Forum:Lore:Reformed Faith

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Reformed Faith is a Lore book added to Episode: Echoes as part of the Expedition, serving as the initial biography of Skira before her elevation to Discipleship. Each page is found from defeating final bosses, completing unique encounters and vanquishing Prime Nemeses.

—Fellowship—

Folly. Freedom. Fellowship.

This is my testament of providence.

I am Skira. Only surviving daughter of my line. My parents opposed those blasphemous warriors of the Polyphony and thus met their end. My brood brothers and sisters all were killed before they could draw breath. For decades, I eked a miserable life on the streets of Thruhist. I was a wretch until I found the ancient creeds of Slyuvi. It was there I found purpose. It was there I found the true faith. It was there I truly learned of the poisonous words of the Polyphony. And it is here where my legacy begins, for better or for worse. May Slyuvi have mercy on my souls, come what may.

What is folly but foolishness and misplaced faith? Once, the Polyphony was our greatest savior, born from the ashes of our once grand civilization. Back when the thirteen moons bore a pale white cousin, we were a prosperous civilization, ever worshipping the strange, celestial visitor as a god, ever singing songs to its glory and mercy until it vanished without trace, bringing fear and distrust between our ancestors, bestowing upon each other nuclear hellfire in response, engulfing peace and advancement in incinerating fire. When we came out from hiding, those still faithful to the words of our ancient kings and queens, the Polyphony thus emerge from those who preached with sonorous, resonant song. For a time, it was all well-meaning until its leadership became full with the corrupt and slothful, now seeking reward for what they do, as the singers cleanse blighted lands not for the good of the world, but for the wealth of others. Folly. Deeds of blasphemers and traitors. All of it!

Slyuvi, our truest and most faithful god-king, demands recompense. Weakness and pride must be supplanted by competence and strength. Thus is decreed by the ancient god-king of justice. There MUST be justice for the outcast and downtrodden. Freedom must find its heralds. Thankfully, I was found by a truly just and noble warrior befitting of such a divine duty. He was Kaas-thrys, a former nobleman, disgruntled and scornful of his peers' ambivalence and weakness, possessed of a warriors spirit and born of conviction and desire. But he wasn't the only one. Indeed, he was followed by many, all seeking change in a dying, broken kingdom. Court Sorceress Nikhra, Threshold Huntress Ikaria, Exiled General Varhyn, Astrologist Sethiir and so many more. All of us saw the Polyphony for what it truly was and did the right thing – the only thing – that had to be done. Freedom. Now that we were free from our chains, we had a cause that united us; we sought the downfall of the Polyphony and freedom and prosperity for all.

To think that they would bring in a former criminal turned divine anchorite into their ranks. Folly? Perhaps. But maybe there is purpose to bondage after all. Perhaps they need a new voice, or preacher to further unite people? No. They need me for faith. Indeed! I, too, will be given power. An example of a pariah becoming as a god! To think of the people seeing such an example and being emboldened to do great things! No longer bound by castes and corruption, no longer slaves of crime and survival, but now agents of something greater than themselves, ever driven to do great things for divinity's sake. Now as bound to greatness as they are to a truly benevolent king. Now that is an ideal world. A world befitting of my god-king's vision, where excellence isn't inherited, but earned. My faith shall be rewarded, as shall all who follow in our divine footsteps. May all be blessed by fellowship. May our fellowship bear fruits of freedom and prosperity.

May this be remembered in sonorous song. May my legend be told as we reclaim our ancestral lands. May Slyuvi judge us worthy.

—Turmoil—

Black soil. King's foil. Turmoil.

This is my testament of rebellion.

Our pact is sealed. We have our duty. Our charge. We all have made peace with whatever fate awaits us, and made preparations for if we do succeed. And if we are to upend this decrepit leadership that squanders the might and strength of our people, then we are to embark on a journey across the blighted lands in search of people to join our ranks and overthrow our subjugators and tyrants. This is to be a journey filled with peril, doubtlessly. Of that we knew. Radiation and foul beasts filled these wastes, but we had no choice. Alone, we could never stand a chance, and so, we swept up whoever we could into our ranks.

