The Promise of a Red Dawn
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A holy war brews between the followers of Lathander and the worshippers of Cyric
Following the announcment from the House of the Morning, Sir Myrkyr can be seen giving rousing speeches to his dawnsquires. Mustering his warriors for what will doubtless become an inevitable clash with the worshippers of The Black Sun.
The High Dawnlord too moves to action, retreating deeper into his temple acolytes in tow. Leading them in prayer and divine rituals in preperation for what is to come.
Elsewhere in a place of dark worship the cultists of Cyric raise their voices in cheer for the promise of bloodshed. For He is not only the God of Death, but the master of strife and murder.
Old faces, scarred by war too twist into wicked grins. The Obsidian Skull gathers under the banner of Ser Crucos the Unmerciful, eager to earn their pay by spilling the blood of heretics.
The loss of life seems inevitable and all wonder.. Where shall the first drop of blood be spilled in the name of God and Faith?
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For a day and a night the great pyre burns over the Redwood. Ancient trees are felled, fey corpses turned to ash and foliage burnt away to make room for the marching of Cyric's Inquisition.
When the fires have at last burnt out the ash is scattered to the wind. Tents are put up and a pallisade erected where the decapitated heads of heretics are crudely displayed as morbid trophies and a warning to would-be heroes.
The butchers of Cyric has entrenched themselves not more than a day's march away from the village of Eveningstar. And soon the conflict is sure to start in earnest.
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A village saved and a village lost.
The small hamlet of Amberfield burns. Once saved from the onslaught of the Cyrist forces by the rallied forces of the Aster, Amaunator, Jergal and others who would not stand for tyranny.
It had proven to be a victory short lived, for where brigands failed to raze the village. A tribe known as the 'Blood Bone' had made it seems trivial. In mere moments a dozen lay dead, defenders slaughtered and rallying forces routed.
It is said they had the appearance of fiends, conjuring foul magick in unholy pact. All while praising the name of Cyric.
Many among the cities murmur that the Church of Cyric had gone too far enlisting the aid of monsters. And those who had stood on the sidelines until now begin to consider taking up the sword against such an unholy host.
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A sending from the town of Tilverton, abruptly delcaring a grudge between Argret of Lathander and the High Priestess of Cyric, Whisper.
Shortly following, quickly and mercilessly they entered the Temple of Cyric without opposition. As swiftly they depart once more carrying the corpse of the High Priestess upon their backs.. To burn on a pyre built on vengeance.
And so wordlesly, and without mourning.. Whisper is no more.