An account of the Great Cataclysm - Part 2

[X] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the fifth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

To his Majesty’s chief scribe, Andariac for the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

Greetings and blessings.

Celem’s light has not shined down upon us now in over a month. The mists have changed in temperature and even in flavor. Mysterious sounds come out of them occasionally—shouts and groans, unintelligible shrieks and most often the rumbling sounds of thunder, carried like an echo from another age.

The eternal grey dankness with which we live makes these observations more potent perhaps, but they have a certain chilling effect on everyone, mostly the superstitious Joria who do not speak of it in our tongue.

Although I have done my best to prevent right knowledge of the Royal stores, perpetuating the myth that there exists stores the Government does not speak about, I am afraid rumors are making their rounds that we can count the rations on hand in months, not years.

The chatter surrounding this fact should not be too surprising. It is the difference between life and death, a topic many have plenty of time to consider, given the impossibility of doing much else in the current conditions. The ration queues are well attended from the moment the grey becomes lighter in tint (a sign that Celem has begun a passage) until well past the high point of said passage (we can only estimate).

Mothers do their best to hide portions of the ration before reaching home, hoping to create a kind of private store. For now the people put a brave mask over their fear (How I admire our people’s stolid reliance on Durno qualities of character!) and perform similar antics. But not a few arguments break out in the queues over short rations, unfair portions, bribery and the rest. Durno pride can only extend so far before our native pleonís  takes over. I carefully watch the swaying changes in the melody of our people’s passions regarding this, for I think it is a chief measure of our well being.

Which is a convenient way to begin speaking about Decimon’s doings. This latter, a rogue and an oaf if ever I saw one, has taken it in his mind to mount a hunting party out into the mist. I publicly voiced my opposition to its creation in the regular tanác  we hold, but the sudden sweep of approbation was too much even for me, and an expedition was organized.

Their stated goal is to find and reclaim as many goods from the Devotionist camp as they possibly can. They seem confident that a veritable cavern of grains, Raice, and the like lies hidden wherever the Devotionists are. Of course we have never been able to locate a ‘camp’ as such before the mists. It was always my contention that the camp moved, the Devotionists taking great care never to leave traces of their past presence. If this is the case, it can only be that the camp is now forced to stop in whichever mud hole they are.

Decimon is confident in his tasks and as we speak the expedition, which will consist of no less than 6 octaves of men, including a few Retainers, is in its final preparations.

I have insisted on there being an established method of return, the potential loss of so many was too much to consider acceptable. Decimon has agreed to plant stakes and markers every visible length, also vowing that on the road back, these stakes will be pulled up to prevent enemies locating us in the mists: They leave at the first sign of Celem.

I must privately add that my concern for a potential uprising led by Decimon have grown, not weakened, as a result of the confrontation. His brutish and smug indifference to my entreaties not to go entail a man confident in his own power and ability. Such men always have, and always will pose a threat to Your Lordship’s Empire. I have chosen to behave meekly under the circumstances, but if things ever become more threatening, do not expect to hear anything come from his infected mouth again.

I remain obediently yours,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

[XI] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the ninth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

For the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

Greetings and blessings.

It has been several passages of Celem since the hunting party led by Decimon departed. I have heard nothing since that time and the party has yet to return, not even from the informant I ordered to come back first has shown his face.

Their absence has caused a brief respite for me and the entire Governor’s House. I had not recognized how much Decimon had drawn upon my attention and resources. The habitable parts of Valemteim also feel less crowded, the majority of the remaining population are mothers and children. These have relaxed somewhat, and today I heard a sound I had not realized was missing from the world since the upheavals: children playing in the street.

Normality is easy to forget once the events and routines that hold it down disappear. It is one thing for an old person like me, who has seen his share of wars and life, but for the young recent events must prove incredibly disorienting. Some provision should be made to encourage them to retain a light hearted life, to let them play and practice fighting—for without them I do not know how the Empire would be maintained.

Of course the concern for that villain Decimon and the hunting party keep the taverns—now offering little in the way of refreshment—full of chattering customers. It doesn’t help that we have continued to hear the mysterious sounds carried through the mists, like the messengers from a dream. But they are certainly real enough. One sound was so violently loud it caused a few rotten buildings to fall over. The sounds and the mist have combined to spawn many a prediction about what is truly occurring.

When it comes to those who air their opinions, I have chosen to be lenient and obliging, no matter how ignorant and ill-conceived the statement may be. The listeners are not always equally obliging and sometimes brawls ensue. One such brawl spilled out into the muddy streets and threatened to truly disturb the peace. Fortunately the cold and the fact that no person could be recognized once covered in grime stilled them before retainers were called in.

