Now where do demons factor into this? Well I am of the belief that they are energy just as we are matter, and that together we make harmony with the cosmos. Demons are no more mortal than we; not even those that call themselves lords and elders and archdemons, and therefore are not worthy of worship.
We are a new church, yes, underfunded and often pushed aside. To gain legitimacy, we must be consistent. We should ignore outside influence, ignore suggestions to adopt more gods to our roster simply to be more inclusive. We must be prudent, we must be vigilant, and only through conserving our beliefs will we be able to grow as a religion.
Log of the
Pride of God
, under Grand Admiral Rodrick of Merina, by the behest of the Emperor and with the Good will of the Pope, as She and Her Empirical fleet traverse the Southern Seas, from Messia to Speria in the West
Day One
It is with great honour that mine uncle, the respectable Rodrick of Merina, Grand Admiral of our Holiest fleet of Tywrought, has appointed me Keeper of his records on this Perilous journey. It is a matter of State and Godliness, and for the Empire I Will do my Duties to my utmost.
We set sail from the Empire's Capital, to subdue some unruly Colonists in the West. A Bandit Lord has styled himself Above our God-given Emperor, and declared the Free State of Selathon. Even more Blasphemous, Legatus Dwail Shadowfoot, in charge of His Imperial Majesty's armies in the colony of Rigdon, has Joined with the Rebels to make Capital. There is Rumour that the Y'tunn Mining Facility is similarly under Threat of treasonous Uprising.
Mine uncle Rodrick has been tasked with bringing the Might of Tyrrus on these scum. He heads the Imperial Fleet, and today we set sail for Speria, greatest of the colonies of West Engelain, to uphold Justice and the Righteous Fury of Tyrrus our God.
Day Two
The send-off was Grande, with His High Holiness the Pope Himself attending the proceedings. He Blessed our sails, and strong winds have taken us out of Tyrannian waters and into the Outer ocean itself. Mine uncle seeks the Isle of Louwnd to restock, let us hope the Pope's prayers give us Swift passage through the open waters.
Day Thirty Four
Foul winds of a most Unnatural sort took us off course. Instead we arrived at Infris, one of many an island chain host to the Empire's most Willing servants. Mine uncle negotiated the restocking of goods, promising great Wealth to those who aided us upon Our return to these Holy lands.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
The Locals talk of water Nymphs, babes of a Beauty and Lusciousness that makes beggars of Man's heart and soul. It is Said that they live South and West, and to make Love to one is to win the support of the Sea itself. I have brought up this possibility to mine uncle, whom seems most receptive of mine suggestion. He has offered to Teach me in the arts of womanly affection, of which I am most grateful.
Day Forty One
Our Ships are behind schedule. We have taken a Detour to the Isle of Laskan, where the Filth of the Empire is dumped to Labour away in the Salt Mines. Mine uncle Promises that we shall be on Schedule again, once he wins the allegiance of the Merfolk and Syrens of the south.
He has gone now to Treat with them, to gain their Favour so as to get Strong Winds to the Western Colonies. If we lose Speria then we lose our passageway to Haydrea in the North, our most Extreme settlement. It would be a Grievous loss, and a blow to the Empire that has never before been encountered. Captain Romules of the
Seahawk
talks openly of mine uncle's Folly in Treating with Fae, as the Fae of the Sea are said to be most Cunning and Deceitful. Julius of the
Soahc's Chagrin
, cousin to mine uncle and first cousin once removed to me, is hoped to take Leadership, should our Diversion lead to nought.
I must admit my sympathies for the Grand Admiral have lessened somewhat. He has Dishonoured me and Shamed me, for lack of want of a womanly embrace. It is my Duty to serve my Captain, yet I do so Begrudging. Perhaps his Disposition will Change, once Meeting with the Sea Nymphs.
Day Forty Two
The Water Fae have agreed to grant us Swift Waters to the west, in Return for the Freedom of their Isle. They say the Salt Mines dig too Deep, and that this is Blasphemy to them. Those who run the Isle will be taken with us on our Voyage, and those Felons who were Sentenced here shall be Cleansed.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
Only by Blood can we move forward- that is the Doctrine of the Empire, and it Serves to satisfy Tyrrus as well. At dawn we strike, all Graces to the Pope and His Holy Kingdom.
Day Forty Five
Tomorrow we set sail once more. The battles are won, the Salt Mines are emptied. The fight back was Greater than we Anticipated, and many of our own are dead, among them Captain Julius. The Mine Wardens have been Split between many of our Ships, so as to bolster our Ranks most effectively.
A few of the Captains are Dissatisfied. They say we Came to slaughter rebels, not to Ruin our own Mining Companies. But with Julius dead there is no clear replacement for mine uncle should he be Ousted, and so the dissidents in our own ranks are Pacified.
The Sirens have Agreed to our Terms and soon we shall be making great Time to our journey, which shall keep the other Captains happy. Rodrick seems Most Upset about the death of his Cousin- I fear he blames Himself for the death. He took Comfort in me though, and After seemed more Certain of his task. If my Shame may bring him Peace then so be it, for I will Surely be rewarded greatly for the part I played in Defeating the rebels.
