PLEA TO THE LIGHT BRINGERS

[Clandom of Vistulia 160]

⇹⇹A FREEMAN DISGRACED⇹⇹

ᛜᛥᛜ

92nd year of the Reborn Age

“She is an Elf, and I, a Human… I simply could not bear the thought of leaving her alone in this world.”

[!] Depiction of the Last Path that an undead takes upon meeting his demise. Surrounded by spirits of the Ancestors, shamed, faced with all of his sins and crimes - to reach the gates of Bies and be thrown for eternity into his frozen realm.

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/_WdI9PmfccM

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The months prior had been unkind to the people of Vistulia – misdirection, honeyed words, outright lies. A blight had fallen over the Freemen, manifesting itself in the shape of how many evil creatures? It hadn’t mattered then, they had already made a victim of a young Clansguard, caught up in the naïve passions of youth as he was. The perpetrators of this cruel act had been caught and punished, burned in the sacred flames of Svarog without mercy, but their victims would suffer a fate perhaps more severe.

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Freemen of all ages and sorts had gathered in the Great Hall, normally a place of open discussions, merriment, and drinking – now an oppressive tribunal, where the Piast, Casimir Vilchyc would act as the judge, jury, and executioner of the will of the Ancestors. He stood upon the podium, front and centre, with a bearded great-axe clasped in his hands. Lifting it from the ground, the elder Vilchyc crushed it against the rough-hewn floorboards with a resounding crack that sounded off the timber walls of the room. His one-eyed gaze was firmly fixed upon a younger man who sat further down the hall, and he beckoned him to the roaring flames of Svarog that guttered and roiled in the bonfire before him.

 

Ian returned the stare only momentarily, clutching all the while to the hand of his beloved – an Elven woman by the name of Arya. He wavered there, unwilling to ignore the order, but at once was afraid of what would follow if he obeyed. 

 

He stood, then moved with all the lethargy of a man walking to his death. His eyes dropped to the floor, the crackling of the flames seeming as if to beckon the Clansguard straight into the fire.

 

And then he waited.

 

The Piast recited from memory those two promises to the Ancestors – promises which every Freeman of Vistulia must adhere to – that Ian had turned his back on, betraying those who had come before him. 

 

First, the man had committed the betrayal of immortality. He had sought of his own volition, those wicked powers that would offer him immortality, and thus an escape from the judgement that all Freemen face after drawing their last, dying breaths. His beloved wept, nails digging into her flesh as she writhed in despair over this first proclamation.

 

Then, he betrayed the Ancestors once more, through his consorting with those creatures that offered him immortality. Foul things, born of the most wretched ways – feasting on the flesh and blood of men with no remorse for their actions. This was the gravest offence and one that alone would earn any Freeman a swift and unpitying death. And she wept more, folding her arms over her head as tears ran down her cheeks. She could not bear to look.

 

Ian remained there, listening morosely as the mounting list of his offences was proclaimed for all to hear, but he did not protest. When the Piast asked him if he would deny these things, he only offered a “ No.” in response, shaking his head weakly. Then, the Piast asked him if he had any plea, any defence for himself, to justify such damnable actions, and the man spoke thusly.

 

 “ I do. You see... I decided to seek out him for help, because of my love for Arya. She is an elf, and I, a Human, it is known that elves live longer… And I simply could not bear the thought of leaving Arya alone in this world...” 

 

The crowd shuffled uneasily. Some among their number scoffed, unaffected by the romantic plight put forth in the man’s defense – others took to looking appalled, sympathetic even. One among them even jeered, raising his voice to incite more severe punishment. Perhaps most worryingly for the man and his despairing love, though, was the cold, one-eyed stare that still found its way over Svarog’s flame and judged Ian for all he was worth. The Piast locked the man in place with this stare alone, and the Clansguard would know before Casimir even spoke, that his words found no sympathetic purchase.

 

The elder Vilchyc motioned for his companion, Kargarn Doomforged, to administer the test that would truly damn the man: aurum and salt water. The gilded tip of a spear was thrust into Ian’s grasp, and he clutched the weapon – no effect. Next, the bottled seawater was poured over the guard, and his flesh bubbled and burnt as if seared by unseen flames. The now-revealed Corcituri loosed a wail and looked towards the yet-silent Piast pleadingly. 

 

 Amongst the gathered rose a voice of compassion towards the creature - one that understood how important love and family can be in the life of a Freeman. Seeking to sway the Piast for a lesser punishment, they asked “If your wife were to live a centuries longer life than you, would you not seek to join her on this journey? If your daughter was to live a life of such length, would you not seek to guide her through it more?”

 

To which not a second had even passed, as a brutal in its honesty answer was placed. “Never.”

 

 “Our short lives are not a curse, but a blessing that Radaghast has placed upon us. Our true curse is the wrath we feel to one another. The greed that clouds our mind and makes us commit the worst of the crimes.  The weakness of our mind that we do not wish to better. It is our sacred duty and our blessed right to live those short lives trying not to fall to our curses. To live a short and worthy life, so we may be granted with a blessed afterlife, or punished with an eternity of torment for the lack of our will. To seek immortality is the gravest of sins one can face.”