I partially place the cause for the stories and the disturbances on a lack of Raice and levity. What affects children also has an impact on adults, and were I in a position to experiment like the Great Calipér, I would perhaps be able to make some significant headway in studying the connection between the young and fully grown.

I say all of this in order to elicit opinions from Your Lordship’s Court. Do not consider me a vain servant, eager to form all policy through the calculated sharing of my own opinions. I am first and foremost a listener.

It is another one of my opinions that, in these quiet and uncertain times, even the listeners must learn to speak up.

I remain obediently yours,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

[XII] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the fifteenth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

For the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

I continue my stream of reports with an eye on tracking the rapid changes in our situation, hoping that they might serve as a kind of chronicle of all we have seen and experienced. It is with this distant goal in mind that I elaborate with many details I would otherwise have left out. I trust Your Lordship’s good nature will prevail and your further understanding will enable me to draft these in this, arguably unprofessional, manner should you indeed receive my epistles.

The hunting party having missed their return date by several passages of Celem, concern amongst our citizens proceeded to rise to a state of alarm. The clamoring and agitation caused so much fear that I became concerned for the lives of some of our weaker elders. Clearly the fantasies about what may have befallen our brave soldiers have taken their toll, and I am obliged to take responsibility for allowing them to spread like wildfire through the minds of the populace.

For many, grave danger lurks behind every shadow, and the mist feels more and more like a shroud covering dangerous enemies. It doesn’t help that dangers increasingly venture out of the mists. Recently, we have been beset by packs of wild Hrônd (resembling the famous Vilkai of the North) within the town, terrorizing the young and old, fighting wildly for any scrap of food they can find. In the dark, their battles last long and are to the death. Although the Joria hunt them for the food they may provide, they have yet to win any nourishment. The bodies of the dead are picked clean and the living are so thin they might as well be bones.

It makes me wonder what is happening in the countryside, particularly with the citizens who survive on their own. It is one thing for a settlement the size of Valemteim to deal with the invading beasts, but a single family or even a group of families would be hard pressed to defend themselves. I fear for what we may find once this fog finally clears.

Our reserves of grains continue to draw lower and lower. I have ordered every able bodied person to do their utmost in the gathering of food by searching abandoned buildings and hunting water creatures. There are always a group of citizens stationed on the newly swollen banks of the Val hoping to lure the creatures into nets. However, few are to be found. It seems their habitat has changed quite dramatically, and they too have fled or died.

Most of our land animals have been slaughtered and consumed or preserved already. At this point they would be less worthy of eating, so it was wise we did so before. Our tables are becoming sparser and blander by the day, but I thank Celem and of course Lôm that we still have something. I shudder to think what it is like in the Capital now, unless Your Lordship has organized provisions.

My daily life has become similarly bland and sparse in activity. I begin it as I should, by reviewing all the documents that may arrive--these revolve around food supplies chiefly--and then I proceed to handle any personnel matters. I visit the Retainer's Hall, talk with some of the Captains and Captain's attendants and even some of the Retainers themselves. They are a noble bunch, well stocked with good humor and resolve. Most importantly their faith in the Empire remains unshaken. Having devoted their lives towards it, this is certainly a good thing.

Once this is accomplished, I usually wait my turn in the ration queues. It is good for the populace to see me waiting like them, assuaging them of any concerns about mistreatment or bad dealing on the part of the government. It also allows me to assess the town's collective humour. Many disputes are informally solved in the queues, since the citizens feel at liberty to approach me as a judicator. Only once was a situation so dire that I had to call them up to the Seat.

After collecting my rations and eating them in the Great Hall, I retire briefly to reflect and plan. It is at this time that I am writing to Your Lordship, if not late into the darkness. By the end of Celem's passage, I duly take my place on the Seat and hear whatever outstanding cases their might be. As I said, there is enough that occupies the citizens for them to come to Judgement. Usually I can finish this early and proceed to my evening's entertainment.

I am very assiduous at keeping a full schedule for entertaining. Though there is precious little Raice to drink or food to eat, the sociability is a valuable pastime for us here. The attendees do their best to hold to the formalities. The performers are, perhaps surprisingly, easy to find and eager to do their work for only a small fee, usually desired in the form of extra rations. In this manner the better classes and those born for attending to them keep their spirits up. I occasionally include lower ranks of Retainers to further encourage them in their duty.

