The Slidecrown Sundering
Seize the Crown
Family Reunion
Matlalhuitl, the Saint of Yektiktlan, sat upon his Charming Throne — a construct of palest birchwood boards, intertwined with slender, flowering vines; an elegant tribute to the Everqueen’s grace — and regarded his son and daughter, as they knelt before him, heads bowed in reverence. Upon the high backrest of the throne, his wife sat cross-legged, her balance impeccable as the Archangel Xochiatlapal likewise gazed down at their children, with her majestic, petal-feathered wings spread wide.
“Raise your heads, and tell me of our progress.” he instructed, though in truth Xochiatlapal had already filled him in on the important details. However, there were many others as yet unaware of his family’s triumphs. Thus, this display, held in the centre of their lakeside camp, where all the huntbands could witness it. Indeed, clustered amongst the tents and firepits all around them, the men & women of his crusade looked on eagerly as he met with their chiefs in the open area at centre of the camp.
Tezcacoatl, Chieftain of Tlaamico, was the first to respond, meeting his father’s gaze an instant before his sister. He told of his first encounter with a rotbringer patrol, then of the many other such conflicts that arose as he had led the vanguard deeper into the forests. They had suffered losses, of course — for the so-called “blightkings” were far mightier than most men, despite their many ailments — but had earned much glory & honour for themselves by their valiant acts, and had unknowingly worked in tandem with the other forces arriving upon the isle, contributing to pushing back their festering foes.
Not only that, but his son had befriended a local spite in the process, when he saved it from being culled by the Plaguefather’s vile minions. The creature looked much like an oversized caterpillar, though its flesh was brightly coloured, and even bioluminescent in places. Despite the cuddly appearance, its mandibles were sharp and strong, easily capable of shearing bone. It was a worthy ally to have, and it pleased the saint that Tezcacoatl had bonded with it to such a degree that the spite was willing to ride upon his back and aid him in battle.
Eloxochitl, Chieftess of Tlakuaco, was no less successful in her endeavours, and perhaps was even more so. When the Archangel had led another army’s patrol to her daughter’s position, Eloxochitl had negotiated with the lead scout, coming to terms and enabling their two forces to work side-by-side against the horrific servants of the Fly Lord, weakening their foes’ position yet further. From what he had seen and heard, it seemed that this other crusade — the Templars of Our Burning Saviour, they were called — was just as devoted to the cause as his own, and perhaps even more efficacious, for much like the Storm God’s chosen, even their humblest warriors were clad in thick plates of golden armour.
Not to be outdone by her brother, his daughter had not merely contented herself with excellence in the field, she too had felt the need to recover some trophy to show off… and what a trophy she had discovered. She now wore a circlet of antlers, elegantly woven together with ivy. Yet this crown was no mere ornament. Since the moment she had donned it, a light mist had followed her wherever she went, swirling and reforming frequently, taking the shapes of various animals. These spirits were more peaceful than the spite which guarded Tezcacoatl’s back, and did not strike at his daughter’s foes in battle, yet their presence was felt all the same, not least by the chieftess herself, who had shown markedly more self-assuredness since acquiring that primal headdress.
When they both had finished their tales, their rapt audience erupted into a cacophony of cheering and raucous applause. Matlalhuitl smiled proudly at the accomplishments of his progeny and was comforted by the fervour of his followers. They had lost many fine hunters in this crusade, yet thus far, the conflict had clearly gone in their favour. It was his hope that giving his people this night to celebrate their victories would buoy their spirits enough to prepare them for what would come next — for their hardest battles were still ahead of them.
————————————————————————
Abhorrant Marrowclot sat upon a Charnel Thone,
A grisly chair of tendon, ligament and of bone,
Above, an infernal, with bat-wings spread,
A most terrible mordant, not quite dead,
While before him knelt two ghoulish kings,
Who ranted, raved and displayed foul things,
A bloated maggot on Scaboffal’s back,
Fat and drooling, ever-ready to attack,
Whilst Slopgruel wore upon her head,
Haunted antlers of the newly dead,
Which yet dripped blood, sanguine and fresh,
Enticing the grub, so hungry for flesh.
All about them shrieked and gibbered ghouls,
Gripped by delusion, those frenzied fools,
They reveled, cavorted, and they giggled with glee,
For these things supported, their coming killing spree.
