Aurealogi Belsepanium > Anni Aureum > Tainted, Dying Encantos III

Directives to the Adepts-Errant

[Indexus Primus Planetae :: Encantos III :: signo temporis 6.000.792 M41]

It is a dying world, mere decades from its end. Magos Besul the Platinum fortold its end in binary tree cogitation-auguries, and the Adeptus Mechanicum began their Eschatologus for the hives of Encantos fifty years ago. The Machine Temples dimmed year by year, servitors and adepts slowly placed into stasis for transit to other assignments.

Without the blessings of the Mechanicum, the hives could not be sustained. Their great workings slowed, the generators shut down, the air pumps stilled one by one. Their inner ways, depths and vaults fell into blackness and fetid air. A torpor of doom forseen fell across Encantos, and hive-dwellers worked with slow and steady will to turn down the lumens for the very last time.

Mortis preachers rose to prominence amongst hive Ecclesiarchs, teaching of the welcome end in which all dutiful servants would meet the God-Emperor. Manufactories and scholarums were abandoned for slow processionals and veiled services in vast, quiet vaults. The populace dwindled with birth forbiddance laws enacted by Lord-Governor Hase Rashald, the voluntary cull-suicides in mortis masses, and barrenness-inducers in the water supplied to the low-hive masses under the inviolate terms of ancient serf contracts.

Like mighty trees of great age, the hives died at the core first, the lesser masses of Imperial faithful migrating with their shrines and death-worship to the wall-habs and wind spaces.

The last of the noble families of names and Administratum decrees of Immaculate Ancestry stretching back to Encantos Ante-Cubilis wear black in their spires and mountaintop manses, mourning the end of their lines. The God-Emperor has spoken through the seers and auguries, and the end of time for Encantos III is near.

In its calm passage to death, just as at its height, Encantos III is defined by the passage of water. The hives brace their cooling bones upon mountain ranges that break an endless desert of red and orange rock. The mountains themselves stand in the shadow of great truecrete struts that once supported atmosphere processors to turn Encantos III from a void-world to a center of the Imperial Creed. But all water lies far beneath the surface in caverns and acquifers, tapped by the deep roots of the hive structures.

The adiamant water valves, a hundred meters tall apiece, still pump in outer hive walls, driving the waters up through mighty aquaways to Imperial shrines, noble baths, and deserted uphive concourses. From there, the waters fall down used in a thousand, thousand conduits of silversteel, ever more polluted and refiltered with each hive level. Upon the conduits are inscribed the water contracts of Encantos III, as first spoken by Saint Fadi the Kind and forced upon the nobles of the Civitas Encantos by Imperial decree.

[Epistola Astropathica :: signo temporis 4.234.810 M41
Crypta Datum Peculiaris :: Inquisitor-Minor Om Quall]

Lady Yisebele, my Adepts,

A world of tired, blackened, languid souls, resigned to their end in the delerium of the fated. This is your destination, for it is where I expect you to find the claws of our Archenemy sunk deepest into the holy Imperial Creed, seeping the poisonous whispers of the True Eophite.

Your commencement is to be the Imperial Aquatemplum of Hive Alasam, a fallen wonder of Encantos. Seek out the Magister Mortis Tamam in that echoing hive, upon your descent from the void, and he will instruct you futher.

Inquisitor Om Quall

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2008 | Permanent Link ]

The Magister Mortis, Upon the Wind Space Processional

[Memoria mechanicus :: servitor calvaria 244ophis :: signo temporis 5.325.810 M41
Tesella Ventus 103 :: Hive Alasam :: Encantos III
Magister Mortis Sefe Tamam]

They labor slow, Mistress, for they have the rest of their lives, until the end. In the Old Tongue, they would say "enshalleth," it is the will of the Lord of All, the God-Emperor who has decreed the end of Hive Alasam. But look, they have raised the vaultworks of a Cathedra Vitae Antidus from bones drawn up from ossuaria in the hive cores, here in this wind space, so that the sacred air of Encantos will ever touch this monument of lives past.

