Message Of Iron and Doomstone: [Correspondance of Iron Cult and T.H.E.]

[Marthaler Amslerbeak]

The rain denied any view of the city, save for the spires proudly standing above most other buildings like obelisks of architecture. They appeared like shadows, amidst the blur of the rain. It had been a rather wet winter, that year. With summer approaching, the weather showed little change, contrasting the seasonal shift to warmer climate. An irony, orchestrated by the powers that be over Terra Firma, Marthaler reasoned. His gaze, hidden behind the beaked mask, remained beyond the rain, as if he could see the very thoughts that drenched his mind...

The weather hadn't change... And yet, how the times had...

Spoiler: The Letter

It is with hope that I write this letter, seeking audience to those others see not what I do. Through machine and sweat, sacrifice and vision, the world advances. It is though not all who share these most pure views. I was informed of the work performed in Neuhaven, as well as the achievements of Iron and steam the Eshkin made real. To this knowledge, I extend my respect. Although our interpretation of the world may be much different, certain matters remain the same regardless of perspective.

The Hegemony is a beacon of innovation, the likes of which Fuernburg cannot but notice.

Erova shifts, in tides of time and will of change originating from many a mind, wicked or holy alike. For those of the Hegemony, the interests of the Iron Cult have yet to be in a collision course. It is my hope, they shall yet to be for decades into the future. But, us alone, are not the only ones that will for a different world. From the West, the forces of corruption, the Night Court, masquaraded by the Kingdoms of Men, work to a change that would see both Neuhaven and Fuernburg alike wrapped in chains of servitute, and echoes of heresy.

This, I write to you, in hopes that the Eshkin, and the leadership of the Hegemony sees through the challenging times ahead, and answers a call of alliance. A league forged in Iron and Doomstone, to reshape the world not in their eyes, but ours. On behalf of the Iron Cult, I wish to discuss of the prospect of a mutually beneficial endeavour. Rewards, benefits and gain on the table according to your wants.

I shall await your word with anticipation.

Marthaler Amslerbeak, Lord-Chalybatte of Wesalla

 

[Dagon Erh]

A lone raven cut through the ashen sky. It landed with a hollow thud atop the Tower of Messages, a place where few dared send word. Ravens were rare here. No one wished to speak to the creatures that ruled these lands. No one wished to remember them. The tower stood gaunt and skeletal against the horizon, its stone blackened with rot and age. Inside, it was colder than the air outside, a cathedral of silence. The old nests lining the alcoves were brittle with time, woven from dead twigs and filled with husks of seed long since turned to dust, nothing that could sustain life. Far below, the frantic clatter of clawed feet echoed off the damp stone. An Eshkin, hunched and mottled, scrambled up the endless spiral of stairs, his breathing ragged, teeth bared in silent panic. He had seen the bird. He knew what it meant. His masters would strip him to the bone if another rat reached the message first. The Lord of Messages rarely left his chamber, and rarer still did he fulfil his duty. But this, this was different.

A message from the Iron Cult.

Surely a threat. A mad declaration of war. Perhaps even a death sentence scrawled in ceremonial spite, one more curse cast upon their twisted kin. The Council of Thirteen was scattered, each Lord lost in their own schemes, their own shadows. Still, the ritual was followed. Thirteen copies were made, one for each seat at the obsidian table, though none were present to sit in them. And one to be burned in the green fires of Esh in tribute to their putrid God. Their responses were varied as always; none could agree, none would compromise. That was until Dagon Erh and his new weapon, Hazak the Unfed, arrived, two rightful members of the council. Soon after, surprisingly, with the confining words of Dagon and the support of Hazak's gleaming presence of death, the council agreed.

Spoiler: The Letter written on the Skin of a Eshkin Slave

To the Esteemed Marthaler Amslerbeak, Lord-Chalybatte of Wesalla,
We, the Council of Thirteen, extend our most solemn salutations to you and your venerable Iron Cult. It is with grave honour and deliberate purpose that we receive your call for concord. Know that your words, tempered in the fire of conviction, have not fallen upon deaf ears.

In this hour of gathering, our realm's unity is not merely desirable, it is ordained.

This threat you speak of, unseen but not unfelt, must be scourged before it dares imperil our world's diseased balance. We owe this reckoning not only to ourselves and to the teeming multitudes beneath our banners, but to the very lands of Erova. The Skies grow ever stranger in these passing summer storms. A sign of unrest. A promise of death. Our vessels shall ascend swiftly up the black arteries of the Rat sea. When at last we stand before your mighty gates of Iron, we shall convene further to chart the course of our mutual legacy.

Until then, let vigilance be our vow.

Council of Thirteen, rulers of The Hegemony of Esh

 

[Marthaler Amslerbeak]

The shouting still reverberated, though hours whole had passed ever since the meeting of the council. Marthaler could not blame any of them for their worries were reasoned with merit. His plan was dangerous, though among them, he alone had conceived the true scale of the war that was about to unfold. There was no realistic strategy with which the Iron Cult could counter a threat such as the Night Court, and their foul tendrils stretching now all the way to Surnara and Yoru....

Changes had to happen. Marthaler would have him be the one dictating that, instead of the false king of Espada.

His gloved hand pulled the drawer in which a piece of skin, now in the process of delayed decay, soaked in chemicals to counter the dissollution of the tissue, buried between sheets of glass and sealed off with wax, to avoid it spreading any yet unknown disease.

He had read through a dozen times over, just that day alone...

"So be it." he shook his head, closing the drawer and rushly sitting on the elegant high-back chair, picking the ink vile and a sheet of parchment...

Spoiler: The Letter

To the esteemed leadership of the Hegemony of Esh.

Receiving your word was of outmost pleasure. It is to my hope that the great minds of Erova do see the evidence of a great storm forming in the West, regardless if the lesser ones fail to do so. With the opportunity you've given me, I wish to extend an invitation to your chosen embassy, for us to address the matter in person, as there can only be so much spoken in writing.

I shall anticipate your coming in Phalwesz, where we may delve deeper to the affairs of our mutual interest, and perhaps reach an accord that would yield positive results for either side, in the expense of those who threaten our ascension.

In hope and determination,

Marthaler Amslerbeak, Lord-Chalybatte of Wesalla