A New Voice

It's been years since she lays dormant.
Some whisper in the Temple that she has lost His voice.
All wonder what is she dreaming about.

“It is this my judgment, as Senior Scrutator in this trial, that you – Priest Garret Mosley – shall be burned at the stake for crimes against Menoth, insurrection against the Hierarchy, and betrayal against the Protectorate”. Not long after that, the pyre was lit and Mosley's body was consumed in the holy flames of Menoth. Following my duties as personal servant to the Senior Scrutator, I burned all of Priest Mosley's possessions, including a little leather bound diary that draw my attention, pages handwritten and already mostly burned.

Today I woke up in my bed, one among hundreds that exist in the Monastery's dorm room: a giant hall where the low clergy live in commune among each other, sharing every bit of space and resources to follow His will and His Law. Still half-sleep, I felt something under my pillow; searching for it I touched something made of leather. Could it be the diary? But I saw it burn at the pyre. It couldn't be. But it was, as I pulled it under my bed I saw it was in the exact same condition as when I threw it to the flames, a couple of week now. It seemed mysterious, like it was trying to keep a secret from escaping. I was sure – as my duty as personal servant to the Senior Scrutator demands – that I incinerated it right along with the body of Priest Mosley himself. Maybe I forgot to. Maybe I misplaced it or saved it for a more “definite” disposal. Now I'm confused and don't remember well. The trial was long and tense, as no one really knew why Mosley was judged for; the Senior Scrutator talked about great crimes against His will, but somehow the doubt stood in my mind.

While I was thinking of this, and how to explain the Senior Scrutator of my fault to my duties as his personal servant and one of His faithful children, my finger untied the straps and began leafing through the records of the now deceased Priest, as if they had life of their own ...

“Imer, Luctine 3rd, Cinotes, 639 A.R.

I dreamed of her again. She was levitated by His will, and with fire in her eyes he fought bravely against Morrowan heretics, Khadoran invaders and Cryxian abominations. Among these hordes of enemies, a little kid stands before her. She protects the kid from the growing army of enemies, keeping him from being snatched by the hands of her enemies. A new horde arrives, but this one bears white, red and gold: The Protectorate's colors. Seeing this, her will falters and His voice is suddenly silenced. Powerless, feeling the scorched earth below her, and hearing the steps of her enemies closing in, she turns to the boy, how innocently looks at the surrounding mob. She is terrified, she is desperate, she is choking as the black shadows of her enemies overcome her.

The kid again, who is this kid? I must know. I shall see her at all cost as I feel I'm losing my mind dreaming of her”

It has been a couple of days after I found the diary. I keep it with me at all times. I know that every day I keep it without informing the Senior Scrutator is betraying my sacred duties and, worse still, His will. But I need to know, I need to understand why he was judged and executed. I have little time to read, living in commune with the rest of the clergy makes hiding the diary difficult and reading it impossible...

“Imer, Vilmon 1st, Golovus, 693 A.R.

I'm leaving Imer today. After asking for some favors and posing as one of her caretakers, I managed to talk to her privately for a couple of minutes. She's weak and mute, a sad view of the great Harbringer of Menoth who bravely defended the Protectorate of Menoth by channeling His will through her weak body. She has been dreaming since her last battle during the Great Wartime, her caretakers say that she sometimes mumbles about someone coming to Imer, of another voice, of a chorus; but nothing else, as she keeps slumbering for years now.

I thought I was really mad at that moment: a lowly priest with weird dreams addressing the great Harbringer, who has been sleeping for the past 30 years or so. But I had to ask, so I whispered to her on the ear: “Who is the boy?”

What happened next I don't even know if it should even be transcribed to this diary, but as I can't tell anyone else, I'm trusting this little book to be my witness in the journey I'm about to start. After whispering to her, her body started glowing and she levitated from her bed. Light came out of the blindfold and she turned her face to me, ripped the blindfold from her face and for the first time in decades, she set her gaze upon another human being.

Engulfing me in light, I don't really know if words came out of her mouth, or if she imprinted her message directly in my mind; but then I knew that I had to leave Imer, find the boy and bring it to her. “Find the Voice”, she said; and then she fell back to her bed, calling the attention of all the caretakers. Before I escaped, I saw her body again – limp and lifeless – a sad view indeed.”