Enshalleth, Mistress. The wind and waters of Encantos are eternal and holy, as taught Saint Fadi. It is we servants of the God-Emperor who must fade into the dark, and complete our final labors so our souls will join the eternal processional. A billion have set forth bearing lumens and the black shroud, their bones honored by the silence of the hive cores. The Faithful here in the hive shell, we millions, labor to set the final statues, hang the tapestries of remembrance, to close the great door with honor that we might follow to the processional. It is a vital, sorrowful task for the elders who remember the glories of Imperial Alasam - but such a momument to faith we shall leave!

The Cathedra Vitae will be our lasting work, the labor of the youngest left amongst we massed Faithful here in the Wall of Sunrise, and in the Mountain Domes beyond the templum spires and noble obelisks. It falls to Magisters such as myself to guide the Faithful, and ensure that our steps match those set down in the Eschatologus Imperia. The habwardens must organize the workers, the men must descend into the undermountain cavern-vaults and ossuaries to retrieve and honor past lives. Water must be brought from the rightful aquaways, by the Saint's Laws, and in accordance with the teachings of the prophets who forsaw the Saint. There must be food from the Vault Houses, and Administratum records kept for all these matters. The medicae mortis must be supplied with whitestone from the rockcuttings downhive, at the high base where macrostatues of the Erasumic Prophets watch the Alasam Gate - for it is the basis of the mortis tablets. Without the tablets, we could not keep to the Eschatologus, nor give the ill and the frail the honor of stepping through the door ahead of us.

To guide these few Faithful in their last years is my trial, Mistress, given by the God-Emperor that I may show my worth - as I believe the unsettlement of these past two years, the False Hopes and visionaries, the signs and ill portents, are a trial now placed upon your shoulders.

Ours is a deep and honest history, Mistress, and an end we will make with grace as the God-Emperor wills. The great Eschatologus, cast in silver at the Alasam Gate, is two-thirds written these decades past, and the Tech-Priests of the pump levels commend us for our conformance to the Imperial auguries. We respect the old shrines and templum, we have made those in the darkened hive depths holy ossuaries, but Aquila and altar now reside in the Cathedra we build in the God-Emperor's name.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2008 | Permanent Link ]

Beasts of Unclean Fire

[Chartus ex servitor scriptus :: adaphelus-12r :: signo temporis 5.327.810 M41
Castrum Arbites 12 (abandoned) :: Hive Alasam :: Encantos III]

Y: Lady Anya Yisebele, Ordo Primus
D: Tech-Adept Eriz, Ordo Secondus by Compact
T: Magister Mortis Tamam
M: Preacher Mufeed

D: The scriptor-skull is attentive, the runes set. Ink flows and the quill-dendrites are supple. All is in readiness, Mistress.

Y: Bring them in.

M: Praise Saint Fadi and the divine Emperor, that the Ecclesiarchy Solae has sent you Mistress. Praise be!

T: Get up, you forget yourself! Show dignity before faushi, before anyone not of the blood of the Saint, no matter their rank. Get up and tell her what you told me when the Mestra blew strong last year - when I swore you to silence.

M: Tauda! The holy waters, the eternal silver of the Saint, blessed in the Emperor's name, it is become corrupted. I, myself, with my own eyes saw a beast of the Unclean Fire breach the Saint's silver conduits in the Water Templum, fall from the water within to scream at the bones of the blessed.

T: And you ran in fear from your charge as Priest-Ossuarist.

M: I am but a man, Magister, a holy servant - what can I do but warn when the Prophet Aben-Ubade's words become true? The beasts of fire below swim within the holy water, and thence carried upon the wind before the end! This is the Testing Time, that the holy Emperor brings upon us in our end years.

T: So you told them all, despite my charge upon you, didn't you? How else do the False Hopeful preach their deceitful whisters of this to the Quietened and the faithful, and send their forbidden young through ducts and past the vault seals to steal adiamante conduit-fragments from the Water Templum ossuary?

Y: Be silent, Magister. Preacher, describe to me this beast, in plain and simple terms.

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2008 | Permanent Link ]

Carta Imprimus of the Encantos III Assessment

[Epistola Astropathica :: signo temporis 4.234.810 M41
Crypta Datum Peculiaris :: Inquisitor-Minor Om Quall]

My Lord, Inquisitor Quall,

This world of Encantos III lies under a taint, subtle and blown in the winds. Adept Gelcreth felt it from the deserted orbitus docks, was greatly disturbed and would come no further to the desert hive-tombs. He remains yet upon the Lord-Captain's vessel, reading the tarot and consulting with the Astrometrix-Elect on the pattern of star portents.