 After which he was faced with silence. One that may have not been of full acceptance and understanding, but one that showed that his decision will not be denied. Forced to bring judgment upon the man.

 

When the Piast finally did speak, it reflected the way he glared at the man – cold, and calculated, though he maintained the proud manner he always had. He spoke at length, condemning the man’s actions and his very being, reminding him of the grim fate that awaited those Freemen who consort with evil. Death.

 

 But the Piast understood that the mind of young blood is weak. Gdie sie mlodi kohai, stari nie wdayo. (Where young are in love, old should not interfere.) Perhaps he had seen that this man was lied to, manipulated and guided by evil to reach his sinful goal. Perhaps it was not sympathy, but the pious will of a true Radaghastian to restore the world to its righteous state, cleansed of the undead taint. Whatever fueled his verdict, the Piast designed instead to offer the man a choice – he would walk a path of redemption lined with hardships of near suicidal proportion, or he would die a tarnished fool, to suffer an afterlife of pain and cold. Hunted as a twisted and unredeemable monster. The path was described thusly:

 

I. He would be marked with the brand of the tarnished. An icon seared into the flesh of his dominant hand. Should this mark dare to heal because of his ungodly curse, he would have to carve it anew in flesh with a knife, again, and again.

II. He would be stripped of all the rights of a Freeman, seen as a betrayer, and a creature of pure evil.

III. He would be forced to rid himself of the curse – the sickness that which he had wilfully brought upon himself for selfish purposes. Failure to do so would mean being purged of the sickness utilizing the sacred fire of Svarog. 

IV. He would be forced to travel to the farthest reaches of the northern lands. From there, alone, he would have to destroy a great beast and return to the Clandom its hide. Failure to slay such a beast would indicate cowardice and result in his death.

V. He would, upon the success of the previous tasks, return to the Clandom and place an oath of servitude to the Freemen. Under it, he would not be allowed to leave its borders, nor would he be allowed to act against the wishes of its people. With many of his sacred Ancestral Rights stripped off him. Finally, he would not be allowed to live out the eternal life that he had sought.

 

And again the crowd shuffled with that same unease. Cries of protest were sounded, and roars of vindictive satisfaction were heard over the top of all else. But the Piast would not be swayed from his decision. He glared at the guilty creature and awaited his answer. Would he accept the challenge, and earn the favour of the Ancestors once more, or would he die a coward?

 

Ian’s answer came in the form of a weak nod, eyes sunken to the floor still as his shoulder continued to pock and deteriorate under the burning of the seawater. Words failed him a moment before he finally stuttered out his affirmation.

“ Yes. I accept.”

 

And with that, he was shunned. Those gathered in the Great Hall followed the Piast as he guided the wretch to the gates, wending down the road until the group reached the edge of Vistulia. Ian stepped forth, out through the mouth of that imposing gatehouse and turned back to be met with waves, sobs, sneers, and a singular:

“ Zdrovia.”

---

Vistulian Plea to the Lightbringers

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For years now we have faced wicked abominations coming to our land, disguising themselves as descendants, attacking our kinsmen, and bringing chaos and disruption to the innocent. Swaying the weak-willed onto evil paths, adoring them with lies of grandeur, of safety, of hope.

For years we have fought them back. Time after time bringing our blades down upon them, cleansing and purging them with Svarogs flames, with success repelling them away. But as this everlasting fight continues, I - Casimir Vilchyc, Piast of the Vistulian Clandom - understand that there shall come the day when we may lose against them if nothing will be done.

 

I ask those who see themselves as the bringers of the light to aid me in this unending battle. To aid in keeping lands of the Clandom safe from the twisted and wicked paths of the dark magical arcanas. So that my kin and many more to come may live in peace, knowing that at night only nightmares of the past may haunt them and not the nightmares that had escaped the realm of dreams and forced themselves upon the descendant world.

 

May your guidance aid the Freemen in making sure that evil will shudder at the very thought of bothering our lands, our people. May your guidance aid us in bringing Svietovids will upon this world, and help to remove the corruption, the taint.

---

Casimir Vilchyc,

Piast of the Vistulian Clandom, Vodz of the Vilchyc Clan, Uniter of Tribes

[Acostrob 321]

Kargarn cleaned his weapons, awaiting Ulfars'word at the summit of the Urguani mountains.

[Drzzter 31]

A Vistulian scribe held a copy of the missive out at arm's length, admiring his work with a self-satisfied simper. He had read the thing over many times before as it was drafted, but found no less enjoyment in reading it for the dozenth time as he did the very first. A few idle moments passed before he finally deigned to fold the parchment and limp to the other side of the room, so as to file it away with the rest of the documents that lay barely-organized on that eclectic bookshelf.