Templar Oron approached the shrine below the Monolith. Here, the air seemed to vibrate with power, and it felt hot and strangely dry, a sudden and unexpected difference to the usual humidity in the Dell.
The Archprophetess was hidden by curtains and stacks of trophies; Oron was one of the few people who were allowed to see her, to climb up onto the shrine carried by chained slaves.
He opened the Curtain, and gazed upon her form.
She looked terrible. The colour drained from her face and beak, her form even slighter, and deep dark rings below her eyes.
For the last couple of times he had visited her in person, she had found a position akin to a pose of meditation, so she was no longer obviously struggling, but that didn’t mean the struggle had ended. In the contrary. He could feel the dark magic flowing and pulsing beneath the surface.
“Glory to the Flame, Archprophetess.”
“Our Burning Saviour’s Will be done.” Her eyes remained closed. There was barely any movement.
“One of Backmaw’s emissaries has arrived. She tells of a plan to converge at the coast. They promise many skulls and chances of looting.”
“I have heard.” She answered, monotone.
“He was their leader. What he says carries weight.” Templar Oron continued. “Some of the warbands are sure to consider his offer.”
“His words are blunted by the Fae’s influence. The Fae do not understand the true nature of Chaos.” The Archprophetess replied.
Oron couldn’t resist the shudder coming over his shoulders. Her voice, it was… otherworldly, in a disconcerting way.
There was silence, as the heavily armoured Tzaangor crusader awaited his Prophetess’ orders.
“I will address the Procession.”
Oron nodded, solemnly.
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The looming monolith enhanced her voice, it became one with crystalline vibration, more felt than heard, echoing in the minds of those present, a Divine revelation.
“Crusaders of the Procession of Blood!
Cursed Furyoth Dell shall be blessed – Cleansed with Fire, Anointed in Blood.
This is our Most Holy Task, and the Will of the Gods.
I have heard there are those among you who have listened to a voice of dissent, to one who would rather have you journey to the shore, and prey upon the dislocated. A worthy target? I would not know. We are marching through the Furyoth Dell, after all, with untold wonders and riches hidden in plain sight.
Still, should you wish so – leave Our Procession. Give up on your chance for True Glory and run to the shore with your tails tucked in between your legs.
Ask yourself this, though –
Who are you to choose the easier path?
Who are you to settle for scraps?
Who are you to defy the Will of the Gods?
Are you not the Dark Gods’ Faithful?
For truly, we do the Gods’ Will. This is Our Sacred Duty, Our Most Holy Crusade. You have seen those who stand against us – such insolence and heresy cannot be tolerated; who are they to challenge the Dominance of the True Gods? The Fae and Seraphon must be exterminated, through Righteous Flame and Merciless Blade.
This is the Sacred Path of the Procession of Blood.
Who would stray from it?
Is it truly your Fate to be nothing more than common thieves and plunderers? Cowards, with no Hope of ever knowing True Glory?
Or will you join the ranks of those Chosen by the Gods, whose steps shall shake the lands of Rondhol, whose Deeds shall live on in Legend?
The eyes of the Dark Gods rest upon us, Crusaders of the Procession! We will prove ourselves worthy of their favour! We will visit Our Might upon the Furyoth Dell, and all of Rondhol!
Cleansed with Fire, Anointed in Blood!
Our Fates align, and they lead to Victory!”
Full-hearted cheers and songs of praise, hymns of glory sounded through the jungle as Sytarith’s speech had ended.
No. Sytarith thought, and the Monolith agreed. This ploy of the Fae would not see much success. It did not lie in the nature of Chaos to seek out safer shores. Even those who were followers of Chaos in name only would be too shamed to follow Blackmaw’s, or rather the Fae’s, offer. Those cowards who did so in spite of the shame – well, she had not much use for those anyway.
The Procession of Blood marched on, leaving burning land and slaughtered corpses in their wake.
