"Faith is my Shield"

[Faith Is My Shield]

I have seen how it should be. Wise people sitting in contemplation. Discussing policy, the state of the Well, and how it should be. The wise recognize the wise. Respecting one another, speaking in turn, giving space for one another.

A shame that it shall not last. The Asterabadi Experiment gives; the Asterabadi Experiment takes. These wise minds shall be corrupted. The need to appeal to the masses shall overcome them. More and more compromise will be made to kowtow to one and another and another.

~ * ! * ~

To crusade is to purge the heretic, slay the monster, punish the criminal. The orc is monstrous. Deserving no mercy; deserving only wrath. To crusade is to fight without doubt, without hesitation. And this I did. My hammer never hesitated before striking into the orc. My cries joyous in the face of their barbarism and their death rattles.

But when the last orc fell. When there were no more to slay. Nothing to contend against us. The greatest weapon we have ever wielded was turned upon a tree. Something old, ancient. Existing with a history my mind could not comprehend and my thoughts could not understand.

When all the orcs lay dead around me, I could do nothing but look at our prize and ask: why? What was that tree? What purpose did its destruction serve? What is the horror we have wrought with our own two hands?

I am not a woman of doubts but when I have no foe to focus my wrath upon, it seems my mind becomes empty and dark, filling with whatever tips over the lip of the jar.

Baltra was a sturdy rock that served as a foundation. On our quiet ashsail trip back to the Well, she could sense my mind was not at ease. A gentle prod from her and I voiced my confusion and my concerns. She had no answers but she asked questions.

Questions that I could answer. I may not know the mysteries of the tree. But I know the orc: barbaric, savage, murderous killers, crafting flesh like foul djinn, animating the dead as vile necromancers. I may not comprehend the grand scheme of things but I know the details of why and how when it comes to the orc I meet on the battlefield.

[Faith Is My Shield]

Defeat is not something I am familiar with. I have tasted it bitterness more than once but, thankfully, instances of it recoiling my tongue have been few and far between.

The second raid past the walls of Abulmahhu was not a disaster. It was not a collapse. It was a slow loss of momentum. It was a boulder having fallen down a mountain side come to a stand still as it rolled upon flat terrain for as long as its weight would allow it.

But even in loss does opportunity take the chance to flourish. We had, after all, killed hundreds of orcs. Thousands. And among their corpses, as I marched back towards the war camp, a glint caught my eye. A light pure and revealing.

Atop a high dune was piled an even higher mound of orcan corpses. I made my way up and kicked aside a corpse, watching it roll like a masterless puppet down the dune. Looking to where the corpse had been, I saw a shield atypical from the ones usually used by the orcs.

It was not wooden or stone. It was not angular with sharp corners or vicious spikes. It was not stained with blood and viscera.

It was silver. Mirror-like. Embossed with the most beautiful filigree of water droplets clinging to vines.

I could not resist picking it up. Such a sight amongst a land marred by carnage. I wondered if I had found another sacred relic. The answer to my question revealed itself when I touched my hammer to the shield. The same glint I had seen earlier suddenly engulfed my hammer, glowing with a divine fervour.

We shall return to Abulmahhu soon. The Mother bids me return. The Wheel demands our shortcomings overcome. The taste of defeat shall be washed away with something sweeter.

~ * ! * ~

I am ever thankful that Miss al-Farisyya has taken on the mantle of leading the League of Purple. Her skills and talents overshadows my shortcomings. A mind for tackling the nuances birthed from the Experiment.

A parent should never indulge the short-sighted ridiculousness of children yet that is what the Experiment forces. As righteous as my impatience would be, al-Farisyya is more results oriented and is determined to achieve the right ones.

She will know when to use the carrot. She will know when to use the stick. Were it all up to me, every disorderly child would have sore bottoms and hungry, dinnerless nights.

~ * ! * ~

The plots are exhausting. The schemes exasperating. It is a duty for me to attend meetings with the people involved in governance when asked but rarely does witnessing such lead to more than me cursing the Experiment for what it imposes upon all of us.

Thankfully Ulfgrim and Cort were present so we could hold our own whispered discussion upon matters important: the war; the upcoming raid upon Abulmahhu. There is nothing quite like planning and discussing logistics to help one measure progress.

[Faith Is My Shield]

Victory in Abulmahhu.

To feel such pride swell within me was a new experience. Barring very minor issues (Reginald is bold, perhaps too much so), my team did incredibly well. We arrived at the final wall before the Tree at the same time as the team lead by Aurelio. Had this been a light-hearted race, I would be demanding the judges to scrutinize the results closely to determine who truly arrived first.

It is a shame we lost Horton in the chaos of the final melee. War and death takes from all sides. I can only hope that Horton was satisfied with his death. It was a glorious one in my own eyes: luring a score of orcs on his war pig steed into the epicentre of where the artillery landed, upturning stone and sand.

The sweetness of the victory was fleeting, however, for coming back to the Well was also a return of weight upon shoulder and mind. Besides the orc, there was a great plentitude of trouble and tragedies:

A meeting in an office which would prove deadly portentous.

Vizier Inanna Elissere's murder fresh in memory.

The attempted apprehension of Rowan--whom I thought brother. My eye has been lax in scrutiny. Even if I can only do so much and knowing Rowan's true nature would have been beyond me, I must remember that trust should be built over a great amount of time. For it can crumble in a second.