It's been almost two weeks. I think someone saw me reading it last night. I don't know if the Senior Scrutator already knows, I must talk to him immediately before anyone else tells on me. I'm so close to knowing, maybe a couple of days more, some more pages, and then I'll give it to him...

“Orven, 2nd, Prautes, 640 A.R.

I've been on the road for some months now, out of the Protectorate and into the lands of the Morrowans. Is not easy for a Priest of Menoth to navigate these lands as the wounds of the Great Wartime are still open; but thanks to His will I've been able to secure my passage thanks to local Menites and sympathizers. When they ask me the reason of my travel I ask them about a boy who speaks the voice of Menoth, but they know nothing about it. I'll keep visiting Menite churches in these lands to see if something comes up.

May His will guide me.”

This morning the diary was gone, only its last pages remained. I am very afraid, someone took it and I don't know who was. Have it been taken to the Senior Scrutator? or someone worse? Where is it? I was left with only a few pages I haven't read yet. I attended all my duties today, hoping whoever took it still haven't talked to the Senior Scrutator, I must find who did it, so I can have it back. I tried to be calm and relaxed, but I think he knows, he even asked me to bring his official cloth today for no reason at all. The clergy watch me suspiciously now. Maybe its too late, maybe he knows and I'm just waiting for my sentence. Maybe all I have left of life are these pages...

“Tarna, Ozeall 7st, Khadovus, 641 A.R.

It's been a long trip. I've known Morrowan, Menite and followers of many beliefs never heard on Imer. Amidst the chaos left from the Great Wartime, all work together to fend off warbands and bandits that prey on what's left of industry, agriculture and family. Now I don't understand all the hate and disdain we are taught to repeat over and over by clergy, as if that was His will upon men. But still, among this un-civilization, I've seen religion work its real magic: bring comfort to families as they lose children and father to war, unite them in overcoming hunger and exhaustion, and giving them faith for a better tomorrow. I've had to deny gifts from these families, as I see that they are giving me their last clump of bread, their only clothes, or their last horse. Is reallly Menoth's will to make war against our brothers? Now I doubt it. Not really doubting Him, but those who represent Him on Caen.

I finally have a tip. I overheard a couple of mercenaries talking about how the were hired by someone to “silence” a group of Menites that march from Merin towards Sul. Following them closer I saw who hired them: a Menite Scrutator! How did he manage to travel this far to hire mercenaries? I don't know, but I did hear that their principal target is the boy who leads the march. Could it be him the boy I'm looking for?”

I can't stand it anymore. I must tell him. People look suspiciously at me, I've been relieved of most of my duties and I feel that I'm being watched all the time. Just a couple of pages left, and then I'll tell him...

“Somewhere near Olgunholdt, 5th, Ashtovus, 641 A.R.

I've been captured.
They haven't searched me yet, but I know that this would be my last entry.

I followed the mercenary company towards Merin. A small group of swordmen, thieves, a couple of scouts, and a big leader wielding the biggest Battle Axe I've ever seen. They traveled in two carriages, pulled by two heavy steamjacks. I traveled light and fast, trying to encounter the marching group before them, so I can find the boy and alert them of the danger to come.

After two days of walking in the woods, I finally saw a light in the woods. Just like the one the Harbringer engulfed me into; I followed it, hoping it could lead me towards the boy. After a day of walking I reached the Menite's camp. I approached carefully, trying to spot the boy. I saw him being carried into a tent, at the center of the camp; while the rest of its followers had tents around him. I saw no weapons or jacks, just a group of followers being led by a little boy into an unusual march to Sul.

As I approached the camp, I hear two shots behind me. I turned to see the mercenary scouts pointing their guns to me, while the rest of the company charged into the camp. “Thanks for guiding us”, one of the scouts said smiling, as he hit me with the butt of its rifle, knocking me to the floor.

When I woke up, splitting headache and all, I was tied to a post in the center of the Menite camp. No less than a hundred dead corpses filled the once-alive camp, only mercenaries walked the premises making sure no survivors remained. Besides me, also tied to posts, where the little boy and someone I didn’t know, but recognized as the caretaker of the child. The leader of the mercenaries talked about the big bounty they’d get from delivering these three traitors to the Protectorate Scrutators, and thus I waited for at least three days on tied to the pole, while the mercenaries waited for the Scrutators to arrive.