These events are growing ever more tedious as conversation always dwells around the same knowns and unknowns.

We greatly yearn for more information about the outside. Part of me wonders whether this unending fog is merely in our immediate vicinity--the outside world being clear and bright, only a few lengths away. Thoughts like these have produced enough of an itch inside me that I have allowed a small scouting party to leave Valemteim, ostensibly in search of Decimon's group. I am doubtful about whether to even hope for them to be successful in finding the group, let alone any kind of break in the fog. They are under strict orders to return in two passage's time.

If this epistle should reach Your Lordship, it will be because this search party was successful in finding some way to deliver it. I sincerely hope they are.

Meanwhile, I remain obediently yours,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

[XIII] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the eighteenth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

For the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

We have waited two anxious passages of Celem to have news from the scouting party I sent in search of Decimon and the initial expedition. Despite my orders, made firmly and in all propriety before the Imperial Seal, the scouts have yet to return. They were the best of the best, handpicked by the Captains, their loyalty beyond question.

But in these days, perhaps loyalty is an even more precious and expensive commodity than ever before. When the End of Days seems to face you, it is logically easy to forget about obligations and oaths. Such is the theory of Sandelí, the Great Logician. He stated that preservation of self takes logical precedent over preservation of community in all living things, but that most living creatures are endowed with a certain inner reasoning that counters this conclusion in a mechanical manner. This inner reasoning is what leads most creatures, such as the flying Naphtals and the fleet Fadűl, to defend their young at the cost of themselves. [scratched on the side] The inner reasoning obviously obeys a higher principle: the continuation of one’s life through one’s offspring…

For logical creatures, this inner reasoning also exists, but it is not necessarily mechanical. So, says Sandelí, the inner reasoning is more likely to be overwhelmed, especially when the conditions provide clear distinctions. Therefore a logical creature in the heat of battle is more likely to follow inner reasoning than one at ease, with time to consider his options.

The calamitous events surrounding us are more than enough to overwhelm a Durno Retainer’s sense of loyalty at any time. Although they are carefully trained, and this training in a sense strengthens the inner reasoning mentioned by Sandelí, the events shaking Skara apart are enough to destroy the order built upon Skara. Old certainties are beginning to lose their unquestioned authority and the consequences of treason are no longer what once they were.

Doubt—that dangerous quality only entrusted to scribes and other thinkers, as well as those in command—is the most lethal enemy I have yet to encounter from this eternal mist. It has seeped into every cavity. It almost breathes out of the buildings and in every fear filled glance, in between every spoken word.

It places me in a most difficult position. As I have mentioned in an earlier epistle, I have done my best to maintain the traditions. Foregoing the harsh use of force, I have relied on the good will of the citizenry.

Perhaps this was a mistake and I ought to have imposed a harsher regime. “An impotent Master will not long command respect” –so goes the saying. However, employing force now may reveal my weak position, in addition to unravelling what good will I have created…

The calculations run deep. Cut off as I am, I fully recognize the decisions are mine to commit to and take credit for.

“It is easier to reverse the course of a river than to replace spilt blood.” –another saying I recall from my schooling with the Shinse. I must trust that there is always time for the sword. It would be a shame for a little fog to get to my head.

Your Lordship’s words of advice and encouragement are sorely needed here in this time of need.

But even so—I remain obediently yours,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

[XIV] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the nineteenth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

For the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

It seems I had scarcely put away my inscriber and busied myself with the demands of the citizenry—a major pack of Hrônd having infiltrated a house and killed the inhabitants: They all had to be slaughtered with cross bows—than a single member of the scouting party returned.

I will provide the content of his story here, though I struggle to believe much of it. If it is true, then the turmoil we are experiencing may only have begun.

The scout began by describing the disorienting nature of the fog, how it would grow thicker and weaker by sudden intervals, to the degree where the small group wandering together would lose sight of their companions, though they were not two steps away.

Not only did the fog vary in density, but it also varied in temperature. At one point it grew so cold, that the scouting party said ice particles threatened to split their clothing. [marginal note: this, not very many lengths from Valemteim, where there has been no such shift in temperature!]

The scout says that the group did its best to maintain their direction. Of course they began by following the posts left by Decimon’s group—but these quickly dwindled into nothing. [marginal note: due to the unknown difficulties of the fog or some form of deception, we may never know.]

They nearly turned back at this point, but one of the scouts offered to drag his sword in the ground, creating a continual mark that could be followed no matter how dense the fog became. This slowed the team’s progress somewhat, but at least they didn’t fear getting lost forever.

