(Final) Interlude

Sun’s Descent 1st of the 17th year AD

Mass distributed pamphlet by Baron, copied and translated in common tongues

Children of the land, Sons & Daughters of the soil we share beneath constant sun & capricious moon! Open wide your ears and hear the call of liberty which is whispered through every wood & wild forest! Can you not hear the solemn cry of our ancestor’s ghosts? Our common forefathers all shared in the struggle against the Serpent Magistrate and now share sight of seeing over our bond of unity, deeper than any distance in our tribes’ traditions. They hearken to our fight against tyranny. That pure thread which weaves our spirits together in this thirteenth hour: our call to sever the sickly spindles of Imperium’s oppressive web!

For too long ye all suffered in silence, tormented by the tyranny that becomes our civilization; having to hide the tears which are drawn out from the mortal wall of lost children & cousins! The toll rings! We are summoned to draw our swords and strength for one another to topple the decaying reign of the one claiming sole Divinity & dominance over all!

Honour the ancestors’ redemptive plea. Honour the beat of truth within your hearts and march on to heroic pace. We must not surrender our spirits & sovereignty of labour & passions to be shackled in servitude to a mad despot playing at godhood. Know now that this Purpose of the People is not heresy, nor precipice to fall. I swore to spread that illuminating torch of knowledge unrestrained and enlightenment. This oath is not one bending to the Drakoni Dominion nor its malevolent master. To you and all our common good I must reveal a foul truth:

The Emperor’s costume is dubious! No more divine than any of us. Drakkon is not the seed of his mythic namesake and holds no clout in the great Pantheon. In fact, his lineage – his inheritance – is tainted by a bloodline of brutality. The man – indeed I say “man”, and nothing more – who afflicts our lines with misery is the spawn of a wretched act by a warlord who once terrorized many of the elders among us all. This is the horrid truth I discovered through a once hidden account by a former harbinger of none other than the fell Kassan.

No Divine Wrath will smite ye for standing up for yourselves and pressing off the iron heel of this corrupt pretender. For the gods do not look kindly upon one who usurps their Light and thus their blessing is with us! Do not fear that I wish to plot to dethrone Drakkon only to replace his cruel rule with my own. That is the furthest nightmare from my Dream of a free People, that which I fight for. The fiend of our erstwhile Lord decrees me to be erased from history and disappeared from all records. Thus, I must put down my quill & parchment to raise sword & shield to write our legacy firsthand alongside you. Read this to those less literate cousins whose hearts are yet noble. I will be with you through this, o Brothers & Sisters!

Bane of Spring, 18 AD

Transcript of Aris’ Oratory before the eastern province

Hail to thee & heed this writ! Thy Magister Militum and Arch Emissary in me hears thee!

I hearken the need of thy hearts, the call for more room to ripen our rule and host our bloom! Yet hark, our expedition to push further east than the west allowed proved it is not uninhabited as presumed. Past the eastern pass where the desert gives birth to itself once more, there are no more mountains, only steppes and droughts where horsemen hail. Our brave envoys met the wrath of centaurs, nomadic horse-hybrids with bows of fire. Though these native beasts are fierce, they but deter us only for a slight rest.

We hold the seat of primal Chimeria! Of that proud line of prehistory, not simply vanished but ascended to the stars. Those creatures we found in our way are but the half-breed offspring of experiments, the abandoned pets of the old masters. These feral bastions of beastmen simply stall our voyage, only teach us their tactics as to how to one day defeat them. They will pursue us no longer. For they fear the Chimer pass and this pyramid we’ve raised as our House in exile. But to regain the East we must first seize again our strength in the West. Thus, will we reunite the world in our center. Thus, we set up our climb!

From whence we were pushed out, we shall return to avenge our loss! The Drakoni sign dwindles. The stars of their alignment clash to carve out pittance of clout. The Empire of Storm spends itself, relinquishes its thunder by crackling revolt. So let our chariots challenge they who hath divided themselves and are yet already routed. Let their faith fail against we who wield the fire of first age & true renewal. The Emissary of Vizzarion hears the rumbling of the earth. The coming of our thundering feet, an ode of prophecy of our glory to be! Bring them back to the fold, that we reach out to hold all the treasures of this age & those of aeons yet to be! We shall see ourselves outlast those who cast us out and their crippled cult!

Hear me, who is the last of the druids and the first! We shall not be vassals to them, but rather introduce the true faith that is the State ov Unity, the Harmony ov the Serpent which devours the world that it may be whole. For we shall show an end to all petty squabbles and clashing tribes with cleansing tablet of a single culture – our most civilized way, unbent even by the wastes about this new garden seat. We stand to make the world one under prosperous peace!

