, “It’s simply that, I felt that as a Warrior it was my duty to expressly aid the Capitol.”
“Aid us from what, with our enemy so far away?” Izah pressed.
“You misunderstand, I don’t come here to defend from outward foes. On the contrary, I’ve come to defend our holy mission from enemies of the within.”
“Speak your mind if that’s what you wish, A’yill.”
“Lawspeaker Izah, our Holy Land stands on the precipice of War on all sides, will you start the Ahnsijn Process?”
Izah’s breath quickened, her glare narrowing down to meet A’yill’s gaze. “I am unable, without the consent of a second Lawmaker.”
“Then will you allow the Curate to decide on a new Lawspeaker?”
“I cannot, with enemies mounting in the North such a decision must come second to defending the country.”
“So you will not convene a meeting to elect a Lawspeaker, and will not allow the beginning of the Ahnsijn process.”
“Well…yes.”
A’yill let out a whistle, and in a single stroke a stream of soldiers began to file out from the door behind him, the men of the Northern Army. General Kír was quick to join them, passing a glance toward A’yill.
“What amongst all things holy do you think you’re doi—“ Izah managed to sputter out before A’yill barked his response, “Attention, members of the Curate,” A’yill barked out, “I am High General A’yill of the Joint Kemeht Military. I have, alongside my northern counterpart, elected to combine the total military output of our country due to threats to her security from within and without. I now assign Commander Izīd to the position of General as my newest subordinate.”
“How
dare you.” She managed to stutter out, the other curators rushing to their feet only to be shoved back down by the soldiers in the room, who in a motion drew their weapons.
‘Izah, Lawspeaker, you have prevented and stalled the natural process of the Ahnsijn and are accused of conspiracy for the disappearance of the second Lawspeaker, and so as a proud member of the Warrior-Caste it is my duty above all else to defend the holy rite of our statecraft, of which you have been deemed a deviant. As such, you, your court, and all others deemed obstacles before God shall be removed and tried by an emergency tribunal.”
Her face turned sheet white before it was slammed onto the stone tabletop in front of her, four guards hoisting her screaming-self into the air before another knocked her unconscious. “Clear them all out.” A’yill ordered, “And make room for the commanders, we’ll be running an emergency sessions with those curators found least guilty as the Tribunals work goes on.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
All across the city people were herded into their respective districts, with most roadways and canals, apart from the primary supply-routes, being completely emptied. At that moment, the High Temple became silent; no-one could enter, and no-one could leave, all while garrison patrols began to comb through the city’s gridline. It wouldn’t be for several hours until the first word was sent out again from the Temple, “gather the squares.” The command wasn’t well understood, the common spaces hadn’t been called to be completely filled in ages, let alone all of them, and as the various common-areas of the city
were indeed filled, an ominous sense flowed over the crowd. Guards and Garrison were everywhere, patrols marching along the various passageways, stationed on rooftops, and controlling the movement of ships throughout the channels.
It was outside the main square, just beneath the High Temple, that a messenger appeared wearing the traditional green-purple garb of the Curate, various ornaments announcing his position as a Speaker — historically an announcer of various Priesthood efforts, and now of major Curate decisions. His message would be relayed to every common space, and from there every temple and farmhouse in the country: “The Curators have dispatched the seekers; the Ahnsijn-Process has begun.”
Jihad
• • • • • • • • Quijain, allied war camp • • • • • • • •
The call of war horns erupted for a second time across his front line, a mixture of standing infantry-men and huge, shuffling walkers divided amongst four war-columns. Black and Red banners whipped angrily overhead, a gold diamond placed securely in the center. Bakahn stood up, shifting his weight with the sway of the beast below him; his eyes touched out over the simply massive camp struck out in front of them, noticing the familiar triangular banner of the Kyrans, the blue standard of the Western Kingdom, and several more that he simply didn’t recognize. He motioned for one of his aids, who quickly clipped a relay hook onto his belt-harness. It took him only a few moments to repel down, the processions slowing around him to allot him time to get to the front of the ranks. He stopped, waited for his personal guard to surround him, before heading off toward the camp below, his line of soldiers stopping just at the crest of the hill. With a motion of his hand the horn calls of his ranks, inspired by those of the Gilded-Temple in Aliim’yhrall.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Cool night air blowed over the camp, halted only by the impressive arrays of bonfires set up keeping the Mire-Walkers calm, the flashing light doing well to entrance the beasts and warm the men. “Rukub mae Ael.” Bakahn —ride with God— said, lowering his head in respect of the Quijain war leader in front of him, a representative of various southern Quijaini tribes the Rohzai had been paying-off for decades. He leaned back with a breath, taking in the wet air of these northern lands, his skin tingling as it came into contact with the rare occurrence of moisture. The band of Quijain, Rohzai, and Karthagite diplomats and warriors lavished themselves in party to fortify their promise of safe-passage through the rugged terrain. He sighed contently as he took another drink of the Amash Liqueur and swirled the golden liquid in its squat, clay cup with the his homesteads name painted on the side.