Across ashen lands, burned by weapons of old, did we trudge and power through. We had our eyes set upon the distant villages of Draemiil and Rashkyn, where we have heard manifold resistance groups had grown, ready to strike and bring low the Polyphony. At first, all were bold and ready to traverse these desolate realms. How quick, however, was it for that enthusiasm to vanish. Nekh-li was devoured by a Dust Serpent within the first few days of travel, and all that remained was a panicked husk by the time we could cut him out from the stomach of the foul beast. Thrunist fell into a radioactive hotspot and succumbed to radiation poisoning shortly after, despite me and Nikhra's best efforts to purge it. So many more fell in our journey, and all we could curse was the black soil in which we tread. The damned, accursed black soil. No wonder these lands must be cleansed with united song.

I am a faithful adherent of Slyuvi, I am a streets survivor and I have killed when necessary, despite the shame of it all. And yet, I am no true warrior. I am only armed with a knife that has been my keepsake since I could walk the streets and my channeling bell for purifying song, prayer and Magickal power. Yet I am no blademaster or warrior worthy of knighthood. Yet, our would-be charge, our king, our Kaas-thrys, offered me a chance to become an able combatant. I was honored. I was grateful. I was indebted, as we both knew that it was going to be necessary going down the line. When asked what weapon I think would work best for me after showing me our convoy's supply, I took up my god-king's weapon, one befitting of a beacon and exemplar of justice, a battle-axe. As we traversed the vast desolate lands, we trained, honorably and slowly by night. By trial and circumstance by day. I had come to learn of the nuance and discipline of battle, come to respect the beauty of the blade's edge.

Oddly enough, it was only after all this benevolent training by Kaas-thrys did I begin to realize him for who he was, seeing all his wondrous accomplishments around me, as he uplifted broken, despondent spirits as we crossed the desert. I saw the eyes of our people fill with inspiration, drive and power as they looked up to our princely lord. Night after night, we would gather around him and hear of his story filled with disgust for his colleagues, hear of what horrors he saw, hear of the promises he would fulfill as king and hear of what he will offer us, our closest, most capable servants. I saw this once-governor for the Polyphony become something his former peers could never be, a worthy ruler of a vast kingdom; a king that will bring prosperity and peace to this broken world. Our old king could never. The senile, old and slothful fool was a puppet to his subordinate lords as they gorged upon the spoils of the downtrodden, using their singers to carve away corrupt lands only for themselves. Kaas-thrys, however, has a vision that will take our people to newer heights. Never again shall we be ruled by the prideful few, but a driven, strong, young example, one with blade in hand and allies that will bring rebirth to a kingdom with his entourage. For we now have a worthy king's foil.

Long ago, Slyuvi challenged an ancient god to a duel to the death, in which he beheaded the bloated god and took his power, becoming both king of all Kshiri people and joining the divine pantheon as god of blood and justice. I admittedly do not know the faith long enough, but even I can see the true message behind this. Change must be made through adversity. It is the only and just way to do it. Change without turmoil is imperfect change, and so, whether through fiery words or blood, it must come through some sort of challenge. Thus it was for the last week. After months of perilous travel, months of physical loss, months of mental and faithful gain, months of me perfecting my martial technique thanks to our king, we had made it to Rashkyn. At first we had thought to hide out and start to bolster our numbers in the shadows, as was the wisest and safest course of action. As if to show foolish strength, or perhaps even divine right, Kaas-thrys entered the town square and started to rouse and rile a crowd to his side. It had only taken a few words before the town was already in an uproar. Rebels, disgruntled and new, flocked to our sides as we took to the streets and slaughtered the Polyphony's wild dogs. Kaas-thryn, Varhyn and Ikaria carved a bloody swathe by their blades, as has Nikhra's and Sethiir's with their psionics, no doubt, yet all I can think about is what I did. Not out of selfishness, of course, I can't see through the eyes of my peers – I am not my god-king. Yet, I am transfixed by the glories of my blade and power. Not only was my technique with the axe getting better than I had remembered from days before, even after exhaustion from travel, but I also found what power I unleashed from my bell stronger than I had ever dreamed of. I only wished to stun one of those dogs with a jolt of Arc, only to find myself piercing the bastard with a bolt of lightning with enough strength, it seemed as if Fulana herself threw it. Turmoil, huh. Turmoil is, indeed, the perfect catalyst of change after all.