During these three days the boy’s caretaker tried to bribe, intimidate and curse the mercenaries. The boy did not talk. I was questioned again and again, until I told them the whole story of my trip.

On the end of the third day, the Scrutators arrived.

There where three, one immediately stabbed the child’s caretaker on the abdomen saying to him ‘You’ve run from us too many times, now die”. The other two started to pray, making the nearby corpses glow as if their still-trapped souls started to depart from their bodies. Then the kid, this almost-dead kid who had been tied to a post the last three days, lifted himself from the ground and looked defiantly to the praying Scrutators.

The kid started to glow, and in the moment the souls of the dead marchers started to leave their bodies the kid opened his mouth. But no sound came out.

‘Leave these souls alone’ was the unspoken message of the child, as points of light emerged from each of the corpses and floated around him. The praying Scrutators prayed with even more fervor, but collapsed shortly, crying on their knees and begging for mercy, as they obviously had heard something the kid didn’t say, but they just knew. The third Scrutator tried to grab the child and stab him, but each of the soul-lights attacked him and burned and scarred him horrendously. Lying on the floor, the Scrutator begged for death for eternal seconds.

The kid then closed his mouth, closed his eyes, and the hundred-lights cloud hovered around him. Seconds after that, the kid was gone and the lights faded in the night. Leaving me alone, along with the praying, half-mad Scrutators, and the remaining mercenaries who where too stunned to run into the forest screaming.

Now I’m in a caravan travelling back to Sul. I’ve been charged with infinite treason charges; I just beg for the mercy of death as I know Menoth is on my side.

His will be done”

Now I’m at the stake, but I’m at peace. The pages disappeared the moment I finished reading them. The next morning copies of the book appeared under the pillow of at least ten of my dorm companions. When asked what happened, I publicly confessed, making sure everyone heard my story. Its fine, I know now that the book will be read, and the gates will open by the time the kid – the new voice of Menoth – reaches Sul.

Resurgence

Last night they took my sister.
The night before, they killed my father.
Tonight, they are coming for me.

“Peace” has always been a fleeting word. During the Great Wartime my father fought for peace as a mechanik for the Cygnar army. After surviving the great battles of the time, my father came home to me and my sister, set up shop for 'jack repairs, and hoped to live a nice and peaceful life with their children and the 'jacks he loved to repair. But “Peace” did not last in Immoren, all the great armies where tired and spent, the Iron Kingdoms decimated. Warbands of retired soldiers and unemployed mercenaries roamed the land, the Iron Kingdoms unable to stop them as they didn't have the resources to uphold their Law.

Two nights ago Khrullig - leader of the Magnus' Revengers, a warband that has been harassing my town for the last nine months - blasted my door using the damaged steam cannon of his Mule warjack. Looking for repairs, Khrullig beat my father into repairing it. My father agreed, but when it couldn't be repaired because of a missing part, Khrullig took his sword and killed my father.

In a fit of fury, while restrained by the rest of the Revengers, I felt a connection with our servant 'jack; an old Ironclad left form the Great Wartime, so heavily modified that only an expert could properly identify it. I saw its eyes glow, but I didn't have the connection my father had with it, forged in the middle of the battlefield. Khrullig took his men and left, warning me that I'd better find that piece or me and my sister would suffer the same fate as my father.

Last night Khrullig came again. Even though I frantically looked for the part in the area I could cover in a day, when he appeared I had nothing to give him. Khrullig - standing in the middle of our simple 'jack garage, wearing his heavy armor – draw his sword and grabbed my sister.

“Nice little thing we have here, why didn't I see that last night? I must have been in a hurry. Where is the valve?” he said, while looking at my sister as no man has seen her in her whole life.

“I, I, I don't have it”, I replied, trembling; fearing for the fate of my sister.

“Well, I told you what would happen if you didn't have the piece today”, he said grabbing my sister and smelling her like an animal. “Gladly for me, there is a change of plans. I'm taking your sister here to get her to know my camp”. He said this and turn away, leaving the garage; then he said to his henchmen before entering the night, “Kill him!”

