The Enmity of Scolrys, Part XXXV: Apostolic Fervour
Even as war raged across the continent and stole the time of every leader of every society, the Architect of Blood and Bone – Paxe Visara, chosen of the Jackal – sought to further her guild’s purpose. For weeks, she and the rest of her apostolic fellowship prepared a grand display in honour of – and for the entertainment of – Lexadhra, the Indelible Goddess of Memory. Beginning first with formal invitations and playwright’s bills, the Apostles piqued Her attention with their formality and brazen challenges to the Fabricators of the Deepest City. Though the city made no attempt to acknowledge the overtures of the Sanguine Fist’s religious arm, the guild continued their preparations and rituals without a care for acceptance or denial.
When the day came, an obstreperous din rang out from the Mhojave as the Apostles mustered their might, awaiting the arrival of their challenged foe. Streams of icy mist converged upon the skies over the lightless desert, allowing Lady Lexadhra, guest of honour and eternally fascinated witness to a new age’s unfolding drama, to emerge from their swirling depths. The shadows demarcating the Sunless Empire’s territory swiftly contorted and distended, opening the way for Arvelis to step through, His keen eyes intent upon observing the ambitious pursuits of His Apostles. Swift to join Her compatriots, Lady Chakrasul arrived through a gateway of jade mist and seething shadow, and Abhorash, Progenitor of the Empire followed in kind soon after.
As the mortals awaited their battle, so too did the Immortals await Their promised entertainment.
The silence of a one-sided battlefield hung upon the air, stretching out across endless grit…
“The Apostles have promised Me a good show, Fabricators of the Deepest City. Do not make the mistake of disappointing Me – it never goes well for those that do,” Lexadhra announced after Her patience had ebbed away in its entirety. All that rang out in answer, however, was the clamour of a fired magma-forge as Qor Qogol ignored the summons of the Imperial Apostles, their collective and mysterious labour put before all other needs.
“So be it,” the Goddess of Memory then sneered, the haughty expression of the Full One overlapping Her mauve features for but a breath. She lifted one hand as She settled Herself down upon a chaise of gelid fog, Her wrist twitching. A stream of shimmering vapour coursed across the sky and delved deep within the cracks of the Vashnars. Rumbles echoed from the Hlugnic Labyrinth, followed swiftly by the screech of metal dragging against stone.
“I will not be denied, Qor Qogol. Prove your might, or else remain in your crypts, buried ‘neath the dust of ages,” Immortal Memory declared. The shining fog then tore itself loose of the mountain range, its billowing body hosting a colossal contraption and other myriad components. It streaked off to the south, where it alighted as an overlapping space that threaded itself through the Mhojave’s bones.
“You are called to war, Apostles. My mandate stands for each of you as well – prove yourselves worthy of memory,” the Indelible remarked before making Herself comfortable for the coming delights of bloodshed, glory, and warfare.
The Apostles swiftly set themselves to the task of earning Her approval and moved out as a singular warband. Smoke and fire raged across the Mhojave as they joined battle with the colossal contraptions of the Fabricators and their Hlugnic tenders, resulting in the obliteration of both sides as they engaged in combat that raged on for nearly an entire afternoon. Utilising earth magic and the loyal service of Azvosh’s powerful wyrms, the Sanguine Fist’s exacting priests laid low their foes and smote them upon Bloodloch’s dunes, christening the land with blood, shaved iron, and soot.
As the final sentinel contraption fell and engaged its self-destruction mechanism, a massive wyrm coiled around its bulk and dragged it into the mist-riddled sands, a metallic groan echoing through its cool depth. Sapience’s southern reaches trembled as Qor Qogol’s war-hulk detonated in a vengeful act of spite, robbing would-be excavators of an opportunity to delve into the titanic machine’s secrets.
With the Indelible favoured mists mantling them, the Apostles turned their eyes back to the Vashnars – where awaited the rest of the foes bent upon their home’s destruction…
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 13th of Dharos, in the year 5 AC.
