Fiction:Metempsychosis

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Imperial Academy of Saphronia

''While investigating the forlorn lands east of Our Glorious Domain known henceforth to us as the Serenity Woods, I came upon a most intriguing manuscript belonging to the eastern undead, found by My men in █████ written on █████. Although carrying no Source properties whatsoever, it neverthless sheds some light upon the Undead's origin and the last days of their living empire, and may prove useful to end their unholy existence once and for all. For these reasons, I request the Academy to have this text, known from this moment on as the Manuscript of Metempsychosis, contained, copied and studied thoroughly for the greater glory of Mankind.

NUMQUAM CADEMUS, SEMPER PRAEVALEBIMUS

High Sigilite F████ █i██████

Day One
Khatlam - Gather hither, faithful ! - an old, dishriveled woman was walking through the dusty streets of the Elder City, banging a pair of massive golden cymbals that seemed to be too heavy for a person of her age to carry while shouting as loud as her vocal cords allowed her - ''Remember the Day of Progeny, when our ancestors first stepped onto the earth of, guided by the Gods! Bring your sons and your daughters unto the Plaza of the Magisters so that the One and His Chosen Ones would gaze upon them and judge them worthy of His holy light like He did us, and our fathers before us, and their fathers before us! Praise Xashan! Praise Xashan!''

The citizen followed the old spinster, gathering from their homes and places of work into a single solemn procession that marched to the plaza. Some of them men, some of them women, some dressed in elaborate, embroidened grey robes befitting aristocrats and others barefoot and half-naked, all of the townsmen were unified by one expression on their weathered, greyish faces: it was a look of mindless conformity, of devotion and obedience forced into their minds - and not only minds, but also hearts, and souls. Walking at their side were their children; still young and naive, and not yet introduced to the darkness of the world they lived in, they walked happily, their small feet thumping an optimistic beat so much unlike the morbid melody of the old woman's cymbals. For them, every day was an adventure; for their parents, it was a battle. A battle for survival.

Amongst the crowd - amongst it, that is, not exactly against it nor alongside it but rather outside its current, not a slave to the procession but its willing participant - walked a man in a grey robe, carrying a staff. Tall and gallant, strongly built, proudly standing, he was a titan among mere mortals, a rebellious mountain amidst a long-dead desert. His face was hidden behind a golden mask adorned with turquoise that lacked any details or features besides the two almond-like holes that revealed his brilliant, glowing silver eyes; to look at him would be an awe-inspiring, yet also greatly unnerving sight. The townsmen barely noticed the robed man, though; they were too entrenched in their own duties, too devoted to the sanctity of the ceremony - sanctity taught to them by repetition, sanctity that they barely understood - to acknowledge the presence of the one they worshipped as a messiah when he was not atop a podium wearing the brilliant white robes of his office. Underneath his mask, the man frowned. Taking a look at the solemn procession and the Plaza of the Magisters last time, the man clenched his staff and then slammed it against the ground. Then, in a flash of light and smoke, he was gone. The adults did not even turn their heads; only the children took notice of the strange man disappearing, smiling at the funny explosion for a short while...

When the man reappared at the center of the Plaza, however - now dressed in white and gold, symbols of power marking his body, his figure raised atop a golden platform that contrasted so vividy with the drab grey architecture of the rest of the Elder City - the crowds cheered.

Victory for the Serenity Empire!

Alar'xashan protect us all from Chaos!

Cleanse our souls from sin, o great Magisters!

Forgive us, o Praetinnath of Kali!

Praetinnath smiled underneath his mask. It was not a smile of joy, though, and it carried poison; the Magister was not in the happiest of moods and the mindless chanting of the faithful merely amused him. Yet, as a loyal servant of his people - or, rather, its loyal shepherd - he had to don a certain persona to conceal his true thoughts, like he had donned a mask to conceal his face. Inside his soul, however, there was a storm. How could he inspire faith and hope to others when all of his has been extinguished long ago?

Zevannath - Look at the crowds... - the second Magister on the platform, skinnier and shorter than his companion, touched Praetinnath gently while whispering to his ear - I haven't seen that many people in a while. Praetinnath - There were more back in the day. - Praetinnath stood up and gazed at the gathering crowds of the faithful. The people of the Serenity Empire stood obediently, raising their children for the Magisters to see as per the traditions of the Day of the Progeny. The old archmage's heart sank. Before him were the youngest generations of his people: the future builders of the Empire. One day, these boys and girls would become men and women; they would inherit the domain their ancestors had built... or would they?

Praetinnath was not so certain of that, not anymore. Every day, more and more warriors outside the city fell to, and although the King's strength was unmatched and his will unbreakable, he alone could not turn the tides of war, not without soldiers. The defense of the Empire could be bolstered by its many mages, but what was the cost? The divine protector of the Outworld, Alar'xashan desired more and more souls for the power he bestowed upon the sorcerers that worshipped him. Every year, more and more innocents had to be sacrificed to the bloodthirsty moloch, his hunger never truly sated. Men, women, even children became cattle for the dragon god - and that was what they were reduced to. Mindless, obedient.

Yet, Praetinnath knew that it was the only way. There were no alternatives.

Praetinnath - ''People of the Serenity Empire. This month... this year... decade... this age has not been kind to our people. We have sacrificed much. Many pure souls had to die in battle so that we, so that our children could gather today at this very plaza. Fret not. Their deaths have not been in vain - they are with Alar'xashan now, in his paradise of light and truth that awaits all faithful and virtuous. One day, when this... when this age is over, the Outworld will become pure and beautiful again. Our progeny - once sacrifices are made - shall inherit this beauty. Thus let us mark this Day of the Progeny and rejoice, for one day, salvation will come! Praise Alar'xashan!'' Crowd - ''PRAISE ALAR'XASHAN! PRAISE ALAR'XASHAN!''

Praetinnath sighed heavily. It was truly the only way. The sacrifices had to continue... or else, their people would be doomed.