Meredith
of Fiendish Intent
“Are you a sinner that reeks of deceit? A conjurer tired of making ends meet? I ought not to convince you, but what can I say – a good omen, or bad, it’s your lucky day! Resistance is futile when dark fights the light; with a little finesse you might duck from its sight. So flee as you’re able; snuff lamplight and dwell in the darkness recurrent in wayward Cytefell [site-fell].”
You were too young to experience the glory and horror of the War of the Inquisition as it swept across Her land. It was a political conflict alluded to only in history books just a bit too old to teach from; the borders of Thain had expanded rapidly as the Inquisition gained traction, because Inquisitors were wildly popular even as they were feared – the systemic purging of monsters in towns unable to procure other protection was applauded by the populous. Visible humanitarian efforts, such as the provision of divine casters who specialized in healing to temples that cared for the sick, helped to solidify their control over border territories through their rural connections and access to food. The Inquisition did not fight a bloody war on the surface; it eliminated magic and magical threats that did not have a holy blessing and took control of most of the continent as a united state consequently. The collateral damage - the human damage - lays either forgotten or unspoken in fear of reprimand. The Inquisitors only kill monsters, now.
You are in the unfortunate position of being considered a monster. Something has gifted you a glimmering of the truth: an unlawful bit of knowledge that might have been wrought from hours poring over esoteric books provided to you by lineage or benefactor, a contract signed with an otherworldly force you cannot quite understand, extreme innovation and inspiration within your field, or taught intimately by another initiate. You might have been raised to carry this burden by others that share your same unfortunate fate. It might have come to you from deep within one night, a horrible realization that you had deceived your fellow man into thinking you were his equal and his brother. It might have approached you in your dreams, offering, tempting. However it approached you, you chose to walk this sinful path. You chose to risk the wrath of the Inquisition for something more.
But not far into your arcane journey she reached out to you, in the depths of night, whispering warnings in your ear that they were coming. It was so insistent and distraught about your impending doom that you could not help but believe it. Packing all the important things was automatic. When your feet beat against the dirt, fleeing all you had known into darkness so deep you weren’t sure it had a bottom at all, you knew that you were fleeing South.
The islands were the last refuge for magicians, after all.
You were too young to experience the glory and horror of the War of the Inquisition as it swept across Her land. It was a political conflict alluded to only in history books just a bit too old to teach from; the borders of Thain had expanded rapidly as the Inquisition gained traction, because Inquisitors were wildly popular even as they were feared – the systemic purging of monsters in towns unable to procure other protection was applauded by the populous. Visible humanitarian efforts, such as the provision of divine casters who specialized in healing to temples that cared for the sick, helped to solidify their control over border territories through their rural connections and access to food. The Inquisition did not fight a bloody war on the surface; it eliminated magic and magical threats that did not have a holy blessing and took control of most of the continent as a united state consequently. The collateral damage - the human damage - lays either forgotten or unspoken in fear of reprimand. The Inquisitors only kill monsters, now.
You are in the unfortunate position of being considered a monster. Something has gifted you a glimmering of the truth: an unlawful bit of knowledge that might have been wrought from hours poring over esoteric books provided to you by lineage or benefactor, a contract signed with an otherworldly force you cannot quite understand, extreme innovation and inspiration within your field, or taught intimately by another initiate. You might have been raised to carry this burden by others that share your same unfortunate fate. It might have come to you from deep within one night, a horrible realization that you had deceived your fellow man into thinking you were his equal and his brother. It might have approached you in your dreams, offering, tempting. However it approached you, you chose to walk this sinful path. You chose to risk the wrath of the Inquisition for something more.
But not far into your arcane journey she reached out to you, in the depths of night, whispering warnings in your ear that they were coming. It was so insistent and distraught about your impending doom that you could not help but believe it. Packing all the important things was automatic. When your feet beat against the dirt, fleeing all you had known into darkness so deep you weren’t sure it had a bottom at all, you knew that you were fleeing South.
The islands were the last refuge for magicians, after all.
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