He stood up slowly, “Men!” He roared over the crowd, a devilish grin parting along his rich brown beard, before he raised his glass to all of them, “I depart now, but upon the death of the Great Demon, the Amash will flow undaunted, and our grails always full!” He turned his back on the horde of men as they erupted into laughter and cheer, then parted the flaps of his tent and laid down on his cot, running his hands through the light sheets of Kemeht silk.
A deep, echoing call rushed around him as he led his men deeper into the void of the Tabes. Bakahn felt himself clench up as it got louder. It was all around him now, and he squinted harder and harder to see through the thick mists in front of him. He could just make out the words now, before suddenly the call turned into a cacophony. “HIDESHAM VAKAHR KIYN ISHET! BAKAM VAKAHR KIYN ISHET!” They were men, screaming a cry so loud it made his blood curdle, but they weren’t his, they’re skin a blue-grey, their ears pointed, and their armor a stunning bronze. “HIDESHAM VAKAHR KIYN ISHET! BAKAM VAKAHR KIYN ISHET!” They screamed out again and again with an insanity, lunging forward in a hurricane of blades against the unseen horde ahead of them. One was hoisted into the air, screaming his battlecry one last time before his body was engulfed in fire, his roars accompanied by the pained ones of his adversary, but Bakahn tried to blink that slow, dream-state blink, as the man seemed to reappear in the masked crowd around him. He was soon overtaken by the horde of men and women, all of them seemingly possessed by the same zealous bloodlust, the same psychosis, each one felled replaced instantly by another. Alone they were formidable, but together they were…
Bakahn didn’t remember falling asleep, but he shot up suddenly, clenched fists whipping the silk-sheets into the air. He blinked at the surprised look of one of his War-brothers —elite warriors and squadrons of the karthagites— who happened to be standing over him. “I apologize, al-Mutahadir, but ’tis almost sunrise and—“
“And we shouldn’t miss the opportunity for travel, of course. And never apologize for waking me, I may be a speaker of God but I am still a Man.” He almost laughed as the man left the tent and started getting himself ready; “al-Mutahadir” (the “Civilized”), the name the Rohzai had taken to calling him, had started finding use amongst his own folk. It was a prejudice, yes, but was it so bad a prejudice? If there was any way to rally the support of the Rohzai after this was all over, playing himself off as “the transitioner” might be the safest bet.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Another horn call erupted from the Jihadi Front-Line as they neared their destination, the small crowd of Kyrans and Westerners massing forward to meet them parting as the small body of troops, Bakahn’s personal cohort, pushed past their slowing war-column, which itself began to split in a crescent around the ever-expanding camp. Bakahn, 15 men, and 2 Mire walkers continued onward, the group of foreigners letting out light gasps at the giant insects towering over them, trunk-like legs pounding against the hardened soil. They continued onward for a while before finally reaching the primary tent, one of the walkers releasing a low rumble as a progressively larger crowd of people began to curve around them. Bakahn was the first to step forward, allowing the aids to get the attention of the men inside the tent, before turning to the crowd around them,
“I am Bakahn, I am
Mutahadir,” he shouted out in Common, “I am the warrior that aided you,” he gestured to the Lexiduns, “In the annihilation of the Horde in Lexidus, and I am the one,” he turned to the Kyrans, “that fought alongside your folk in private attacks against banditry and the desolation across our joint sands. I am the One chosen by God to aid all manner of folk against the Great Demon. And I, I am now come’th to aid you here.”
This was to be interesting. He thought solemnly.
Mark of the Yuar IV
• • • • • • • • Vohlthazaan • • • • • • • •
Tiyn fidgeted uncomfortably. He was not usually one to be the centre of attention, much less the centre of attention of those with power.
"My mind is foggy, Brother," Tiyn said, nervously. "I remember running, down a long dark corridor, I was being pursued. And then there was a room, and there was someone there," Tiyn paused for a long time, trying to remember more of the room and the presence within it.
"I can't remember any thing else," he conceded, at last, "I just woke up in the marshlands, with this," he motioned to the Amulet.