Visions of a waking nightmare offered to me by the cult of the Sibylline Vine.

Whispered words of Luther's trial and Lhyrian's brash action and judgement in the Hall of Jurisprudence.

Words exchanged with Cort. What a dramatic relationship he and I have. From our precarious beginnings to words now shared in quiet confidence. I would trust that man with my life. I would trust him with the security of the Well. Should the come--and I wonder if it will be soon--that he just fulfill the duties and responsibilities of his position, I believe he would make a competent Legate. But, so too, have I seen and heard and witnessed things that make me wary of him. How cruel is this game we are all forced to play. That even should I trust a good man with my life, I still cannot stop myself from scrutinizing him. Always must I be a hair's breadth away from complete and total trust.

It is arduous work already to wage a war. Life in the Well is a weight many times over.

~ * ! * ~

The Crucible awaits. I have the entrance to it once before and I knew it a key objective that must be taken away from the orcs. Then I saw it a second time, via a work of magical scrying I could not comprehend yet still understood, and I knew it a horrific dream, the tormenting nightmare of a dreaming victim which must be awoken.

Komemnos said to me long ago that the orcs were like us in a way. They, too, sought to water Bel-Ishun, to return the ash desert into a vibrant and verdant land as it once was. The Trees further this thought: pockets of life within Abulmahhu, small parcels of land lush and wondrous. But the roots travel down and deep into places which belies the orc's would-be virtuous goals.

Within a ruin deep in the sands, a ruin of an age long past, do the orc work pain and torment into fleshcraft so horrific that even djinn would be envious of. From fire and cruel alchemy they create creatures that know only pain. They create a mimicry of life that is a mockery of true-life that is virtuous and perfect.

We mortals are all imperfect. We mortal men and orc. We can only dream to be as virtuous as the Spokes. But we are flesh and blood. We are base instincts and free will. Hypocrisy makes victims of us all. Including the orcs. Especially the orcs.

And I am thankful for it means I need not feel guilty for seeking their eradication.

~ * ! * ~

The Sisters and Acolytes of the Sibylline Vine, despite having a reputation for being a secretive sect, have taken a liking to me that would make me uncomfortable were I less familiar with their individual members.

I did not know what they intended for me to witness but I kept my eyes and ears open regardless. And what they did show me I had no reason to believe. But when our consciousness was transported into that place--the Crucible, I knew I was witnessing the truth. I looked, heard, smelled, felt things which I had felt some time ago. Though more curtains were pulled back, I looked upon what I had seen before.

I had already seen the precursing hints. I had seen the entrance to the Crucible, I had seen the monsters birthed from the imprisoned thing within. And what I saw within the scryed vision was more of the same.

I have no choice but to recognize the truth revealed to me. I have no choice but to recognize the Sibylline Vine capable of things great, respectable, and powerful. I can only hope they put their capabilities to Good, that they ever act with the Wheel Above All in mind.

Even should they be shunned from Baz'eel, it seems the Sibylline Vine has a place in the cog that is this disc. They have a destiny. I hazard to dare that it is one I ought witness.

[Faith Is My Shield]

He sounded like me.

Stubborn. Full of confidence. Righteous.

The thought struck me mid-conversation and that was when I knew our meeting was fruitless. I would get no answers. He would give none satisfying. We would part further afar than we began.

He is insistent. He shall continue to call me SIster. But he is no Brother of mine. Should we ever meet again, he shall not have the protection of my promise for words alone.

The next time we meet, he shall be treated as the heretic and murderer he is.

~ * ! * ~

Miss Greta Maddern has been avenged. A vengeance weeks in the making but now finalized and achieved.

Gudari Ariixaka Astakhov, too, avenged. Though the hour between her death and us exacting our vengeance was short, seeing the orc smith responsible for her death struck down was deeply satisfying.

I do not know what exactly it was we freed but I am confident the right thing was done. Thankfully, no last resorts needed to be implemented. What remains to be seen is if anyone else will seek to imprison the creature yet again. If anyone else will look upon the creature and see an opportunity to do wrong.

[Faith Is My Shield]

Finally. Release. A weight off my shoulders.

The secret beginnings I have witnessed months ago has come into the open and if need be I can speak my mind on them.

But the release was fleeting. The weight quickly replaced.

When people spoke of the war against the orc as something near its end, how they were near defeat, and how the Well was so close to knowing peace, I bit my tongue. Witnessing what I have, I knew these people spoke in ignorance. Hopeful, but still ignorant. I knew those hoping for an end to war with the end of the orc would be demoralized at the thought of war with Kha'esh.

And demoralized they have become. Eager words about life after the orc has been replaced with bemoaning lamentations of the Well's relationship with Kha'esh. The peace they desperately grasped for has been pulled further away. More battles will need to be fought. More lives will be lost.

The disappointment is palpable. It lingers in the air like the stench of rotting corpses. People grimace and retreat in revulsion at the truth that lays before them. And yet they do not even realize what truth lies still buried beneath the dead.

The heretical whom contest the Wheel are many. The enemies of the Sultanate are spread throughout the desert.

Komemnos was a strange, brash, foolish man. But I am thankful to him for preparing me for reality on this disc.

The orc will not be our last foe. Kha'esh will not be our final enemy.

The crusade continues. The crusade never ends.