To the Blessed Children of Hell

[DISCOLIQUID 2701]

To the Blessed Children of Hell,

 

Spoiler

The letter is distributed by harrowing means, delivery made often by Imp, at times by a witch's familiar, or found fluttering in the wind -- nailed to trees at crossroads. The message was clear: the children of Hell were called home to the Black Church. They need only the resolve to seek it.

 

I will pen the truth simply, for you are owed it.

 

Regardless of the way you die, to Imperial blades or a Templar's Flame, your soul is owned by the Hells. Those few of you who find “salvation” in slavery to the Militant Faith will not be redeemed. Your soul is bid, still, straight to the hand of havoc. There is no path to reclamation under the three-limbed God of Men; when death finds you, you will take the boat to Hell’s shores, and be eaten. I take no joy in these truths. I simply want you to hear them.

 

Your options are few, and I will summarize them with honesty. 

 

You may align with the pagan Druii, and sell your soul to the Aspects of Nature. You will live a life tortured by a chorus of singing plants, shrieking animals, and eventually your eternal rest will be dragged into a meaningless choral slop of vegetation, flesh, and whimsy.

 

You may align with the brutish Shamans, and sell your soul to the Spirits. You will live a life tortured by self-aggrandizing, animate elements. You will wait, day by day, until you are consumed by the meager representation of flame, or the moon, and purity will reject you. 

 

You may wallow, in fear, and pride, and loneliness, until a blade or age takes you one and the same. That brutal hand of havoc will feast upon your soul, devour it the way a cat eats a mouse, and you will be lost. Nothing more than a swirling, shrieking hatred in the belly of my red god. 

 

Or, you may revolt. 

 

Abandon the world that has offered you nothing, and take my charred hand. I will redeem your soul, and see you armed with the passion the people have denied you. Instead of putrid whimsy, I will give you slick violence. Instead of false representations, I will give you steely truths. Instead of oblivion, I will give you eternity, and you may devour it rather than be devoured by. 

 

I will break the chains that tie you to meaninglessness. I will arm you against those who would see you and your kin driven into the mud to die. I will prevent your eternal damnation between the jaws of the divine. However far the Faith Militant will take you, I will take you farther. I will teach you more. I will show you worlds beyond the doorstep of Mundus. 

 

None know of the fire that burns in each of your eternal souls, how all of you down to the last number seek nothing more than to carve your own destiny. I see it. I respect the courage, the strength of will, the drive to seek a new dawn every day and claim what is yours. 

 

You devils are our children.

Come home.

 

[Navigator 4260]

Spoiler

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