Four men, carrying maces and swords, moved closer to me, about to charge. Even as I saw my sister being dragged into the night, the Fury came upon me once more. This time unrestrained, I felt the Ironclad's cortex coming to life, my father's warjack alive once more for battle. Standing like it was waiting for this time a whole lifetime, the warjack grabbed one of the men and threw him at the other three, knocking them down. Then, its eyes glowing fiery red, used its fists to pound them until they were no more.

That was last night. Haven't' slept since then, managed to calm the Ironclad down and left it sleeping at the garage, keeping its furnace going as well as I could. I hoped I had payed more attention to my father's wartime stories, so I knew how to handle it better. The morning looked grim and gray, so I went for some breakfast at Lucy's, the local tavern, usually empty as no traveler ever passed this town since the iron mines dried up fifty years ago.

But this morning was different. In front of Lucy's stood two carriages, one carrying supplies and food, the other one carrying something hidden under a tent. Inside Lucy's I heard some men eating and telling jokes, saw them through the window, they were not Revengers, but instead carried the colors of the Cygnarian army. Three of them carried heavy armor, the third carried a weird furnace on his back; a fifth one sat behind them working on what I saw was an arm piston for a heavy 'jack.

“A heavy 'jack?” I thought, and turned around looking at the second carriage. Peeking under the tent I could see it. It was a bright and blue Ironclad, wearing army honors and royal seals; beside him, the biggest Quake Hammer I've ever seen.

“Beautiful isn't it?” said someone, surprising me. “It's called Rowdy, but right now its right arm is kind of messed up, do you happen to know any mechaniks in the area?” I could not help but smile, after all I have been through these days being a mechanik is something I'm not currently actually happy to be recognized as. The man that surprised me was a slender man, wearing a longcoat and magnifying glasses; he played with the arm piston all the time he talked to me. I stayed there, looking at the man assembling and disassembling the piece.

“Well? Are you mute?” he asked. I replied, “Well, you're in luck my friend, you happen to be in front of this town best, and only mechanik!” saying it with almost tears coming out of my eyes as I remembered my father saying that same line to everyone who asked for his services. “I'm glad then, I need some supplies for Ol' Rowdy here”. With some relief that someone associated with the army will be around, I led the man to my garage, hoping I could be of some service.

“What in Urcaen happened here?” said the man who identified himself as Cog, the mechanik of the mysterious strangers visiting town. The garage was a mess; the Revengers visited it, looking for their comrades, finding not their bodies – as I disposed them in a nearby trench – but the scene of a brutal fight and the blood associated with it. Going back there made me remember all of the sudden all the horror I've suffered these days. “I... had... visitors...” I said, sitting down in a nearby bench, trying not to fall down. “Well, this is a mess, let me see if I can help you out”, said Cog, leaving the piston aside and moving through the garage as he had been here before.

I tried to regain some strength, I tried to breathe, but the weight of reality fell upon my like a stone so heavy, Morrow couldn't lift it Himself. I don't know how much time I sat there, but when I saw Cog again, the garage was in order again and he was doing something to my father's 'jack. “I knew your father”, Cog said, “He taught me a lot of things. This is a great Ironclad, but is missing something...” His voice was cut by an explosion. Outside the garage's doors were two men, Revengers, ready to claim vengeance for their comrades and to fulfill Khrullig's orders. Cog ducked the shot and unholstered a great quad-iron, blindly shooting two rounds towards the door. “Move out!” he shouted, while I opened the inner door towards the house. More shots came from outside; Cog tried to dodge, but one hit him on the leg, making him unable to escape. I saw the Ironclad and I looked inside of me for the Fury, it was there and so the Ironclad came back to life. “Take them down!” I ordered, and the Ironclad charged the doors, trampling over the Revenger firing squad outside. I grabbed Cog and helped him up. “Let's go back to the tavern” he said.

Cog, me and the Ironclad reached Lucy's after sunset, just in time as a long line of torches could be seen down the town's main road, just outside the outskirts of the town. These were the lights of Magnus' Revengers, and Khrullig could be seen leading them. Now closer, I could see a unit of gunners and another one of swordsmen taking positions at the side of the main road, while Khrullig and other two mounted men fell in the center of the road, near Lucy's.

