Portents

Stoneshade Keep - Ostiarium

Margrave Otho looked out of the window in his quarters gazing at the Gate City and its bustling activity as the day came to an end. Throngs of citizens filled the streets with many filling the wide area that was Suncross Square.

He saw trains of slaves being driven to the ships that would tomorrow return to Helias. The mood in the city was one of celebration and a sense of power, following their victory in the Plains. But where everyone saw jubilation and hope for the future, the Purger saw vice and sin.

He saw men and women drinking, stuff themselves with food like gluttons, he saw people indulging in the excesses of the flesh. And nowhere he looked did he see the masses thanking their gods for the victory they had won, for the gift of the lands they had conquered.

This was likely one of the most faithless cities he had seen in a long time. He had witness more piety in small pockets of lawless settlements in Kru'll. Something he would have to correct quickly if the tenets of the Pillars were to be respected here in these heathen shores.

The settlement was too far removed from the glory of the Pillars. No Victory Vigil had been called yet. No Day of Offerings announced. All these people seemed to care for was to eat, drink and rut.

Looking out at the masses he was assured that his coming had been needed. Nay, decreed by the gods himself. His dreams had been haunted by signs from Zin himself this last year. There was more than a Crusade here to win against the scourge of magik. The faithful needed to be reminded of the ways of the Pillars. The true ways. Of their place in the world. Of the price their souls would pay when they turned away from their teachings.

But despite all this, despite his victory against the magik weavers, despite the newfound faith he instilled on the soldiers, his mind kept going back to one sore note. The traitorous cur, Voah Sahnsuur...

Inside the room a log in the fireplace crackled loudly, crashing against the metal grate. He turned and saw a cloud of ash and embers floating up in his room. His eyes glazed over as he saw the sparkling pieces of wood fly across the room towards his desk.

He felt a pull towards it and the copy of the map the Duke had provided him. He felt the temperature of the room drop, as if it did when he felt his Lord speak to him. He walked as if in slow motion towards it, turning from the window into the room.

One single solitary ember seemed to catch his eye as it landed on the map burning the scroll. He felt the acrid smell of burning paper fill the cold air.

When he looked down it had burn part of it on top of the area the Duke had called the Great Desert of Skulls. Burned right on top of the word for their Holy City. Gra'akast...

Margrave Otho knelt by his desk feeling the overwhelming presence of his God and the portent he had gifted to him.

He knew where to look now...