The taint here is not in the unorthodoxy of the Encantite veneration of Prophets and Saint Fadi, nor in their heathen element-worship. Nor is in their outlaws and false-speakers, the struggles of the Hopeful to escape Emperor-blessed Imperial auguries and the adiamante tracks of the Eschatologus. There will always be the ignorant and desperate who kick and scream at what is fated by the God-Emperor, and we have seen no obvious marks of Eophism in their struggles against what is ordained.

The Hopeful are merely the most obvious symptom of a spiritually troubled world. There are many sects as False Hopes, ranging from the tolerated Faithless, who have merely lost sight of the eternal processional, to the outlaws who bear children in the dark hive depths, and steal the Faithful from their Magister-assigned tasks. Is there heresy there? Undoubtably: those who place the Saint above the Emperor, and the old Prophets above the Saint. Those who believe in the Unclean Fire at the heart of the world, and old prophecies of the end times. Those who simply deny the legitimacy of the Eschatologus, or the Imperial auguries that confirm it.

There are Denialists upon every world of the Imperium, I sometimes believe. I am fated to lose some part of my skin to each, and I confess that I do not look forward to discovering which flesh the Denialists of this world will steal from me. But are these least heresies the source of the taint, the malaise we all feel? There is a palpable oppression here, a weight that works upon us, and I cannot believe these commonplace blasphemers and their unorthodoxies could be the source of it.

Upon our second day in the highwall wind spaces of Hive Alasam, cultists of the Solae Hopeful rose from the inner ossuary darkness. They overwhelmed the sparse honor guard about our transport-orbitus and flew in desperation to the high void docks. The wall-hab conclave of Magisters Mortis were furious, but these cultists were poor heretics indeed. They harmed no-one, offered no fight, and had no clear goals past the glimmering rumor of a voidship above. They were families of the old bearing little more than bundled rags and scroll-slates, easily gathered from the empty processionals and dock-vaults by the Lord-Captain's security troop.

Magister Mortis Tamam illuminated my questions regarding his frustration: the Hopeful reject their Emperor-given duties and gifts by rejecting the Eschatologus. They cannot be punished, for they have already inflicted the worst of all punishments upon themselves. They certainly cannot be given the quietus drugs and their deathmark in the grand tome of the Eschatologus, for that is an honor for these Faithful. The Hopeful remain in the Lord-Captain's cells, until such time as I can spare Adept Dramen to usefully process them.

The events and reports that led you to assign us here were similarly barren of immediate portent, though, as for the Hopeful, redolent of the taint upon Encantos. The adiamante waterworks and aquaconduits are holy to the hivedwellers, and any rumor of damage or impurity that might stain their eternal nature swells the Hopeful Denialists, Prophecites and those who believe in the Saint's return to protect them from the Unclean Fire. A single priest saw what he took to be a daemon in the Aquatemplum, in his ignorance, and the Prophecite Hopeful have plagued the wall-habs since that time a year ago.

With the efforts of Adepts Drame and Oltagin, and the knowledge of the Tech-Adept seconded to my service by the Lord-Captain, I have been able to establish this "daemon" as either servitor or member of a forgotten clade of aquaconduit menial. Adept Oltagin, while within an aquasuit constructed by the Lord-Captain's Tech-Adept, was assaulted by two specimens within the greater waterway beneath the Aquatemplum ossuary pits. He had the presence to retrieve the corpses; their implants and aqua-agumentics match the fanciful descriptions provided by the priest. These menials are as perturbed as the rest of the small remainder of the hive population.

I have tasked my companions to take rebreather and lumen into the dark hive core in search of the more active Hopefuls, and the leaders and least-heretics behind recent unrest - and also any sign of overt heresy, Eophite devices or warp-craft. Further, to descend the hivewall and initiate contact with the Tech-Priests who oversee the Eschatologus from hivebase Machine Cult vaults, and assay their state. As for myself, I will return to the orbitus docks and the Lord-Captain's vessel; I have come to feel that the path to the answer upon Encantos is to be found in Adept Gelcreth's prognostications.

Your eternal servant,

Lady Anya Yisebele

[ Posted by Reason on March 22, 2008 | Permanent Link ]