Day Fifty
Soahc be Accursed, we have been Betrayed! Those Dreaded Sea Folk sent upon us a Storm, of such Might and Fury that a great many of our Ships have been lost- chief among them being the
Seahawk
. We ran Aground upon a series of islands Unmarked on our Maps, but it soon became apparent that they were the Haunts of Pirates.
Timruviel Flayvirion, the infamous elven Pirate King, whose Raids have Dogged us for centuries, has allied Himself with the rebel cause and set sail. Trigor, a Pirate captain we ran across on the so-called Isle of Na**loo, a defector from Timruviel's ocean kingdom, has told us that many Others have begun rebelling in the Colonies, and that our Haste is Desperate. We set sail again this evening, may Tyrrus guide our sails.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
The Port of Esprata is our Final stop before arriving in Speria, our Capital in Western Engelain, where the Legatus Praetor of West Engelain sits and expects our Immediate Assistance. This is a Warm and Arid place, and the
Pride of Tyrrus
has become Infested with Yellow Monkeys, who Steal Food and carry Diseases most Foule.
Many have died from this Fever, and Sadly many Captains among them. The Grand Admiral has replaced them with those who had been in charge of the Salt Mines, men who Command respect, and much preferred to Trigor and his Ilk of Pirate Scum.
News travels fast in this part of the world. Today we learnt that the Treasonous Dog, Dwail Shadowfoot, has declared Himself High King of Western Engelain, Lord of the Free Kingdoms and First Soldier of Janus. He Promises a Kingdom to all those Great and Powerful who join His cause, and enemies gather all around Speria. Our Need is Dire.
The Grand Admiral jokes that no Sane man would follow someone whose name is 'Shadowfoot'. He calls it a Ludicrous proposition. The Grand Admiral laughs a lot these days, as though part of a great joke that none of the rest of us are partial to. I thought he had gotten the great Sea Sickness, and told him as much. He beat me, then had me, then left me for a Day and a Night. After that he Came to me, and offered me Captaincy of
Soahc's Chagrin
, for whose captain had perished.
It is a Great Honour. I am young, far too young to be Commanding the sails, or so my crew think. The Grand Admiral has Disgraced me though, and Must make up to me that Debt, or forever be Cursed by the Gods. I must make a good example in my new position. When I return to Tywrought I will be Honoured beyond regular Imagining.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
Outside the ships are burning, all of them, our great Fleet, the Fleet of the Empire, and the Grand Admiral was the one to set the torch.
Where we put to shore it has been called Rickslanding, and mine most Despised uncle has been named its King. He has renounced his Wife my lady aunt, and Disowned his Children. Instead he seeks to take new wives- wives in the plural, Tyrrus help us all, from the local Tribesmen, to Unite them to His Cause. He has Broken all Oaths and Sworn himself to the traitor, Dwail Shadowfoot.
How long has he planned this? I had thought the Wardens of the Salt Mines brutes, yet put it down to being in charge of a Feral and Diseased land. Now I believe they aren't Wardens at all, but the Prisoners themselves! The Grand Admiral won their loyalty and killed the Wardens, I'm sure of it. Julius died in those battles- was it an accident? Captain Romules and a great many others were Lost at Sea- was that the Storm, or the Doing of the Sea Nymphs as ordered by the Grand Admiral? He has consorted with Subhumans and Pirates, Thieves and Heretics. He has Shamed our Great Empire, he has Shamed his lady wife and his family, and he has Shamed myself and mine honour.
The night was filled with butchery- mine own Ship caught aflame whilst I was still Aboard, yet I escaped. I sought to break for Speria, to warn the Legatus Praetor, but was Apprehended by that Scoundrel Trigor.
The self-styled King of Rickslanding shall come to Me soon. He has committed Sin beyond counting, yet even he should not be capable of Kinslaying. I shall talk to him, get my pardon, and make for the Emperor's lands once more. The Empire must know of this treachery, they must be Prepared. I will lead the Forces against my Dreaded uncle. I am the Captain of the
Seahawk
, perhaps the Pope will see it in him to name me Admiral?
"Oh come on now, lets be civil!" Moaned the prisoner, carried between two knights- both seven footers that didn't even allow his feet to touch the ground. Crowded also inside the cramp metal container was four mages, three priests and one king. Above, four men were turning the winch, lowering the room, deep, deep underground. They were under orders to never raise the room again, should there be a sign of anything amiss. Seven spectral animals floated ethereally throughout the room, ready to deliver the message should they fall.
The container jolted slightly when it hit the ground. Everyone was thrown half an inch forwards, and the prisoner swung his head outwards, his tongue finding its way into the king's ear.
"Vile thing!" Shouted the king, pivoting and crashing his gauntletted fist into the prisoner's face. The prisoner was laughing then, his two carriers pulling him far back from the sovereign.
"Enjoy your jokes whilst you can," the king told his prisoner, "On the morrow you'll be executed, and all of your evil unwrought."
"One of us will die tomorrow," agreed the prisoner, his grin stretching across his bloodied face. "But I'm never gone for long."
