All roads...

Odsier Plains

In the deep shadows of a hidden camp, Amalu sat cross-legged, his sightless eyes closed as he communed with the silence of the plains night. The air was colder, a stark contrast to the scorching heat of the day, and the faint sounds of nocturnal creatures echoed around him. The Brotherhood of the Ebony Hand moved quietly, their presence a mere whisper against the vastness of the plains.

Amalu's fingers traced the intricate patterns carved into the shaft of the Inchor of Solitude, the relic that had defined his purpose and that of the Brotherhood for generations. The hammer had been a tool of binding, imprisoning the Chained Goddess Ziarae and creating Sister Locust, the immortal Prophetess. Now, it was the key to unlocking the world from that ancient imprisonment.

The voice of his goddess, Ziarae, had spoken to him, guiding him through the darkness that was his constant companion. Her instructions had been clear, her promises certain. The head of the hammer, held by Fosia's newly arise champion, would come to him. His life's purpose was nearing its culmination, a moment he had been prepared for since he was a child, trained by the Brotherhood to serve their cause.

"Everything leads to this," Amalu murmured, his voice barely audible. The Brotherhood had survived for centuries, their existence a bloody war against the false prophetess and the imprisonment of their true deity. Each member had sacrificed, bled, and died for this moment.

As he sat in contemplation, Amalu's mind drifted to the stories of the past, the legends of the Brotherhood, and the countless lives that had been lost in their holy crusade. Each life was a thread in a tapestry woven over centuries, leading inexorably to this moment. He felt the weight of his ancestors' hopes and dreams pressing upon him, urging him forward.

"The head will come to me..." he repeated, feeling the truth of it resonate within him. His goddess had promised it, and her words were as unbreakable as the chains that bound her. Yet, beneath the surface of his certainty, there was a deeper, unspoken command, a whisper that only he had heard in the sacred silence of his communion.

The thought of the impeding battle brought a sense of peace to Amalu. His life had always been in service to this moment, and he would fulfil his role without hesitation. When all was said and done, the world would be one step closer to witness the revenge of their deity.

He rose slowly, the shaft of the hammer held firmly in place around his neck with a ancient leather strap. The camp around him was a hive of quiet activity, the Brotherhood and some Odonine preparing for their next raid. They were ready to fight, to die if necessary, to protect their sacred cause.

Amalu's sightless eyes gazed out into the darkness, seeing far beyond the physical world. He saw the threads of fate weaving together, binding him to Fosia's proxy, to the relic, and to the destiny of his goddess. His heart swelled with a mixture of pride and sorrow. They were so close now. What would become of the Brotherhood once their mission was accomplished.

The night deepened, and the camp held its breath, as if waiting. Amalu stood at the centre of it all, a silent sentinel, ready to fulfil his sacred duty. As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, he felt a profound calm settle over him.

Whatever came next, he was prepared. The goddess had willed it, and he would see it done. The hammer's head would come to him, and with it, the final act of the Brotherhood's long and secretive struggle. After all, all roads let to here...