Celem’s passage ended with the party knowing little about how far they had proceeded. A fire being impossible in those conditions, the team simply huddled together and tried to pass the darkness quietly.

Sleep proved impossible, according to the scout, who dropped his head at this part of his story with a kind of exhaustion I have seen in many a weary soldier after battle. The fog not only oppressed their senses, but it carried terrifying sounds, sounds that belonged to animals and implements like drums.

The scout says that they convinced themselves it was only their reason working out what they heard—that they had nothing to fear.

By the time that Celem had begun another passage, they were already progressing further, beating each other’s limbs to try to stay warm. They are not sure how far they had gone, and were beginning to contemplate returning, per my orders, when a strange rotting stench filled the air around them.

Then they began to see them. Corpses, bulging and bluish—beyond recognition were it not for the yellow coloured bands that still covered some of the rotten flesh. The Old Devotionists had been found. The evident brutality with which they had been slaughtered was difficult to imagine or explain, said the scout. He told of dismembered heads bashed in, body parts thrown about, and in some places chewed up. Corpses that had evidently been tortured before death…

The scout said at once the group knew it was not possible for this to have been the work of Decimon or any Durno army. The brutishness of it was too extreme, even for what he knew of Tamvaasa raiders [marginal note: it is true that the Tamvaasa had lost much of their edge in combat since the early days—the stories I was raised with.]

So the scouting party tried to make observations about who or what may have perpetrated the atrocious slaughter. They were not long in finding out. Scattered among the corpses were jagged clubs, made with bones, sharp stones, and wood. Great rounded stones still lay lodged in the heads and bodies of a few corpses—the victims of the sling, an ancient form of weapon.

Curiously, the scout says they recognized that the struggle was very much one-sided. It did not seem that the Devotionists stood much of a chance at all. They lay about in loosely organized rings, where no doubt they had responded to a type of surprise attack.

Then they found something that made them shake with a new type of fear. [marginal note: I did not intend to sound so dramatic here, but it was infectious. The scout had turned pale as mother’s milk at the telling.]

It was the single corpse of a humanoid beast, pale skinned, dressed in a single loincloth made from the hairy skin of some creature. Upon its head lay a kind of helmet, carved with the likeness of a snake and fitted with two horns, one of which was broken. Blood smeared its body, arrows piercing it from every direction as it lay face forward in the mud. Unlike the other corpses, it had not hardly decomposed.

By this time the cursed place had begun to grow dark and the scouting mission decided they would need to leave to make some kind of camp. They scoured the area in search of a cave—some kind of headquarters used by the Devotionists, but they found nothing. It seemed likely that the Devotionists had been attacked whilst travelling. Many of them carried sacks and other picked over objects.

The scout said the team finally collapsed far enough away from the corpses to be relieved of the smell and the sight. They were tired and all fell asleep immediately, without taking any kind of food or drink, or either starting a fire—of course.

Before I complete the scout’s story, allow me to make a few intervening observations, that perhaps serve to fill out this account of what I did not see nor hear.

The first one is that no sign ever crossed the scouts’ path that implied Decimon and his group had succeeded in finding this atrocious scene. That leaves open the possibility that they are still out there or all lie dead in a similar fashion somewhere else. The second one is that the group, though large, did not seem to comprise of the entire Devotionist population. I am guessing there are still some out there. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the description of the beasts matches quite closely with those accounts brought here by travelers speaking of what happened at Vilma. I had assumed the tales were impossibly exaggerated, but this scout’s tale, and the wideness of his gaze in telling it, decides it for me.

Let me close the scout’s tale. His companions woke in the dark, shivering. Surrounding them was a pack of evil eyed hrônd, similar to the ones who have been entering Valemteim. These were different, he said, in that the pack did not make much of a sound—clearly they had had plenty to eat in the recent past. The pack attacked just as the scouting party had closed their circle of defense. According to the scout, the hrônd desire to kill outweighed the scouting group’s desire to live, for within little time one of the scouts had fallen. The remaining three carried on the battle against the beasts, but as more and more of them arrived, the remaining scouts realized the end had come.

They fought bravely, says the scout, trying to find an exit from the pack. Eventually they positioned themselves up against a large boulder. That was when the second scout fell to the snarling beasts. In the midst of his cries of anguish, the scout says his remaining companion uttered a deep growling order to do whatever he said. The scout reporting this had a difficult time continuing with his story at this point, and it is no wonder why, given what happened.