We had won at great cost. Our charge was criticized for such rashness by some of our confidants, particularly General Varhyn and Sorceress Nikhra. Yet we had earned victory, and despite the losses, our ranks swelled nearly ten times our original size. Though we have mainly peasants and farmers to fill them, the ranks of veterans and the leadership of our disciplined leaders can easily train them to overtake even the Polyphony's Song-Knights. After all, I had made a name for myself, me! A former street whelp, then faithful practitioner of faith, now warrior garnering looks and respect from among what soldiery we have. To think one can reach some great heights. Truly am I blessed to be in such good company and blessed am I to be armed with such newfound power. When we become as kings and queens, perhaps I will be given the power I have long coveted since my time on the streets. Perhaps, I will have more followers of our divine god-king. Or perhaps, a new faith shall emerge, with a new god-king at its center. Only time will tell, as our numbers only grow further and loyalties among the Polyphony's ranks falter and fade.

May our deeds be forever remembered in resonant song. May we all ascend to rightful lordship and those we usurp forever be cast to bones and ruin. May Slyuvi judge us worthy.

—Coronation—

Illusion. Execution. Coronation.

This is my testament of deserved power.

The deed is done. We have achieved victory; claimed it from the formidable jaws of impossibility. We are now the rulers of this meagre slice of Kshiral. To think that we, an unlikely, unconventional alliance of the outcast and destitute could claim absolute power. Truly, Slyuvi smiles upon us all! I shall toll my Channeling Bell 13 times tonight, each a thanks and a prayer for healing, all in his most divine name. I have few doubts in my true and first liege, yet I find myself curious in how he bestows blessings upon his faithful.

Once we had claimed a sure victory over Rashkyn, our movement... how would I put it? Snowballed? Yes, indeed. By the time we had entered the city of Draemiil, our ranks increased tenfold, and it grew threefold once we had our way with that dilapidated, dust-swept favella, all disgruntled with the weak Polyphony whom tread upon that poor village worse than many. Sins of the father, or something like that. Centuries ago, Draemiil challenged Mialla, the seat of the Polyphony and war had engulfed the continent for long decades until Draemiil was torn asunder by Mialla's formidable Song-Knights. Since then, Draemiil has been paying steep reparations to the Polyphony, long since bled dry of resources and impoverished by their unfortunate condition. Draemiilan's have long since sought an opportunity for vengeance, even if the leader of the single greatest rebel movement was a former noble of the Polyphony. Me, however, I was found respected by many of Draemiil's residents for my dedication to Slyuvi, and I thus reciprocated such respect to such faithful people. Draemiil was said to be home of our great god-king Slyuvi when he was once mortal. To think that city had not only been formidable enough to last years against the might of the Song-Knights, but also had been the birthplace of our truest king... And all of it is naught but impoverished ruins. We, the truly faithful, had all gathered together and we all had vowed by blood to vindicate Draemiil's pain, for the city, or for our god.