The Headmaster eyed the man in front of him, first the Black Horde, then the surface warriors gearing for some jihad, and now this? Something was going on it was obvious; He motioned toward one of his aids, "anything?" the young woman shook her head. His focus turned back toward Tiyn, "Do you know what it is?"
Tiyn's face became grave at the question,"I think Kva would know more than I do. He is the one who heard it speak, after all."
The Headmaster turned immedietly to the eerily quiet priest toward his left, who gulped nervously; "You'd said it spoke yes? What did it say specifically."
Kva began too sweat, "Brother I dare not speak its incoherent utterances I—"
"Just speak it aloud you blithering fool, we don't have time for the Purity of Mind!" Kva looked to the floor at that, no wonder the Kyasii hated these men so much. "It claimed to be a spirit of the Great Journey."
At that the headmaster froze, his eyes narrowing, "That doesn't sound incoherent to me, brother."
"It spoke in a strange tongue with foreign words, it demanded I take it here to the Holy City to see our 'Authority'; when I asked what it wanted it claimed ludicrous things like Freedom, it claimed it wished to recover something called the Expanse and deliver justice to a hearth. And...."
"And what!" The headmaster was growing tired of this blithering man, too long amongst lower-castes had made his mind weak with overindulgence.
"It told me not to trust in God!" He was sweating profusely now, his hands in a tight ball. The Headmaster didn't move. "How did you get it to speak the last time." He said, slowly, "Answer the question fool!" He shouted when Kva failed to answer.
"He touched the amulet! That's it!"
The Headmaster shook his head and retrieved the golden device, examining it for a few moments before moving it toward Tiyn. "Put it on." He said coldly, his mind was racing; this was insanity.
Tiyn was hesitant, but not afraid. The amulet was a foreign object, possibly contaminated with demonic corruption and undoubtedly blasphemous. Yet, he felt at ease in its presence. Possibly even connected with it.
As he wordlessly picked it up and slipped it over his head, he once again felt a warmth as white light filled his vision. His head dropped, Tiyn felt another presence in his head. It pushed him aside gently as it took control.
The amulet's core revealed itself, a dazzling white light filling the room. This time, Tiyn, or whatever now resided within him, lifted his head to focus on the Headmaster. Tiyn's eyes locked with the Headmaster's, but the spark within them was not his.
"Are you the Authority for the Firasi?"
The Headmasters eyes widened, it was true, there was a being in the device. Now to see if the bumbling fool was right about anything else. “I am an authority. At least one with the highest chance of both your survivals. I’m the headmaster if the Capital Alchemists, your hosts superior.”
"Your honorifics matter not, do you speak with authority for the Firasi?"
“The what?”
“That’s its name for us.” Kva piped up; the headmaster shook his head, “kindly write down all of its incoherences and give them to me you
blithering idiot.” He straightened himself before continuing, “what did it say it wanted? Access to the Authority?” Kva shook his head yes as he scribbled erratically. The man sighed, “our prime authority is dead and his power divided between different people. I am the one with the most authority to deal with...you. Whatever you turn out to be”
The entity gave a blank stare as the Headmaster spoke, then it sighed.
"All Firasi eventually dissipate, it is their purpose, after all. This one finds you an acceptable intermediary." There as a pause for a moment, before the entity continued."Do all Firasi seek to kill the juvenile?"
Dissipate? What did it mean purpose to dissipate, “the ones with the power to execute and the ones with the power to clarify that you are not a threat, me, are currently on less than speaking terms. Izah, another one of authority, may see you as magical or simply a threat to be eliminated. Us...firasi, are under attack after all, these are less than safe times for a being of...your level of uncertainty. And because of that I must ask, what are you?”
The entity went quiet once more. It almost looked like it was in deep thought. "Passage." It said eventually. "You may call this one Passage. The name this one had is not known, it took the name, all of them. In your tongue this one's name means Passage."
“Passage? Is that your function? And I believe you’ve misinterpreted my question; I mean to ask what are you, literally speaking. Are you a being of Chaos, something I can only assume given your demand of us not to trust in God, that being another reason the Firasi would seek your destruction, for the record.”
The entity scoffed at the mention of God, a look of disgust riddled Tiyn's face. "Miasmoa, I will do you a service no Firasi has ever been given. Would you like to know how creation was created?"
The headmaster glanced at the paper Kva had written on as the thing spoke, Miasmoa, a being misguided. His eyes shot up as it stopped speaking. He knew they didn't know everything, to know all knowledge was God's work, but who was this creature as to know such information?
