Arthiad descends on the Morfenath
Written in the 2nd Anion of the Second Celéum 1365,
By Henegar Relac, Merchant and Philosopher of the Golden Coast of Fargos.
Tos Henegar Relac, Malni ana Eminulan pen tana Tessar Neruk pen Minaro Kes.
Translated into the Lingua Franca by Henegar Relac.
The Church of Morfenath became a great power along the golden coast of Fargos, and its influence spread far and wide. The priests of Morfenath were corrupt and believed wholly that the power of humans was equal to that of the Isten. They celebrated openly and disrespected the Isten numerously, they celebrated death and believed in a separate afterlife from the ones created for them by the Fenyr. Though the Fenyr were not going to touch them as they were not warlike or vengeful in any way, the Vellyr were different.
On one evening, the Church were having a particularly large celebration, a great feast was to be had at the end, and during the celebration, the priests and all their followers were present. Though this “religion” as they called it was vast, many of the high officials were present, and the meeting place was the religion's main headquarters. The Church believed that every human born was born of a divine power that the earth provided for them, and much like the Isten, they were powerful. As a result of this belief, the religion often practices human sacrifices on non-believers, believing that their blood spilt would help them strengthen their power by clearing the discomforts of the mind. A truly sick religion indeed. Not only do they believe in the self-devine, but they also do not believe in the Tarriin, despite their realm doors being around the edge of the world. They also believe that humankind is the true firstborn and are the children of the world, they openly hate the other races of beings that are different to them. They openly hated me as I made my way along the Golden Road towards my home in Menúk, they spat and jeered and almost tried to capture me for one of their sacrifices, but I escaped.
On the day of Anut Fua, the date being 1365 of the Second Celéum in the Calendar of Mítharin, which I thoroughly believe I should add, I was walking home from a day of work. I live in the small city of Ereg Elin, being the size of a town, and the surrounding forests are quiet which means I heard a great deal. A chanting from far off, I could only guess was the Morfenath, and a curiosity pushed me forward to investigate. Their headquarters lay deep within the forest in a clearing that they circled, dancing and carrying torches that lit up the forest around them. The light also bounced off my face, when I reached the area of celebration, but they did not see me, and as the leader climbed the stairs to the top he came out onto the balcony. He wore special robes and held up a weird idol, I couldn't quite see it from where I was but I remained still, watching from afar. His voice was unpleasant and as he spoke, I’m sure he probably spat everywhere, in his raspy voice, he said:
‘Gathered are we to quash the belief and power that is the Isten, who think themselves as better than us, our church is greater in power than that of Emmendell, and soon my friends, we will destroy them!’
I thought it stupid of them to provoke the wrath of Emmendell, and I was sure I'd soon hear the coming storm to destroy them, but no sound came, the north did not stir and remained quiet. As I waited there in the bushes I heard a noise, and out of the forest came the screams of women and children and old folk, their hands were tied. It seems they had been pulled from the streets of their very own houses, what they had planned next I could only guess. There was, however, very little I could do against the church, as there were many priests present, and guards who were heavily armed patrolled the area. The screaming helpless folk were dragged and pushed into the church out of sight, though I couldn't help but wish in some way I could help them. After the helpless were inside, the rest of the gathering went inside too, and behind the last to enter the door was shut by a guard, who waited cautiously outside.
I surveyed the church and could see no entry, but a small light flickered through a hole in the wall, though it was dim, and the hole was small and covered in ivy. I waited a moment longer, and as the guard passed by my position, I made my way sneakily past, taking cover behind a few crates, and slowly watched for any approach from the guards. As luck would have it, however, they were in conversation with each other, and at that moment I made my way to the hole. Peeping through, I saw a small room, no one was within and only crates, ropes and other equipment were inside. This seemed to be some caretaker room, as a bed sat in one of the corners and a lamp was next to it, but still no one was inside. I scratched and pulled at the ivy forcing it away, and carefully, without making any noise, I crept in and climbed down from the hole which may have been a window long ago.
Chanting came from behind the door, though not immediately as there was some echo I could hear bouncing about the place. I looked back through the window, and I thought how careless of the priests and guards to leave it so open, perhaps they had not noticed it, or thought it invisible from distant inspection. I opened the door to peek through the gap and saw there were more crates hiding the door, though a path did lead around them, and very carefully I opened the door a little wider. Now I could see more, the screaming captives had been silenced with cloth and sat in cages, and they sat in the far corner. A large table fit for that of a king was displayed across the centre of the floor, and upon it were a great many plates of food as if a great feat was planned. A feast large enough for the likes of Arthiad and his sons, though I doubt there was enough for all of them, though perhaps if the screams will not attract them, maybe the smell of a feast will.
The leading priest took up a high-seated position at the head of the table, and began a “great” speech, though where quality is concerned, it hardly inspired, it was worse than that of a rebellious street child who wished to steal some bread. The reader may want to hear, though somehow I doubt it, but in any case I will transcribe it verbatim.
‘My followers, we feast tonight, for the glory of Morfenath is upon us, we sacrifice to our one god, Vilit, The Prince of the Skies above, the lands that feed us, and the oceans that bring us to and from our lands. It is Vilit who we praise, and Emmendell shall praise him too, rise, and let us drink from the blood he has provided us! By the glory of Vilit, our will be done!’