Weeks followed, and the Polyphony was getting desperate. Getting disorganized. Getting unpredictable. Getting dangerous. So, we had to come up with a plan of grand proportion so as to mitigate such a strange hazard to confront. Warriors from towns and nations beyond were eager to fight, the mercenaries desperate to sink their beaks into anything. But we couldn't enter what could possibly be a meatgrinder without a plan. Folly would it be to run in and die unceremoniously and forgotten. To allow such a fetid nation to yet exist. Until one day. I had thought our would-be king had come before me to convert to our gracious god, to pray to our just, blood hungry god, or to, again, seek my psionic strength to empower him further. Instead, he had come to ME, personally, conviction and a plan in mind. I needed not Scrying Tolls or Oracular Etching to see it. He needed me for a move against the Polyphony. He had asked me if I could harness my power alongside Nikhra so as to create a spell that would draw away our enemy. Shamefully, must I admit, I had not realized his true intent without begging his pardon. He needed an illusion to draw away our hunters. Of course I could! Especially with Nikhra's aid, anything was possible with my psionic might. And so, that night, me and my... pagan associate had roused the olden spirits of the land and had conjured forth a false caravan to ever stalk the desolate lands, a perfect replica so as to make our attack on Mialla all the easier. Yet, as I had come to extend my thanks to the outcast sorceress, I instead was met with an ambivalent and unwelcoming gaze by my ally. I didn't pay it too much mind, just weirded out mostly. Perhaps this... outsider trusts not my faith in Slyuvi as many do. Perhaps she is just humble and doesn't want to hear a thanks from another person. Although, more and more, do I find myself believing that she is keeping her distance from me. Everyone, for that matter, is keeping their distance from me, save for Kaas-thrys. Since then, the very deed I had done had become an odd sensation fitting for how I feel my colleagues hide behind for me. Illusion. I shall be vigilant, even now.

Nevertheless, our king's plan had been the most fruitful! The Polyphony's guardian forces sought our false illusion, allowing us ingress into Mialla's outer territories. It took weeks, but our numbers continued to grow and trained to effectively counter the dirges of the Polyphony's High Singers and Song-Knights, and properly prepare for an effective coup, if not siege. Even in those weeks, we could see the people's outrage over the Polyphony, ever increasing with their failures to contain us. We could see the flightless and the songless all protesting the decrepit order in such number that their own peacekeeping forces couldn't resist. We had allies everywhere, and a people more than wanting for new leadership to supplant the old. When the movement was finally within striking range of that fine and rich city, we were ready.

Ah, Mialla, a city of marble spires built upon the foundation of great bismuth trees. Words alone cannot recount its splendor. Golden trimmed streets, artists and philosophers striding the streets, statues and facades as far as the eye can see and old temples treated with the utmost of respect. All of it twisted by the lies and greed of an old government begging for divine destruction. And divine destruction we indeed brought. With aid from the inside, we had breached the city and slaughtered the loyalists that opposed us. I am remiss to say it, but it was the most glorious of bloodbaths. The grandest of slaughter. The most deserved of destruction and death. I was enamored by such a spectacle, ever driven to the frontlines as the rest of us were. I'd say that Slyuvi drove me forward, yet I felt no divine presence overtake me as I dove into the blood-soaked avenues of that proud city, decapitating and sundering soldiery and knight alike with axe cleave and clangorous toll respectively. I had split stomachs apart, torn out wings, fried bodies to a spasm and vibrated to pieces all who opposed me. Were I driven by Slyuvi, such thoughts would not cling in my mind. A just being would not keep such thought in his faithful unless he sought to punish. But I know he wouldn't forsake me. He couldn't! Not his most faithful of disciples! No, he would never. Therefore, he only left me there. And as the screams of the damned haunted my mind, all I could think about was the terror of it all. But now as I contemplate the losses and death, I now know the truth. It was only ever me. He had taught me not to forever rely on him. He had taught me to unleash my power on my own accord, without aid, and without beckoning. And now, all I am is grateful. Thankful.