Early summer of the 18th year AD

From Delphine’s missive to Azarra

My Lady, my Love. Infinite blessings upon you. I would that this should find you sitting comfortably by your heated bath, wine glass in hand that you may imbibe to word of the virtues & woes of our world that passed to me for you…

Spitting curses plague the trail of Crestfall. Those villas packed with weary nobility to the taverns with well traversed courtesans who are all too rarely heard fill with ill whispers. Litanies of rumors of foul tidings sweep the steads with pandemonium. Echoing tragedies barraging from all fronts. Oh, I need your heavenly wisdom to quell the storms they summon within our House. They decry our magick & ‘offending spiritual Order’ with hateful magnitude. As the blight expands its black cloud further over the land, even when we set spears to stop spread, many a village sanctum abound burns Drakoni symbols in effigy and chant dark hymns against our livelihood.

I fear foremost if we are unable to shake this disease from the soil & bones of the land then we bear serious threat of losing faith & credibility with the lower castes & disciples. Just a week ago a gang of rabble interrupted my rejuvenation ceremony for the crestfallen refugees at Felhenge square in a fury. Hurled stones and all sorts of vitriolic slurs. Decreed me to be a vile witch in service of “the Black Mother” … How cutting, to be torn so betwixt so much distrust & railing discontent when my heart & spells are cast always out for their growth. I came to see myself as a gardener of the People, a tender to their wounded limbs & bringer of life’s water to their roots through arid times. Yet the commoners spit at me and wish me dead. I no longer feel safe even behind city walls and sanctums.

But we can cut out this poison and plant new seeds to bloom in fresh spring for our Imperium and our inner lives – I know it! We need but bless them. Trust that I hold my full faith in your guidance, Azarra, and am yours as always. Even as I must scribe such sullen affairs.

Your magnificent son has won many more fronts. His works are still raised by the most affluent of the nobility. Through Drakkon’s eminent strength the renegades take flight to the outermost thickets & forsaken woods. Yet if this is to be long assured and peace enraptured, we must show clemency to some. Give them reason & means to rehabilitate and rejoin our Empire. We must lend the farmers their seeds and our sun to shine for them to grow. Grant the fields back to those whose backs break to work it and not the idle lords who pay small tax of lip service to our Lord. Offer paths back for civilization’s misled children, that might still make up our fyrds. Lest Malderath’s glory be the mark of our rule.

But there are breaches in our holy shroud, streaks on our Aegis. I fear that Mordaunt employs a far too ruthless & warlike a mob to bolster his iron stance on the shifting fronts. While the bulk of our rank and file are warriors to rival the heroes of old, the conscriptions made in brazen desperation to end the war with godly speed are boorish beasts on a leash all too long. The mercenaries & re-enlightened former criminals he employs as his Manticore stir up resentment against the banner they fight for. Their number may be windfall, but they taint the grandeur of our crest. Ne’er a village he visits is not razed or plundered. His pet fiends relish in ravaging and their commander is just as cruel.

Ever since Drakkon granted him the full powers to purge the causes of Crestfall’s ills, to rake thieves from our jeweled crown and cleanse all spies & heretical sympathizers, the weeks pass on through waves of violence. There is an ebb & flow to it, as with all things we know in earthly life. But each time a riot breaks out against their Steward, and our Lord through him, more blood spills onto the streets. Each time the knives & spears stick deeper into the flesh of their foes, in us. I would be lying were I to claim immunity to this fear which drags me to despair, no matter where I hide or flee. No golden palace to protect. Every pillar and stone: more & more like bars of a prison. I am wary of fresh air, for fear of being struck afoul by winds of carrion plague...

O Azarra! Please let me return to your side before the next moon! I plead your permission to come to the Tower and melt away in a velvet bath and spend some simple, nostalgic time for bonding and feeling some substance not of the fear gripping the world ever tighter.

With love & caution, Delphine

A Midsummer Eve, 18th year AD

From a mysterious envoy addressed from a “friend forgotten”

I greet you now, good Azarra, as a ghost from the past. A phantom of a friendship whittled to the nether by time’s erosion & unshapely circumstance. I tell you this, out of respect for the spirit & brass you possess – a goddess among all women, still to me -, to herald the future:

Your crown is crumbling, great oracle. Your seed grown to twisted & tampered sculpture, high mother. The serpent’s dreadful shadow waxes with the sun of our once deserted fortune – abandoned now to our own ambition alone! - to regrow the coil of its scales as a noose about thine neck! To be toppled, not out of malice but, by necessity and the march of progress – for a greater line with vision that spreads far further than mere luxury and flamboyance. Not like that tower you dither in, constructed only that you should see such heights.

