Selejian Missives 2: Call of the Husk

A letter exchange between Metrovius, Record Keeper of the Rite of Law, and Leonides, Scribe of the Rite of Honor. 

The material contained within, as per the Hand of Law’s XXIIIrd Dictate on materials recovered from the Malediction, has had its access restricted,  to be granted only to those of trust attested by the Saintly Bureaucracy. Furthermore, all those who think themselves worthy of seeking the Legacy of Pondar, the Blazing Soul, may be given special dispensation to read these documents, under the eye of a Record Keeper,  and are encouraged to consider the implications.

Dear Leonides,

Enclosed, a sheaf of papers comprising the remnants of an unusual journal recovered during a recent excursion into the Malediction. The Seeker responsible for the expedition is well known to you–one Sigrith Andravos–and I am led to believe (by the aide of Sir Marlowe, who accompanied that renowned lady) that the pages were discovered at the site of an abandoned camp, low in the foothills of a mountain range around three days east of the Throne Gate.

As a servant of the Santly Bureaucracy, the recovered pages were passed to me for archiving but, seeing as they relate more to your particular area of study, I deemed it prudent to pass them on. They appear to be the ravings of a madman, but also to make reference to the legend of the Poldarian Husk, and I hoped that you may yet glean something of worth from these few scarce fragments, or else at least derive some little entertainment from a fellow who evidently once held the legend so dear.

Yours,

Metrovius

FIRST FRAGMENT

It calls to me. 

It knows I am here and it beckons me closer with its mellifluous hymn, its siren call, drawing me ever on into the depths of the Malediction, towards its sour and deadly heart. Towards some form of reckoning, be it absolution, or perhaps something even more transformative.

The journey ahead of me is long and uncertain, and the Malediction poses innumerable risks. Yet, I must persist. I must pursue the Husk. For what lies within–that lost or forsaken Legacy–may prove enough to alter not only the trajectory of my own life, but that of the entire Rite.

I know what Tamalia would say; that I have given myself over to obsession. That the distant clarion call exists solely in my head. That I am a poor and pathetic excuse for a husband and a father. 

And yet still I hear it. Still I must go on.

Long I have sought the Husk of glorious Poldar, lost to the Order in the great days of its birth, an early explorer of the Malediction and the first of our Rite to be lost to the rage of Ymiris. I know he is out there still, his remnants hidden by time and circumstance, and that the hour of my becoming is close. 

Close!

SECOND FRAGMENT

In my dreams I see twin hills against a darkening sky, twinkling with stars that should never be. The body of a fallen leviathan lies close, its blood still oozing into the parched sand, while beings–I hesitate to assign them names or liken them to the more familiar beasts of home–feed upon its rotten vitae. 

The wind blows hot; sand stings my pale cheeks. I shelter my eyes from their scouring as I trudge up the slope towards the valley between those two, forlorn peaks. 

Still I hear its song, as if it reaches out to me. It wants to be found. The Legacy. The Legacy! So much power. Such truths will be uncovered in its rebirth.

My feet sink into the sand. I stagger, exhausted in body, but fuelled in spirit. 

I cannot see it yet. But I know it is there, just over the brow of the slope. I know it. I KNOW it.

Three more steps–every time, just three more steps–and then the red glow of some unnatural celestial body rises above the horizon, its crimson light causing me to throw up my hands to shield myself from the sudden glare.

I see it then, in bloody silhouette. The husk. A beckoning finger, rising from the ground, crooked and stooped with age. The repository of a greatness we have long lost.

And that is when I wake, slick with perspiration and manic with the knowledge of what I have witnessed.

These are the torments I must face, nightly. These are the dreams it worms into my mind. It knows me now. It wants me. I must go.

THIRD FRAGMENT

I’m close now. So close! Closer than I have ever been before. Close enough to feel its power, radiating from it like a blinding sun. 

I shall have it. This day, I shall hold it in my hands. And all Selejia shall weep with joy, for I shall lay low the enemies of the Order in my triumph, and the Holy Light shall spill across the world again.

But what is this? 

Some harsh sound imposes itself upon the song! Some wicked cry. Some debasement of all that is good and Holy! 

I must away! I must protect the Husk. I must!

Dear Metrovius

The kindness you have shown the Rite of Honor and myself with the gift of these fragments could never be repaid.

The insights I have gleaned from their short pages! The confirmation of my wildest notions! The clarity!

You see–I too have dreamed of the strange and oblique location described within those pages. I have seen the twin hills and the fold of their dusty valley, the rising light of the bloody sun. And now I, too, hear the call of the husk itself, echoing across time and tide, urging me to heed its will.

I apologise for my brevity–even now I am settling my final accounts and making preparations for my journey to the edge of the Malediction, from where I will set out on my true quest. The completion of my life’s work.

Poldar’s Husk is still out there. And it feels so close! Closer than ever. It is within my reach.

I know not when I shall return, but when I do, it shall be in triumph. The future, my friend, is bright and glorious!

Anon! Anon!

Yours,

Leonides