The day had come. Mialla had fallen to us. The royal palace smashed to pieces and the royal guard slaughtered to a man; a rebel who, too, saw the weakness of the throne. And as we dragged out the mewling, begging aristocrats who had engineered our misery from their rich nests, we had half a mind to throw them out to the ravenous mob that had followed us to victory. Kaas-thrys, however, had stayed our hands, stating that they had relished the sight of the axes' blade beheading others, it was only fitting that is how they should end. And so, I was charged with the death of all royalty, all governors, all the loyal choir and all the still loyal, however I saw fit. At first, I was appalled and shocked at such a commission. We had the old general Varhyn and those loyal to him. We had the newly established guard. We even could have used the sorceries of Nikhra to see the deed done. Yet they would charge a priestess to such a deed. I wanted to be a celebrant first and warrior as a last resort. Yet, I had reflected on the past, on the suffering of ages before. I had thought of Draemiil and the rubble-strewn streets within. I had thought of those slaughtered by Polyphony kill squads. I had thought of my own parents, the agony of their psionic imprint left behind, and the death of my own siblings. I had thought of Slyuvi, my only truest charge, and offered prayer for guidance as to what needed to be done. But I needed no prayer for an answer. I knew what he would demand. What all would demand. So when that day had come, when I had dragged each of those bloated leeches out before the rabid crowd outside, I had roused them with prayers to our true god, felt the desire of all, chimed my sacred bell in supplication and ritual and charged my king's axe with my own psionic might. Long had I wanted to change who I was before, a survivor and an errant, passive adherent. But I had felt a new desire. A change I now realize was essential this whole time. I could never achieve power by mere devotion alone. I couldn't just pray for power. I would work for it. It is only fitting for a servant of a warrior king. And much like those foul parasites at that chopping block, in an instant, at once and with pure conviction and a single swing, my old self had been vanquished. Destroyed. EXECUTED. The excitement of the crowd had deafened me, joining my own thoughts. Ecstatic at the execution of everything.

And with the death of an old king, a new one took its place. Kaas-thrys had claimed everything needed for the throne. A crown, approval, a party of those he alone could trust. Varhyn had been reinstated as General of our armies, Ikaria his pathfinder and explorer, Nikhra leader of the High Singers and Sethiir his vizier and court sage. I too had found kingly appointment as well. As a king needs divine right to rule and a kingdom needs a faith to guide the masses, he had appointed me as pontiff of our new kingdom, to ever drive our people to excellence through not just loyalty, but also faith. I had embraced my new position with open arms. Is such a promotion from simple wretch convert to head of a new faith too much? Perhaps. But I had found it ALL deserving. The people need a faith to guide them. They need an example to follow within such a demanding faith. They need me. They need me as much as a king does. And so, as pontiff of our new kingdom, I had ordained him the rightful ruler by Slyuvi's grace. With rancorous applause, as it should for a true child of our god-king, was this coronation forever marked. But this is a Coronation for me as much as it is for Kaas-thrys. And now, we have a new realm to lord. A new age to lead. A most omnipotent and gracious god-king to appease.

May these events forever be sung in purifying song. May a new glorious golden age befall this new kingdom and a people finding a graceful light. May Slyuvi judge us all worthy.

—Acceptance—

Repentance. Permanence. Acceptance.

This is my testament of inquisition.

—Scorn—

Skirmish. Squandering. Scorn.

This is my testament of revilement.

—IGNORANCE—

Repentance. Permanence. IGNORANCE.

This is a testament of my PERFECT HATRED.

—Pathway—

Prospect. Perfidy. Pathway.

This is my testament of renewed faith.

—Cloak—

Smoke. Choke. Cloak.

This is my testament of treachery.

—Divinity—

Sanctity. Affinity. Divinity.

This is my testament of iconoclasm.

—Silence—

Sedition. Swiftness. Silence.

This is my testament of regicide.

—SALVATION—

Station. Supplication. SALVATION.

This is a testament to my DESERVED ASCENSION.

—Deserving—

Destruction. Defilement. Deserving.

This is my testament to rebellion.

—Chains—

Grains. Refrains. Chains.

This is my testament to conviction.

—Ruination—

Resonation. Realization. Ruination.

This is my testament to vanquished doubts.