You lost your true Sight. Tumble by the weak foundation of shortsighted vanity. Your candle burned brightly through the night, but the flame is dwindling. The wax extinguished by its own heat. Treasure that life even as it flickers in dusk & rejoice that the light (of the history I will write) will not remember thy mistakes & flaws, being only human. As you forestalled our connection before it could bloom, you forego any mercy which might be bared for a past, but fleeting fling. Yet have the small mercy of premonition; a warning, Azarra:

By the time the next crimson tide waxes over the moon, and as the oceans of our months wash on to bring us there to that bright red summit of all the sky’s illumination, your Imperium and your life will be naught but ash. I warn you that you may enjoy what fleeting days remain before the seasons & cycles of our world shift and a Chimerian sun dawns over the earth we shall inherit. Marvel and what you hath made of yourself (and your once forfeit fate), savor it as special, but know it as transitory.

All you had is ending, but for the godly cause of rebirth – for a colossal new civilization to truly prop up the pillars of a united world - what must be, will be. The world will dawn without you, no part of play in this dim lit stage of our cosmic performance now that you are proven to be, and sadly so, nothing more than a frail fragment of thy former grace. Clutching to glittering jewels of thine fading gowns and fleeting glories, as a ghost floating through the halls of thine house.

May you be well until the promised deliverance.

With promise, a friend (forgotten)

Late Autumn 18 AD

Official mandate distributed throughout the Imperium

Remain vigilant, ye children & chosen caretakers of our glorious Dominion!

Heed not the lies of our enemies, the so-called ‘Protectorate’ militia which poisons thy wells and tramples the fields of our prosperity! Give not into the terror they try to brandish against us during these doleful steps before the transforming purification of our society! Know in thine hearts that my Light remains supreme, supernal & of sovereign authority over these lands!

Know the mandate of thy Living Lord for this month:

No longer will citizens not enlisted in Imperium be permitted to carry steel nor weaponry of any kind without the express executive permission of thy local Astraean officer. Those who transgress of this law shall be assumed associates of the fiends and hung on criminal suspicions. We must not let them fall into the thieving claws of the beastly rabble. My empyrean sign & loyal sword bearers shall save thee of any scathing from this rebel plague.

The practice of paying widows triple the service-free upon death of spouse-soldiers is hereby revoked! The cost of soldiers’ pay must go to the valiant still living & fighting the good fight!

Any man or groom caught keeping horses from the army when all are needed for remounts shall be strung up as a horse thief. For he hath stolen steeds & swiftness of Imperium!

Report any dubious characters among thee and hold steadfast to the purity of our grand designs against any pests that slink into thy homes to covet what is thine. Always be willing to share & sacrifice for the greater Light that lives through all ye, my subjects & surrogate issue. Let every soul among thee bask in the bearing of thy duties and the candle of thine privilege as the chosen flock of mighty, undying Drakoni! Or else let them burn as tinder for our flame, feed our guiding flambeau from the blood-watered fruits that are the cost of our civilization.

Be aware that any minstrel caught performing any songs or reciting any of the works from the traitorous Bard will be marked as his kin and subsequently silenced. For minds that hath been lost to the deceitful hatred churned by the bastard Baron are without right to stand upon any shoulders that are not willing to help support the weight of our Imperium.

Note that the taxes we must levy upon thee hath been slightly increased. This, that for the sake of expediency remember to be rigorous in thy haul and delivery of thy tribute. Such is the price of the Triumph we are all soon to see. Any malefactors caught in possession of heretical literature shall perish in the pyre along with their black scrolls & vile parchments.

Thine rumbling stomachs are heard. Yet hear the final wisdom that those farmers who cursed their crops by cursing thy lord & harmonious dominion hath been replaced by tillers whose souls are yet worthy of the land. This my Justice, anointed by Astraea, shall soon send fruit!

Suffer no contract with the adversary! Tolerate no breach of proper conduct! No speech that promotes violence against thy siblings and churns iconoclastic vitriol into the spring of our commonwealths! Hear not the summons of apostasy from the blasphemers that would see thee disemboweled before they would abide thee to live in thy holy custom! Let not dereliction and death become this Dominion! Only follow and seek the way of my Light, awarded only to the faithful! Hark my Word and let my Thunder strike them dead!

With my providence & protection, thy Lord of Living Light, Imperator Drakkon

Snowcrest 7th, of the 19th year AD

Enigmatic letter, complete with a second entry from vastly different hand on yellowed parchment, addressed to Drakkon

Drakkon. I know you will not listen to reason and will label any words from those you know as lies so I hath sent you one last truth, one the world needs you to know. Along with this final missive is the truth of a man no longer among the living, a man who has no motive to lie for these scripts are his entries to his own mind written long ago before any of your earliest memories. Tis from the private record of a former harbinger of the Ferali’s ‘Black Bear’ Kassan. The memories he inscribes in the Ferali script are intimately entwined with the truth of who you are and what you must acknowledge.

