|
|
Post by Thorlah on Sept 26, 2014 15:17:16 GMT -5
-Grand General Arthur Henrik's Report: Date: Wintumber 1st, 9:15 PM
Location: -Redacted-
The snow began to fall this evening, and reminded me of the first winter I spent on this planet, after living, and growing in Infernus.
Have you ever dropped an ice chunk into a boiling liquid? It's much like that for demons in the cold. We were built for the heat and the hellfire, not for frozen raindrops and cutting winds colder than most of our predilections.
But after all the ages, I'd be remiss if I didn't not admit a tolerance to it. Otherwise, I would have requested a different locale for my deployment.
Locals seem kind enough, and quite understanding of my species. The fact they know so much worries me, and I write a more private summary on those inklings in the attached package that is coming with this letter.
Ah, rambling. Was always told by the Living Death to never ramble on in speech.
Local militia seems to be quite prepared for any conflicts that could come their way, and is more akin to a homebound army. Recommendation is to not go Andreus on them.
Shame about the Pontifex and his grievous mistakes. My experiences with humanity have come to show that some really are not capable of warfare, and for all the good they do before hand, no matter how smart they may have seemed, it will all cascade away when under the wash of war. Truly, I wish he had known the nightmare he was getting himself into by signing up for the job. Perhaps someday he might, or perhaps he already has. Quite frankly, the two of us never saw eye-to-eye anyhow, so I won't make up some sob story of regretting his censure and so forth.
As for the final part of my basic information and opinions, I would recommend you (Councilium Dux Allenby) do as you had suggested at the last council meeting, and send a public invitation out for the celebrations. The least it can do is allow you a chance to repair the haggard reputation we have, and the best it can do is allow us some insight into the world beyond our own eyes.
Be ever vigilant,
Grand-General Arthur Henrik
|
|
|
|
Post by Thorlah on Sept 26, 2014 15:55:18 GMT -5
-Councilor Gram Collinson's Public Journal Entry : Date: Wintumber 1st, 11:08 PM
Location: -The World Gate (WOG)- , in transit to -redacted-
Celebrations line the streets, with children screaming in delight, and parents wailing in fright.
O' what a night.
The Diplodoormat is on his way back into town, and I must admit, the people seem a bit somber about his humiliating work. They had such tremendously high hopes, but they were built on falsehoods, and as they oft do, the lies came back to haunt the man.
But why?
Why do the rest of us let his mistakes drain away any joy we could find in this month full of holidays and celebrations?
I wish to celebrate for the good that has happened, not be as quiet as a mortuary and as cheerful as a funeral.
This is a state of mind I will never part with.
Still...I suppose I had best keep an eye out for any oddities, in light of Councilor Margot's fate.
So far no one seems to have found our little nest, though the birds and pointedly focused seem to be closing in. Nature is often a reflection of our own messes, or is it the other way around?
It's circular logic in the end I suppose.
As for my destination, I will not say.
I just know I'll be in perfect company, a match perfectly crafted, a fit better than any garment or armour.
No fancy sign off from me. Not this time. I don't have the time to add the delicate flair to this letter.
Perhaps the future will hold more surprises.
That's my wish on this All Shadows Eve.
|
|
|
|
Post by Thorlah on Sept 26, 2014 16:42:40 GMT -5
-Former Pontifex Maximus Andreus Agatho : Date: Wintumber 2nd, 1:01 AM
Location: -The World Gate (WOG)-
Humiliation.
Shame.
Guilt.
What could I begin to say to summarize my cascade of emotions?
Despair.
Hopelessness.
Nihilism.
The carriage rattles along the path, and the sound of each and every slight bump in the ground my only companion left.
I have nothing left.
My home is likely ransacked, any poor family members inside dead or worse, and any piece of the Agatho name torn from the city.
My name will live in infamy, a moniker of shame and a mark of a fool knowable to all that hear the name.
I was...wrong.
I had hoped my words would convey what I desired, a united force, protected by our forces combined with their own.
But instead I've butchered each attempt I have made at peace.
What a stain I am to my family.
