The Sun King and the Secret
Four long years had been wasted as Halesworth’s numbers were spread and quietly whispered about in the halls of power. The result was disastrous--pre-Impact histories report wars erupting between former allies, nations cracking down on minorities, senates shut down, military rebellions--the only thing the kings and queens could accept was letting the masses know about the impending doomsday would be a horrible mistake. Anyone who tried to leak the information or talked too openly tended to be bullied, imprisoned, or ‘disappeared’.
In all the chaos it went without notice that his Majesty Lucian the XVIIIth, high king of the Parsilia Empire and her territories, the most powerful man in the world, quietly announced he was going to build a cathedral on the island of Corcansa. Certainly, it was a bit odd--Corcansa was little more than a jutting mountain in the middle of the Northeastern Sea, barren and cold--but nobles had always been eccentric…
However, others began to notice...inconsistencies. The Royal Architect and her entire staff had been assigned to the project. More and more Elemental Engines had been assigned and shipped off to the tiny island--far more than a simple temple would require. The other empires had noticed this and yet...were not responding. No spies, no warfleets, no blockades. In fact, Parsilia had suddenly had an influx of trade from all over the world, even from far-off lands such as Kehoka and Caxuilpha. The Stonemasters guild was suddenly terribly busy everywhere, and there was no way to ignore that the famous St. Boris’s temple was being torn down Eventually, questions were being raised, first in congress halls and eventually even street corners…it became known as the Secret, and it was on everyone’s lips; “What is Lucian building?”
It was kept for nearly a decade, but the secret eventually had to be told. It was finally announced by the Matriarch herself, Constance IVth, on the steps of the Mergence Cathedral. The world was ending...but there was a plan. The coffers of the Holy Shrines and the great Kings and Empires of the world had pooled their resources, and the greatest minds of the age had designed a sanctuary. The Sanctum Solis--the Last Tower. Those that worked to complete it, no matter their lot, would by Matriarchal decree have a place in it, if not for them than their children.
The news fractured the world. For some, it became a clarion call, a way to survive the oncoming darkness. For others, it became a sign of doom. The world fell apart. Wars raged and anarchy reigned, but through it all construction on the Tower continued. During that time we learned more than we ever had about construction--the largest elementals ever summoned were used, new techniques gained and old techniques improved. Still, even with every major empire working together, throwing everything they had at the Great Work, the Tower was still being worked on as Wormwood became a visible blot in the sky, harkening the end of all things.
Finally, at the end, with entire villages and tribes and cities clamoring to get inside, with crops and herds trampling through the halls and anarchy a hair’s breadth away...Impact.
The ground shook and the sky lit on fire, and only then did we close the Gates. After the quakes came the firestorms and then the starless nights. Then came the ash, and then the ice. A year after Impact the Tower was covered a third of the way up with glaciers, and that has continued until today. The base levels haven’t seen natural light in over two hundred years.
After Impact
Perhaps the worst element of live here in the Sanctum is the stagnation of it all. We have waited for two centuries, and there is still no sign of a break in the ice or the weather. It is still impossible to flee the Tower and live. All of humanity, trapped in one last structure. We go through all the motions of life, and yet, as a historian, I am forced to announce to conclude that we have not done more than survive since then. We have enough to survive, but not enough to expand. The Nobility of the Old Empires still rules from the heights of the Tower, the threat of banishment enough to keep the masses in line. For two centuries we have had to ask--are we still loved by Zha? Did the act of one man at the dawn of time truly have to damn our world so thoroughly? Is this the best we can ever be?
Even now, signs of trouble just as dire as the Impact are seen and heard. There can be no denying that the Spell-blooded Curse has struck our families and townships again. Just as in the Siege of Traj, the Stonarva plague, or the Six Princes War, it appears that men and women from all walks of life will suddenly be infused with extraordinary abilities. Just as a comet in the sky, their arrival means bleak tidings--war, death, and plague follow their arrival.
Even worse, we hear whispers that something is here with us. Old legends and childish nightmare tales are told, and people are disappearing. The old words of “demon” and “Sycoraxi” echo through the halls. The nobles and the army may scoff at such tales, but I have seen them with my own eyes! The Dragon-kind stalk the streets of Down Colster! Five witnesses of good standing in community and church sweared they saw a Bleak Angel just a month ago! It is truly the End Times! Judgement has Come, and only if we rise up against the Em--
Your Grace,
This flier was found by our agents three days ago, being handed out at a tavern in Harcord [Mile 2.5, Floor 340, Cell 16, 84 Trout Street). All copies on site were grabbed immediately, and we tracked down most if not all of the rest. It appears to be a historic primer, but obviously is a Trajan horse to deliver slander, heresy, and anti-government rhetoric( burned so as to not hurt your Grace's eyes or demeanor with such vile lies). We found the printer, one Uluf Sebastian Yarrick, and imprisoned him immediately. His press was destroyed, and we are reviewing his Caster missives to see if we can find any other accomplices in his cell.
The Tower Stands, the Empires Reign, Long live the King,
--J
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