"Speak." he said carefully
"In the beginning," the entity started, "there lived 3 brothers. These brothers were incomprehensible to Firasi, they had no mothers or fathers, they never dissipated. They did not do, they simply were. Eventually they decided to create and they adopted names as symbols of their inventions. The one who created the canvas on which they would draw and build the home for the Firasi named himself Expanse. The one who created the house in which they should live and the fireplace in which they would warm themselves named himself Hearth. Finally, the last brother, who created the means through which the Firasi could experience events occurring in the place they had made named himself Passage.
When the three brothers had finished creating, they were ready to populate the place with Firasi to experience it. Yet, none of them possessed that power. They knew that one day a new brother would join them with the power to give life and so they were content to simply wait. As time went on, Expanse and Passage forgot about the Firasi, Expanse would create planets and stars and galaxies, and Passage would make it so they would eventually age and explode to create something new. Yet Hearth, Hearth could do nothing but sit alone in his empty house waiting for the children he could not create.(edited)
Over countless aeons Hearth became intensely jealous of his brothers and what they had. When one day he invited them to his house, they came out of a desire to see their brother and to tell him of the wonderous things they had done. They excitedly left the safety of their home and took form in the place the three of them had created, the first time they had done so. Then, knowing that they were vulnerable, Hearth struck down and killed his brothers, who shattered into countless shards. He collected them up and scattered those of Expanse within a circle, and those of Passage in a ring around his beloved brother. He enchanted the burial grounds and watched as their essence was trapped within.”
He didn't know how to respond. Three entities? Three? The Headmaster turned toward the two other companions in the room, "Lock the doors." He said quietly before turning his gaze back to the being. "And what of the fourth brother then?"
The entity was solemnly silent for a while, it had waited a long time to tell this story.
"This one was trapped for so long. The only brother it has known since then is the juvenile, a one created from firasicosic, the subversion. The fourth brother must exist, for you exist, but it is not known to this one."
"The Juvenile?" The Headmaster scratched his beard, "And you claimed to be Passage then, but your story says you were destroyed?" He breathed as he looked down again at the paper and noticed something; Kva had written down the foreign words in Sound writing, spelling out 'Fi - Ra - Si - Ko - Si - K: Something that was threatened to be destroyed'. "You had mentioned earlier that word, Firasikosik, and had said many would be destroyed by it. I take it the It, there, is Hearth, but what do you mean by this word Firasikosik?"
"Firasicosic," the entity repeated, "all Firasi possess Firasicosic, it is the inner-light. Your being. This one, like its brothers, is a being of cosic, but the Juvenile is a being of firasicosic, his essence was formed from the inner-light of Firasi long dissipated."
The Entity paused for a moment, making sure the room was up to speed with it being it continued.
"In the time since the Juvenile was locked away in the third circle he has worked tirelessly to weaken the enchantments placed on its prison. Unlike his brothers, Hearth could not kill the Juvenile, so he simply imprisoned him.
The Juvenile weakened his prison but he also weakened this one's burial ground. Over time this one was able to reform aspects of its essence. Eventually it would be able to reform itself fully. That was until the Juvenile stole this shard."
The entity motioned to the amulet, its white glow still lighting the room.
"He placed it within this amulet, intending to make use of it. By doing so he has separated this one from its other parts, and it can no longer reform itself unless it is returned.
So this thing was a piece of the wider whole, Kva, it seemed, was wrong about his soul from the Great Journey idea. "By rings you mean the Chasm, don't you. The great well our lands curve around, the source of magic in this world? That...thing we see moving within the Chasm...that's the Juvenile? And when does God fit into this story then? Are they this Hearth being, or some culmination of all three of you?"
"Hearth is your God. When he discovers a piece of his brother has risen from its burial ground, he will descend to this world to retrieve this one and to destroy any Firasi who know the truth," the entity said sternly.
"How can you say these things?" the headmaster demanded, "You claim information beyond and contrary to everything we've understood for generations. Our God has guided us and enlightened us for millenia and now you ask me to turn against them?"
"This one speaks only the truth" The entity snapped back, its voice rumbling with a rare display of emotion.
"You do not have to believe the words this one speaks, you may look upon the truth yourselves." It said, after a pause.
The headmaster stuttered for a moment, it was genuinely not what he was expecting as a response. "Look upon what?"
"Creation," the entity stated, sharply.
"This one is not strong enough to bestow the knowledge, but there is a place where strength can be obtained.”
"So is this why you've come? To send us on some, quest for knowledge?"
"No. This one wishes to return home."
"Is that why you've come to us?" Then it clicked in his mind, "you claim to be of a greater whole, a piece of one of what you say is a 'second god' that has been imprisoned by our own. You wish us to return you to yourself. Don't you."
Shock flickered on Tiyn's face faintly. For the first time, it had been caught off-guard.