I cleanse the wounds of my forefathers, and pour manure into a new one.
The Agatho name dies with me. I do not doubt that.
No one would be able to hold a job, or be held in any modicum of respect after my work.
My handiwork.
Nearly a year ago, I had grand visions of a beautiful empire, tied together by bonds of kindred souls, and respected and cared for by its peers.
So foolish of me to think I was the one to make it happen.
My bindings were redone, metal ones put on this time. The blindfold came off, and I had figured no one would look at my disgraceful continence.
I was woefully wrong.
Crowds gathered and formed borders on my sides.
I could feel their looks on me, and I knew any reaction from me would only make it worse, as it had before.
Neil...my oldest friend.
How I betrayed you in all ways.
Do you watch from your home? Do you look down on me as I, your oldest friend, am paraded as a traitor, fated to ill woven destinies that are reserved for the greatest trash of the world?
I pray my conclusion brings you incredible blessings, for my story did not.
Just as we near the public square, likely my grave if I am lucky, and my sentencing platform for the Shadow Court if I am not, I caught sight of Saint Azzanadra's Cathedral.
I can see his eyes on the stained glass, and feel such a pit of shame.
Saint Azzanadra. My hero.
I failed you.
Indeed, my life is proof that your actions are not easy to emulate, and any attempts are likely to be doomed to failure.
Or perhaps that is just my fate.
I miss the days when I was a child, excitedly singing the hymns of fate, and praising you and your peers. Back when Neil and I would explore and play make-believe in the cathedral under the candle lit chandeliers. He would always get to be Zaros, and I was insistent on being you.
I have disgraced your legacy Saint Azzanadra. May my successor be worthy of what I was not.
...desert sands. I dream of them still mother. Just as you told me long ago. Warriors, strong and resolute, no matter how wounded they may be. Defiance against their fate. Resolution in all of their matters.
Mother...I dream they still sing praises of you, of how Hana of Nardah was strong, yet beautiful. My mother, how undeserving I am of your love. Perhaps...no...I will redeem myself for you Mother. I will. Even if I am to be broken mentally, physically, or if I die here, I will cleanse myself before I see you once again.
Father...Grandfather wasn't to blame. He was never at fault. You, were right father, and I am just as proud as I was when you'd tell me of his and your adventures in sheep shearing.
Had I the chance, I would make amends with you. Your former friends turned frosty rapidly, and were quick to call for my banishment.
It was one of the greatest fears I had, and to see it unfold as it had in my nightmares still makes me tremble.
This time though, I have no one to run to in fear. Mother is not there to gently tussle my hair, reassuring me it will all be alright, nor are you there to look me in the eyes, and tell me to be strong, to know that fate is never without hope.
Fate is never without hope.
I read a tale about you, my Empty Lord, of how you had a close companion, and how you were elated to find them.
Your mistakes had cost their affection, and you ached every hour after.
If I personally cannot redeem myself, then I hope what happens herein redeems the kingdom.
I may be wrong about plenty, but...not this.
The people of this kingdom are good people. Some are misguided, some are spot on.
But I believe with all my wretched heart, that you would be proud of the strength of your followers. You would relish in our resolve to survive in this brave new world, bereft of gods.
I had been told otherwise, but I deep down believe you live on my Lord. You and Saint Azzanadra watch over us, alive, but gone. Gone to let us make this world ours.
To Saint Azzana---
Something has hit me. I at first thought it was a rock, but my extremities have gone numb and cold. My limbs tingle with the sensation of dying, as if I were hit with a grievous hit that was rapidly leaking blood. The crowd's gasps and the shock of onlookers tells me this was not my planned end, but whatever weapon pierced me has ignored their plans.
As I'm falling, I see my friend there, in the shadow of Saint Azzanadra's statue atop the cathedral. It sits upon him like a cloak, and I can tell it suits him. Even as he runs in sorrow and desperation towards me, the will of Lord Zaros remains with him.
I see you Mother, and I see you as well Father.
I see Saint Azzanadra and his fellow Pontifexes walking towards me.
Saint Azzanadra has come for me.
Saint Azzanadra has come for me.
|
|
