A T R O P I
SOUTHERN NIGHTS
~we’ve got the whole world in our hands…~
OBJECTIVE: Prepare for the ritual
TAG:
Drego Ruus
| @I’dadr Gargon |
Tarre Priest
BIMMISAARI, THE SLICE
A tale from the planets of Slice is a rarity. There is something intangible about the region; the almost uniformly insular communities, the strange religion, the ashes that were left by the Brynadûl, that keep the region shielded from foreign interventions. Like a mist, covering the planets of the Slice, allowing unique microcosm to develop in each and every single world in the region. Dozens have tried to annex those worlds into their domain, yet those efforts were always proven to be futile. It's like there's an invisible string that machinates the complete non-compliance and resistance of the denizens of the Slice towards what they perceive as foreign.
A sentiment that applies only to non-Slicers, if such a word even exists. There is no unifying identity between those people, but the Church, with slight local deviations, and their addiction of spice and vices. That might sound contradictory, but in the Slice, people work inhumane hours and conditions to support their life, they sin to cope, and they repent to overcome their guilt. Such is life in the jewel of the galaxy.
The sentiment that suspiciously is not organic means that occasions like what is going on in Bimmisaari today are celebrated. Thousands of pilgrims enter the city of Glastro, one of the checkpoints the pilgrims stop over. The less pious ones join this pilgrimage to experience different tastes of sinful deeds. The moderately religious visits the multiple shrines and statues in and near the city. Only the most zealous wander further north from the city, into the wilderness, looking for signs of their Gods that were once erected throughout multiple planets, abandoned during the Gulag Plague and desecrated by the Brynadûl.
Few will make it back, often turning up completely out of their mind. There's a reason that those areas are abandoned. Yet any attempt to question the safety of the pilgrimage is quickly shunned by the moderates. They are scared of losing the status-quo, they are scared of losing their only avenue of repentance. Such is life in the jewel of the galaxy.
Unbeknownst to most, the actual clergy of Gods travel ahead of the pilgrims. If myths are to be seen as reality, then strings need to be pulled to make sure that the circumstances allow for such myths to have a convincing cover in the eyes of its believers.
Unlike the pilgrims, the Coven doesn't even come close to entering the city. They are, in fact, considered a boogeyman by the denizens of the Slice. Just tales the elders use to keep public authorities.
They gather up north, deep in the woods, where everything that's going to happen, will happen.
A nightmare that will haunt even the fiercest warriors of Manda.