Devoted

Gra'akast

As the afternoon waned, more and more people gathering in the central square of the city, surroding the temple of the Twins Gods. Throngs of bodies descend on the streets and alleyways that led to the heart of Gra'akast.

Word had spread through the population and visitors that the one penitent emerging from the Pilgrimage of Bones laid dead. A huge cremation pyre was being erected, just to the left of where the entrance to the temple stood, with its huge arched stone walls.

Soon almost everyone in the Holy City gathered to watch her body be cremated where their last Prophetess was herself turned to ashes less than a month ago. So packed that after a while hardly anyone in the large square dare move.

The sound of lamentation and prayer filled the air. Crying and shouting carried and mingled until it sounded like a gigantic wounded beast. The unwavering power of faith palpable in the afternoon air. Men, women and children stood shoulder, giving comfort to one another, demanding answers, wondering why their gods had allowed such tragedy to befall a potential successor.

Many in the crowd were too young to remember the last Pilgrimage and the trials that led to return of the Immortal Seer Locust. They spoke of the eight penitents that answered the call until the Twins selected the new vessel. But many more were to young to remember. And the dread of those that could quickly infected everyone.

What if no one else emerged from the Great Desert of Skulls and the Pilgrimage of Bones? What would happen? Water-Bearers of Yther and Air-Weavers of Viher among the crowd did their best to comfort their flock but even their own hearts and minds was filled with doubt and despair. Whispers of agents from the stone city of Ostiarium coming to Gra'akast abounded. As did talk of murdering assassins and spies, coming to unleash their demon gods on the Ozainae. Where was the Herald of the Maelstrom at such a time?

Tensions rose among the crowd, as dusk fell, tears and lamentations slowly turned to screaming anger, to shouts of fervour, to promises of violence and destruction.

A man dressed in long brown robes emerged from the temple of The Wandering carrying a torch. A hush slowly descend upon those closer to the steps and spread as the man raised the flame high into the darkening sky.

He pointed to the waning moon in sky twilight. Tamazzalt the Ascendant came to address the people...