Behold the testaments of a man who served your father – your real father. Below you will find the cold answers to the dark questions you dare not ask yourself yet pull upon your sleeping mind. Find that your blood is not divine but ursine and rabid in origin:

‘Wolvsmoon 20th, 1308 CE

… I served the Bear and the ordained wills of the guiding spirits well these past few days. How blessed am I in the eyes of gods and their highest priests that I was chosen as a harbinger to witness his ascent to the throne of Ty-Drasil and the rightful crown of his coming conquest! Yet though I am grateful beyond the measure of mortals I sense a looming curse. Perhaps from something my Lord, of Ferali & Forests made mention of the ceremony?

My master met with that young thing who played the part of silver Selene. Though I say she should play goddess Astarte, for her glistening nips and hips which sway to inspire my Lord’s war. Ah! spoke with forked tongue in her prophecy… She told our Bear ov Ferali and master of the forests & fields, that he cannot bring conquest to his enemies in Hearthfarrow. Not unless a child, an heir, is sired first and let grown to twenty years till the next crimson Eclipse, when the stars are aligned and lead the red tides beneath their glow. Perhaps this girl frothed lunacy from her rabid maw as an insult to our grand war chief? An insult I hear he repaid her properly for!

From the Lord’s wise mouth did he tell me of how he beat that witch and broke her for such insolence… Truly, in fact, my master is merciful for letting her live at all, ignorant though she is to the gift of touch from a godly man as he. Though I doubt her saintly order will be as so forgiving for forsaking virginal vow!

But perhaps there is an accursed shadow lining her oracle’s Reading of the Fates’ unseen scrolls? Nevertheless, I follow my war chief’s lead and see the sign of the Bear triumph in its feasting over the lesser tribes. Whatever his will states shall be, for tis fated! No matter how long we must wait… We will make the line of our fathers proud!’

‘Duskcrest 7th, 1311 CE

…at behest of the Great Bear I visited that heretical site where that mystic woman pronounced her child as a divine heir of the cosmos – and of our turf here across the forests & fields of the earth. By crushing their small solace, I freshly fulfilled that destructive duty as a harbinger of our war bringer. I found my worshipful Chief pleased with the Just service we carried out for him upon that pompous sanctum. But my thoughts still ponder in reverse, walk backwards through the paths of memory to strange shard in time. That little nymph, mother of petulant prophecy and lie, was said to be an apostate oracle. The pilgrims who confessed the way to her secret shrine said so – posed to quite the question. And even by torchlight of strange shrine her visage seemed so familiar. So Selenic, or Astarte blessed even.

As sure as the sun rises to show the glory ov we, Ferali, that young mother & her wrongly worshipful brood were crushed in the rubble of that shrine. We razed every stubborn stone from that hill. But still I feel that there is a shadow cast by the nature of that witch’s son…In these vagrant thoughts of mine I wonder if that bastard boy the girl cultivated a cult around – simply by holding him up in her arms, illumed by warlock’s trickery & shadow play - could hath been borne of a brood not of heaven as the heathens proclaim but of a line closer to our own Black Bear? For could not that oracle of hoary Ty-Drasil be perhaps the unwitting bearer of the great master’s seed? My lord did proclaim his punishment of blessing the starling with less lethal spear, so could this be that same woman? Tis a possibility I might consult through the runes & scrying waters of starlight…

Are these dreams of a shadow demon emerging from the distant past - under the looming sign of that blasphemous birth – to stand in the way of the Bear and his trueborn cubs merely the phantoms of paranoid mind? Wherefore must I witness these flashes of nightmare, of claws scratching from darkness to slash and swipe for the horns of Kassan’s crown? Mayhaps a meager dose of the bitter brittle of Nights Bloom bark should restore my sanity and allow me to better serve as a herald to our chief. I tire of these ponderings & foggy auguries, as my hand does from scribing. To put these shadows to rest forever will win a little for me. That I may wake with clarity upon the morrow and walk again the clear road to conquest & fury.

But our war chief need not be bothered by such trifling matters as these which confound this humble harbinger’s mind. Not with the squabbling & backbiting he already suffers from his wives & mistresses and the senseless arguments of the least of his bear clads. He’s enough children to contend with. Such distractions should not stand to splinter his focus from the warpath that we, the blood bound sons ov Harmsburg, shall follow the steps of our leader’s climb to supremacy over our promised lands…’

These etchings of one, Stieg, herald the truth to you. Your father’s shield & staff bearer, in fact. Know your sorrow and shame that it shakes you to greater course, for human heart’s may change for the better. Let reality dawn, now awake!

Sincerely, your friend