X.
Aeolian Supremacy: Wrath of the Anemoi
Betwixt the fall of the Empire in the south and the rise of it’s northern descendent, a dark time mostly lost to the chroniclers, the strength of the Serpent saw a dominance hitherto unimagined. Towers to His name rose seemingly overnight in many of the cities fallen to decadence in the void left by imperial surety. The cult, justified by certainty in their dark cause, unscrupulously amassed wealth and power. Fearful whispers of arcane rites and the disappearance of those who dared voice opposition, ensured their unrivalled supremacy and the subjugation of the populous.
[Beyond the nighted veil]:
Hark the writ of Father Set!
The Serpent’s rise in black aspect
Envenomed fang shall strike and spread
It’s venom through the world of men.
The bulwark that will stand against:
Rampant dragon with flame bedecked.
How futile is the splendid strife,
When two masks of one god’s visage unite!
[Arcane rites in the sanctum of the Black Temple]:
Alabaster limbs, eyes of jet
Air weighted with succulent scent
Oiled limbs entwined, undulating bodies writhe….
The riders amass - purification is nigh!
[High-priest of the Black Temple]:
A taste of Death’s bitter-sweet sting
With inhuman voice sing
A pact thus sealed with unnatural sin
[Aeddan - scout in service to Mael Phelan]:
Stories of these loathesome dogs have reached even me on the distant isles of Immyrh. It is said they lie with their gods and eat of their dead….
[Mael Phelan - lord of the Boreal Riders and guardians of the Northern Sanctum]:
Fresh winds from the north, come forth;
Ride with the wrath of the storm
From the high peaks we swarm
Death from on high
Wreathed in righteous decree, with gods’ speed
We fly to glory
To carve our story,
With bright steel at our sides.
Onwards we ride!
To sun-scorched lands’ desert sands,
Where the Black Serpent rises
In numerous guises,
Yet all bear His mark.
From the frost-forged lands of the Borealis:
The light ever brightest
In the midst of the dark!
To triumph we charge!
[High-priest of the Black Temple]:
Open the gate - Let forth the swarm, it is but fate
A sacrifice shall be made!
Loose the chains! Let the devils rage - it is His way!
Let nothing of them now remain!
[War-cries of the armies of the Black Serpent]:
Cut them down - let them die
Leave their bones where they lie
Carve their souls from their flesh
To ingest...
[Mael Phelan]:
Ye Southern lords, raise your swords!
Beneath one banner, a glorious clamour
As armies unite!
From the east and the west
At our behest
Come riding the zephyr
A tempest that knows no fear -
Together we strike
And shall lay waste, a conquest
Nothing less
They shall all fall before us,
Either fealty or a sword thrust
Shall mark the way
And when the smoke clears
On revered earth so newly blessed with bloodshed
None alive shall doubt then
That we have won the day.
Who can say whether the pitiless, uncaring eye even perceives the torment which unfolds in the realms of man?
Even as the stars align in such portentous display to those dwellers below, far beyond mortal understanding His coils reach, ensnaring all creation in obdurate grip.
