In the first year of the new age, as the realm recovered from the rigours of horrific Monomachy, Lightsworn Fire made His first move. Calling upon the Hammer of Dawn to act as His proxy, Lord Celezor entreated the Heralds of Enorian to organise efforts to strike out against the corruption that had for so long plagued the fair village of Arbothia: that of Marcello Relovec, one of Sapience’s self-styled gods.
Working in solemn secrecy, the city prepared for the duties ahead by drawing up a plan involving their newly wrought patron’s gifted powers, with special attention paid towards ensuring the safety of any innocent lives still trapped within the dungeons of Relovec’s twisted manor. The Hammer put forth their plan to the Lord of Justice and awaited His next orders, though the excitement of doing the Light’s work once more swept through the streets like a buzz of eager tension.
As the close of Sapiarch swiftly approached, the Hammer of Dawn took up sword and spell with conviction burning in their hearts and marched upon Arbothia with grim intent, their sights set upon purifying this portion of the continent before all others. The first to enter were the Templars and the other martial adepts of the city, who swiftly put an end to the deranged servants that sought to impede the consecrated work to come. With a path cut clear, many of the city’s humanitarian experts set forth to free captured villagers and other prisoners held within the depths of the manor’s basement cells while their compatriots set to work with the next stage of the city’s plan. Amidst the bloody din of crusade, Enorian’s dedicated aid ensured that the Relovec family’s retainer and the sickly Cotelle managed to escape unharmed with a portion of their fabled fortune, ensuring the privacy necessary for true convalesence.
Armed with magic empowered by the Lord Himself, the Ascendril and Illuminai joined together and swiftly scrawled special symbology across the entirety of Marcello Relovec’s abode, priming the entire building for a catastrophic unveiling of Rahielan and Rewh’van magic in the near future. In a showing of triumvirate cooperation, the Templar knights sanctified these glyphs with their own blood and the essence of fallen elements as their fellow citizens put down any maddened defender that came forth to tamper with the arcane network established by the guilds of the Light. Though it was a grueling, bloody battle, the city succeeded in exorcising the mansion of its latent evil, ensuring that they could move forward with the next stage of their ambitious plan.
As one final wave of crazed servants emerged to deter the Hammer’s holy work, the army of the Light responded with fire and fury. Enorian’s faithful castigated these evil-doers with the full force of Celezor’s gifted blessing and dragged them into the village square, where they pronounced them sinners far beyond redemption. Utilising their zeal as kindling, the righteous crusaders burnt each and every survivor of Marcello’s cohort at the stake, filling the streets of Arbothia with the parched screams of the damned. It was then and only then that the city set off the cataclysmic chain reaction of fire, faith, and fastidious sorcery, its raw heat and holy power combining to cleanse the very land that had absorbed so much of the mansion’s defiled magics. The captured elemental energies within the glyphs seethed and swelled, awaiting one final trigger – an intonation from a true god, Who emerged to stand beside the city He now patroned in truth.
Scouring Creation with the sweltering fervour of righteous indignation, Celezor intoned with manifest authority: “There is only the Light, Marcello Relovec, and no other path forward. I pronounce you guilty of heresy and profane magic. There is naught but the pyre left for you, its kindling arranged by the hands of the faithful.”
“Dumavai,” spoke the Lord of Light and Fire.
Then, the air itself caught flame.
The realm shuddered in rapture as Lightsworn Fire uttered the sacred word of utmost condemnation, a groan arising from the land as the Hammer of Dawn’s sacred work reached a fever pitch. An obliterating wave of scouring radiance manifested as Enorian’s magic lurched into motion, taking the shape of towering walls of pearlescent conflagration that loomed tall over the village and crashed down like unto catastrophic waves, each impact converging upon the lone point of Marcello Relovec’s mansion. Sloshing upward like liquid indignation, the crashing tides of Rahielan and Rewh’van fury ascended to the skies akin to a helix of divine fury, allowing consecrated devastation to mete out a judgement long since deserved and so recently pronounced, reducing the opulent ruin of Relovec’s abode to naught but anointed ash and smouldering wreckage.
Now exorcised of its foul energies, Marcello’s mansion failed to serve as the basis for yet another unholy rebirth. As his domain crumbled into smoking detritus, its master’s screeches of agony served as the symphony of justice’s demand. Embodying rage and determination incarnate, Marcello Relovec struggled to rise from the flames. The occult energy of his countless ascensions clung to him like a wretched robe, holding his form together for long enough to spit curses and maddened threats that echoed throughout the streets of fair Arbothia. The silhouette of the would-be god limped from the wreckage, intent upon eluding justice owed for years beyond count.
Tiring of this criminal’s resistance, the Bringer of Justice coalesced within the righteous pyre with Lanos’ beloved greatsword held high.
“You are guilty,” Celezor pronounced even as His killing stroke surged downward. One brutal swing sent the wretched mortal toppling back into the burning heart of his once-demesne, consigning the wicked nobleman to the fiery condemnation that awaited all sinners that dared to stand before the Lord of the Sun. “There is naught but the pyre for you, sinner.”
Thus ended Marcello Relovec’s reign of terror – in fire and flame, daubed in the pale ash of an incinerated domain.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 5th of Haernos, in the year 1 AC.