“Old man, come see this!” shouted Cog into the tavern. During our trip back to Lucy's, Cog demanded to know why he was attacked, so I told him everything. Coming out the tavern, the man with the furnace on its back answered Cog's call “I told you not to call me old man! Did you find the oil for...?” The old man's voice died when he saw the Revenger's forces spread across the road, he walked down the stairs and stared at them as he was assessing them, that was the first time that – lit by torches – I saw his gleaming red hair weaving in the air. The other three men in heavy armor came out the door and saw the situation, quickly taking positions besides the old man, wielding glaives that identified them as Stormblades.

“And who do we have here?” asked Khrullig, seeing the four men standing before him. The old mand replied, “May I ask who you are sir, since you got us surrounded with your mighty force...”, meanwhile Cog made me move him near the second carriage. “Fair then, my name is Khrullig and leader of the Magnus Revengers”, Khrullig replied, showing his mighty army around him. “Magnus? as in Asheth Magnus?” asked the old man; “Yes, exactly, our hero and founder”. Cog laughed, “I hoped he hadn't said that to the old man...”, then he quickly adjusted the piston on the warjack's arm.

The old man's eyes crackled with electricity, its furnace burned brightly, “And why are you here, do you protect this town?” Khrullig replied, “Of course, we protect all this land from bandits and opportunists. Right now we are looking for a young man who murdered at least four of our men using a 'jack, he's a proven criminal and a murderer”.

“Liar!” I screamed walking toward Khrullig, full of the Fury. My Ironclad stood up immediately. “You are the murderer; you killed my father and took my sister!” The old man watched me as I walked in the middle of the road and glimpsed at Cog who had just finished repairing Rowdy. “Well, I guess we'll need to settle this in a Cygnarian tribunal”, said the old man, smiling.

Khrullig replied, furious, “No tribunal, in this land I'm Judge, Jury and Executioner, and I'm here to take this boy!” charging with his horse as he said this.

“I'll see about that”, said the old man, removing its longcoat and clearly showing – even under the dim light of torches – the warcaster armor of a great Commander. Drawing the biggest sword I've ever seen, the old man stood before me and parried Khrulligs cavalry sword attacks. “Cog, is Rowdy repaired?”, asked the old man, while he seemed to focus his sight upon the Revenger gunmen, meanwhile the three Stormblades charged the Revenger swordmen, glaives high in the air crackling with electricity.

Lightning already rising from the old man, an explosion of arcane energy fell upon the gunners, knocking them down. Khrullig charged once again, the old man parrying him again, but this time a shot was heard just outside the area lighted by the torches. “To the ground!” shouted the old man, as a Mule charge exploded next to us. “Cog! is it ready?”, asked the old man, “Yes Coleman, it's ready!”, replied Cog. Then, the mighty Ironclad rose from under the tent, Quake Hammer in hand and ready to protect its warcaster.

Coleman Stryker, could it be him? My father told me endless stories about how Lord Commander Coleman Stryker saved the Cygnar kingdom many, many times. I thought them to be mere exaggerations, but now I'm in front of him, I believed every one of those stories.

The Mule stepped in – the same Mule that needed repairs two nights before – filling the flank left by the downed and routing gunners. Khrullig went for yet another charge, but fell short when the mighty hammer of Rowdy hit the ground and knocked him and the rest of his cavalry down. The Stormblades where defeating the swordmen pretty easily when the shadow of a Nomad warjack fell upon them, its blade high in the air ready to smash. I called my Ironclad, this time focusing the Fury into the Nomad; it responded charging furiously into it and smashing it to the ground. The Stormblades almost did not have time to get out of the way, but the charge gave them time to end the swordmen and attack the now knocked down Nomad.

Stryker looked surprised at me, but we still had to deal with the Mule and Khrullig. In the corner or my eye I saw Cog grab a giant wrench and charge at the Mule, “It's missing the low pressure valve!” I shouted to him, as he easily dodged a couple of punches from the warjack, slid under its chassis, disappeared for a second, and then ran in the opposite direction. Seconds later the Mule prepared for another charged shot, exploding as its pressure systems failed.

Meanwhile, Stryker and Rowdy had already dealt with the cavalry, Khrullig subdued and its men surrendered.

“So, let's talk again about this boy and his sister”, he said, pointing his sword towards Khrullig, “then, I have some lessons about Cygnar justice I need you to learn; and boy” he said looking at me, “I'd like to help you focus some of that Fury”.

That night I left town with the strange men that came to town in two carriages, never to come back.