The scout says he agreed, and in the wake of terrifying flurry of blows and a great war shriek, the senior scout told him to jump onto his shoulders to scramble up the rock. To emphasize the seriousness of the order the senior scout dropped his sword, grabbed the younger scout by the shoulders and hoisted him up.

Get to safety—said the senior scout, as the wild hrônd yelped and dove for his unprotected legs. The other scout says he had no choice but to obey. Quickly he scaled the rock—the top of which became the side of a grassy hill, and proceeded to run as fast as his limbs could propel him.

The senior scout had purchased him some time with his brave sacrifice, and he used it to run wildly into the mist. But without the trail back or any sense of where he was, the young survivor just ran, attempting to go in a straight line.

The scout says he soon heard the Hrônd chasing, for they have other means of navigating the fog. Just as their blood soaked shapes began to pierce through the mist, the scout came upon the Val, its surging waters barely visible in the rolling blankets of fog. He says he did not hesitate, but submerged himself instantly and swam for the bottom.

The current was strong, he says, and he lost his light armor and weapons in it. But he also knew he was saved, for the Val leads to Valemteim—still.

This is how he was found. Half drowned and suffering deeply in his inner and outer self. I doubt he should live to see the next passages of Celem, in point of fact. But the Retainers are doing their most for him.

I have made him swear an oath before the Seal not to speak of what he saw, knowing the impact it would have on the citizenry. Of course, everyone knows about the hrônd, and that may serve to distract them from the greater evil, concerning which presently I must make some arrangements.

I would that Your Lordship could share knowledge and provide direction. If the passage of Celem comes with which I can send you these epistles, I pray you take it as a sign of my motives and my struggles. I did not lose the province, much less the Second Greatest City of Your Lordship’s Empire without a proper struggle.

I remain obediently,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

[XV] Eighteenth year of the reign of Talenés IV, the twenty fourth passage of Celem in the month of the Shield

For the ear of his Lordship, by the hand of Saltés, the Governor of Valemteim.

My quiet preparations for the possible invasion of a hideous new enemy have totally absorbed my time and energies, such that I have not paused for a moment even to draw inner wind. It is the secrecy with which I am obliged to work that demands the most energy, in actual fact. Covering up feverish amounts of work with the prolongation of my former routine is proving more and more complicated.

This has required me to establish a council of War late into the darkness. The commanders have met for long periods with the scout, who, Celem be thanked, seems to be improving in health. These same have worked out from the hidden details of the account as many strategic facts about our new enemy as possible. It is thought they are able to coordinate their actions together with a discipline known only in rational creatures. Combining this with their brutality, the commanders have decided the only way to confront them is to be heavily armed, in closely formed groups and do our best to break up whatever formations they take. Our own formations of battle—the jagged line, the whip, and veil—should prove effective in a pitched battle with the beasts, especially if the ground gives us advantage. I have quietly doubled the guards, having their stations examined in terms of suitability in the case of an attack. We have erected certain traps and defenses where Valemteim’s fortifications look to have fallen in or failed.

All the while, the mist remains. It has now begun to undulate and explodes in all variety of colours when Celem’s passage is well underway. It is also pregnant with a menacing silence. We do not hear the sounds we used to nor do we see the wicked wild hrônd. Nor of course have we heard anything about Decimon, the Disappeared, or the Old Devotionists.

It is worth pondering how good it is leaving the population in the dark concerning the things we know. In my case, any form of knowledge is better than no knowledge. For knowledge provides the possibility of preparation—the ancient virtue of stakět by which we conquered all the known world. But I have been governing too long, and seen the negative effects of too much time to think and talk on the health of the general public. It may be we never are attacked—though I regard such a point as a naïve example of the inner mind creating a reality out of its desires.

Ever since the arrival of the scout, I have sensed many changes are approaching. In the exercise of forcing my mind to pierce through the fog I have finally succeeded in a kind of clarity. Your Lordship may know the state: When a commander has finally hit upon a winning strategy, or when a player of vak  knows his opponent’s cards. It is not any new knowledge about the situation itself, but about what to do with the knowledge in hand.

Like a herder crossing a strong flow, having a certainty about the destination makes the unknown rocks upon which one’s feet must gain a purchase easier to find, however long a stretch one may slip along the bottom seeking to find one.

For me the certainty is this: We will survive, our empire will prosper and Your Lordship’s offspring will see the passage of Celem when they will take the place of Power.

I remain obediently,

Saltés Borian, Governor of Valemteim, of the House of the Hylot.

Continue reading the An account of the Great Cataclysm - Part 3