Once his forsaken speech had been completed, having felt like an eternity since it started, they went to the cages where the prisoners were, and tearing them from their safety they pushed and shoved them up cold stone slabbed steps to the high seated throne. Below, just before the wall of the high seat a burning inferno raged, there they stood on the edge, the guards strung them up. Tying their hands behind them and their legs together and above the great fire hung a noose from a beam above.
As this was happening however, I was watching in horror as the woman children and older folk stumbled to their doom, and then I did something I thought I'd never do, for all the stories told they were not a merciful bunch. I called upon the Vellyr to intervene, praying for the saving of the innocents about to be hung above the inferno. The leader, with a knife in hand stood by a younger woman and licked her face, before cutting her ear off and licking his knife. He was the foulest man I'd ever seen, and then he cut his hand and smeared it all over her face, and the older woman next to her.
I prayed that the Vellyr had heard me, that they would intervene soon, but no sound yet, as I thought, I heard the faint pattering of rain outside, and upon the roof. It could just be a normal storm, and it seemed only myself and the guards outside may have noticed it, but then the rain grew heavier, and I saw outside the torrent forming. Then suddenly, like a sudden sweeping storm, thunder echoed above, and lightning flashed, I could see through the small window, the flashes and sparks. The ceiling opened up as a great lightning stroke smote the building, and a hole was agape in the roof, rain poured down and smothered the flames. Then I watched as another flash smote the charred remains of the fire and steam and smoke leapt up and the shadow of a heaving great figure stepped forth. Arthiad had come. The whole ceremony watched, the leader quivered, hiding behind the captives, the guards burst through the front door and witnessed in terror and despair as Arthiad stepped before the table. Arthiad, tall like a giant, with a head of long hair and a beard dark brown but black when soaked, his eyes blue like his lightning, he looked fat and lethargic, but his actions spoke otherwise, he was the strongest of the gods, perhaps greater than Istanos and his brother the Sea God. His distinguishing Vellyrian features, his cyclonic tattoos, and he had many, though that is all I could catch before he was painted with blood.
He raised his hand to the sky and the clouds above flashed and a further bolt came down striking his hand, his enormous hands, rings glowed blue on his fingers and suddenly a great brazen war axe, materialised from pure lightning in his hands, the like of which I’d only seen or heard of in legend. The weapon was silver, though I had little time to see it before I saw him unleash it upon the completely defenceless priests. Their insolence had finally come back on them, and almost smiling with satisfaction I saw him pick up a large bulky guard in full heavy battle armour with a single hand before crushing his helmet around his head with ease. The war axe which had its length longer than the average man was swung with terrible strength and easily cut another guard in heavy armour in half. Wielding his ring, of which I had also heard of, the mythical florvol steel, he threw the axe at a group of priests fleeing through the front entrance and the axe cut through them all, melting their flesh with lightning. I saw his hand held out once more and the axe in midair stopped and returned to his hand with a metallic clang, though that was because he gripped another guard's head and the axe smashed his face and helm to nothing.
After dispatching the final guard by simply throwing him high into the sky only falling back down after Arthiad had left, he moved on to the remaining priests who were paralyzed with fear. All was pretty silent by now, the guards were all gone, and the only sounds were of the heavens above, raging with the same rage that consumed Arthiad, his blood lust unquenchable. So keeping exactly where I was resulted in me remaining safe, I decided to remain, and simply watch the rest of the violence unfold, and satisfaction lined my face. I saw Arthiad sit down at the head of the table, he planted the blade of his axe into the stone floor, which shook the whole hall. The leader of Morfenath slowly tried to sneak away, but Arthiad heard him, and suddenly he was gone, an electrical haze remained in his place, and then a scream from outside could be heard. Though I suspected Arthiad had ended him, rematerializing soon after, the leader was struggling for breath as Arthiad gripped his neck.
I watched from behind but slowly moved to get a better angle, I moved as silently as I possibly could, and the screaming of the leader drowned out my slight shuffles. Arthiad stripped a chicken and drank half a barrel of ale as he held the leader, gripped at his arm and hammered on his wrists. Arthiad looked at him and said the first words he had spoken since he arrived they were few, but deep and gruff. ‘Here is your god.’ then broke the leader's hands, and snapped his arms and legs, barely conscious, Arthiad revived him with a volt and the pain came back, the leader screamed and as he did Arthiad tore the man in half starting from his lower abdomen slowly, his screams stopped. He then feasted and ate all the food on the entire table and drank all the drink while the other priests watched unable to move through fear.
Surprisingly, he had let them live that day, though now I see it was to sow fear, not that the Morfenath would listen to two crazed priests, but I knew after Arthiad took his axe and summoned the a bolt leaving the place, that he wanted more blood from them. Upon finishing the last morsels of food he left with a crack of lightning and a clap of thunder, returning probably north to Emmandell, or to some other war or battle he could take part in to slake his bloodlust.
I emerged and watched as the two remaining priests ran away terrified, and I saw the prisoners half terrified and half relieved at their survival. Had they known of the legends they would know that Arthiad kills innocents too, but spares them when his hatred of others is too great to not focus on. I went up the stairs and cut them free of their bonds, and they thanked me on their way out, the rain had stopped and I looked up to the sky, morning had come but I felt neither happy nor excited, unsure of what to feel about the situation. I saw a black speck falling from the sky, and remembered the guard he threw into the air, the screams grew louder and he hit the ground dead before my feet. I returned home and wrote about my unexpected night of divine vengeance and the gore and brutalities I had witnessed.