The door to the elevator was opened, leading onto an abbyss of darkness. The mages lit their staves and revealed the way ahead- a pathway as undefined as a mine's tunnel. The group began walking.
"When you're dead, I shall outlaw the use of magic," the king of Selathon continued, "We only needed it to rid you. No necromancer to call you back, or to give you a likely successor."
"Successor?" The prisoner found that thought funniest of all. "Oh how you mortals flatter yourselves. I'm one of a kind!"
The prisoner arched an eyebrow, staring deeper into the abyss as a spectral hound passed beneath him. There was a door, chained and locked, iron-wrought. The tunnel had clearly been expanded recently for a second cell, the cell that the prisoner was being taken to.
"Is there a long-lost twin brother I didn't know about?" Asked the prisoner, staring with interest at the door.
"The only family you have is the one waiting for you in the afterlife," concluded the king, removing a key from around his neck and inserting it in the newer, steel-forged door, swinging it open. Inside it was nothing, just four walls. No provisions, no comfort. This wasn't a place for staying, it was a place for dying.
The prisoner was tossed bodily in the cell, and immediately the four mages raised their weapons, magic buzzing. The three priests were holding up holy items, lips ready to chant, as the spectral animals buzzed up and down the hallway, ready to disappear at a moment's notice and spread the message of attempted escape.
When the prisoner did nothing, it was the king's time to laugh. "You should never have made yourself mortal again. If I were you, I would spend my last night praying for Tyrrus to be merciful."
"Oh, my dear, sweet king, hasn't anybody told you?" Purred out the prisoner, as the king closed the door and bolted the locks, and the chains and the metal bars were put in place behind it. "My father has never been the merciful one."
He waited a long time, in the darkness of the prison. Behind his back his wrists were shackled together, magical, removing his power. How? This was a parlour trick, and
he
was beyond that. Yet they still worked... Getting rid of them would be the first of many problems. The room itself was no doubt enchanted as well, and the door, perhaps the entirety of this underground chamber...
Rising to his feet, he headed to the door and spat on it. The saliva evaporated instantly in a flash of red. Turning back to the centre of the room, the DemiGod of Chaos grabbed his left thumb in right hand, lent back, and then moved his feet out from under him.
The Father of Evil stifled a yelp as the full weight of his body came crashing down on his one appendage, his thumb breaking. Yanking at the now useless digit, biting his rotten lips as he did so, the Courtier of Fire ragged it out of its socket, then forced it to wrap over his palm, his fingers gripping it so it would not fall away.
His hand now made thinner, he slipped it out of the handcuff and pulled it in front of him. Four fingers wrapping around the empty cuff, the Defiler of the Old World started cracking into his other thumb, over and over, attacking at it with the fury that boiled deep within him. Soon it was as useless as the other, and Soahc was unbound once more, throwing the offensive object into a corner.
Flexing magically, Soahc restored his thumbs to their former glory with a flick. That was the easy part, now for the fun part. Breathing fire into the room, Soahc looked about for signs of magical taint. He could not see it, but he could sense it. It was clever, and powerful magic. He expected no less for his own princehood. The containment of the divine would involve magic of a higher calibre.
First he went for the basics: brute force. He forced his palm into a wall, the room shaking from the impact, dust pouring down from above. But otherwise nothing. The walls were magically reinforced. Spinning on the spot he went to teleport, and spinning counterclockwise he was fired horizontally across the room. Muttering, he retrieved his standing and waltzed over to the door, shifting his nail to an incredibly long, increasingly thin and precise tool.
Hags be hagglin', gods be god damn crazy, it's all happening ogre at Into The Fire
Eyes locked on the keyhole, he pressed his finger forwards- the nail shattered in the emptiness within the lock. Evidently the shield was not physically constrained by the door.
Turning away from it, Soahc closed his eyes, thought, frowned, and swung his arms in the air, conjuring a board upon which to work. Opening his eyes, he found no board there. Confused momentarily, he eventually smiled.
Oh yes, how ingenious
. If there was a full conjuration block on the room, Soahc should not have been capable of breathing fire. Only certain things were being blocked from being summoned- or most likely, certain things had been permitted to be summoned.
Fire would not be his escape- he could not pass through one flame and emerge through another, to his knowledge no one could. But making a fire would have been anyone's first instinct. It would have been encouraging. Knowing that they could conjure fire, the prisoner would conjure something greater- and find it impossible. It was either to break their spirit, shatter their hope, or else by conjuring something dangerous or powerful, the summoner would have inadvertently activated a far more sinister fate.
Soahc was quite glad he'd only asked for a piece of wood.
Bending down, he started scratching runes into the floor, even though he knew the result. The dirt and the dust meant nothing legible could be written. All four walls and the ceiling were of the same earthen material- ineffectual for a pentagram. The only proper surface was the door, and the door was death. An unwary demonologist trapped down here would have tried to scratch at the door and lost his hand, or perhaps all of him. Soahc could not be sure how powerful the eradicating plasma attached to the door was, and was certainly not in the mood for trying it.