"The Juvenile stole this fragment of this one many years ago in an attempt to gain additional power. It failed and this fragment was discarded. The Juvenile and its machine have brought untold power to the prison, which opened the possibility for...reformulation. But to do so this one must be whole."
"The Juvenile is the warp we've seen upon peering into the great Chasm, yes? What do you mean by its machine?" Prison...whatever that warp is, did this thing mean to say it was trapped there?
"The Juvenile was imprisoned within this realm, separated from the power of the Æther and left weak. It is not mature, but it has learnt much in its incarceration. The machine is a construct of its own making which entraps Firasicosic and uses it as a power source"
The air in the room stopped. Firasicosic was its word for the Soul. "The Great Demon...the Warp of the Chasm has been entrapping souls?"
"The machine is limited in scope, it has entrapped the firasicosic at the point of dissipation of all firasi around it. The firasi of this land are within its scope." The entity sensed that its words were having a profound impact on those around it, more so than its story of the crimes of their god, could it be that this was something they cared for more than the sins of the being they worshipped?
"How long." He paused. “How long has this occured."
"This one has felt the power increasing for over 100 years, but it cannot say exactly when the Juvenile perfected its machine." the entity replied.
He didn't even know how to respond; all those lives, all those souls guaranteed absolution by the work they performed so tirelessly here, all of them gone, having been gone, for
a century. "Why have you come here." he stated flatly, "To simply reunite with yourself, or is there something more?"
"In the beginning we worked to create a place for life. It has been so long since we created this goal that it has come to represent our entire existence. The Juvenile seeks to corrupt our work, and it will have the power to do so. This one wishes to become whole to protect the realm it had a part in creating." The entity paused, looking at the Headmaster. "Do you still wish this one to show you the truth?"
"It's my duty as an Alchemist to observe the world to best fulfill the needs of my people. If what you say is true we have been in danger for quite some time now." He glanced at his two aids. "Yes. Show us."
"Very well. It requires a journey. This one lacks the strength, but there is a place where Hearth's power lingers. It is a city, ruled by a different firasi who worship Hearth. His power ran through there, that is where creation can be shown."
"Where? Where could this city be found?"
"This one does not know, it feels the power and the firasicosic. Hearth was strong there, his power was direct. Yet, now it is faint. This city was once directly blessed by Hearth, but now it is no longer. This one knows no more, except that it is close."
"How then, do you expect us to find it?"
"It is a large city, yet this one feels like it has lessened. Many firasi have dissipated recently. They are strong followers of Hearth, and he blessed them with something which drew much power. It should not be difficult to locate"
"Vaazha!" All eyes turned to the aid that had just spoken out.
"What about Vaazha?"
"Think, Hearth is Kiyn, yes? And this being claims that this city it speaks of is close, so I would assume it does not mean within our lands; The Capital, the city in which we stand, is the only city I can immediately think of matching this description and while our spat with the next Ahnsijn is sure not to attract divine favor, we haven't seen this mass eviction described. So if this city isn't within Kemeht, we can profitably assume that it's not amongst the Surface, as again, no mention of mass diaspora has reached our ears.
But there is somewhere that matches the description of a land that follows God, that is not our own, but that is likewise close, and that is—"
"The lands of Vaazha; they have their own holy city there — Being, should we bring you to this foreign land, could you aid us in seeing this 'divine new truth'?"
Tiyn nodded. "This one has constructed a vessel there, if it could be transferred to it this one will show how this realm was created." And with that the amulet slipped shut, and a stillness fell over the room as the Headmaster began to take in what had just occurred. Then, all heads turned to the door as a loud crashing erupted from outside. The Headmaster was the first out the door before he was pushed aside by a colossus of a man in full alchemic-bronze armor, the insignia of the Southern Army on his breastplate. He was followed quickly by a full troop of soldiers.
“What is the meaning of this?!” The headmaster roared before he was cut off by one of the soldiers: “The High-Temple has suspended all Alchemic activity, we have been ordered to bring word that an emergency Tribunal has been implemented to investigate the notion of Heresy within the Capital.”
“Heresy?! Who on God’s glorious land do you think you’re speaking too?” The man responded, rage filling the room, Kva fidgeting nervously in the corner, “Who runs this Tribunal?”
“The Tribunal has been implemented at the Haste of High-General A’yill of the Joint Army.”
The man froze. “What do you mean
joint army?”
“The Southern and Northern forces have been united under the High-General upon the annihilation of the Black Horde. I apologize Headmaster, but you and your cohort have been placed under arrest. We ask that you do not resist, as we are prepared to deliver this order by deadly force.”