The Scouring

Whole towns, abducted. Temples pillaged, altars running red with the blood of priestesses. Villages burned, their inhabitants impaled. This was the bloody work of the Scouring, a ten year period of sorrow contemporaneous with the War of the Broken Crypt. While the Holmgardian Empire teetered on the edge of annihilation, Lumeris was also ravaged by the Calabim - to a lesser degree, though that is little consolation for the thousands of mourning families.
It began with whispers of a dark god, the "Corsair", taking root in the Kingdom of Bel Shanar. Followers of Sanguine, always common in Lumeris, flocked to this deity, and the disappearances began. Yet none expected what happened next.
From dark, floating ships borne of the Ethereal, scores of vampires led by the wicked warlord Hythonia ravaged the kingdoms of Talorne, Bel Shamar, and Cythera, appearing out of the mist and vanishing before the Lumeric authorities could react. In time, death cults worshipping Sanguine sprouted across the land, and the old orders proved insufficient to combat them. In secret counsels, a group of Magisters convened by none other than High Queen Galirya founded an Order, ironically inspired by their zealous enemies in the Empire. The Ordo Hereticus, as it would become known, proved to be a deadly and efficient strike force for rooting out heresy and combating Hythonia.
At Theron, they laid an ambush - dozens of enchanted ballistae hidden within the city trapped much of Hythonia's fleet. Yet she narrowly escaped - and was never seen again.
And so, as suddenly as she had appeared, the Wild Hunt of Hythonia vanished without a trace. Scholars speculated on her disappearance, and have only uncovered bizarre rumours - of spectral battles wages in the Ethereal and the forgotten dead rising for revenge against her.
The aftermath of the Scouring was hardly favourable to the Calabim, and had the opposite of its intended effect. Previously a tolerated part of Lumeric society, the Scouring resulted in a crackdown on Sanguine worshippers that greatly diminished her influence in the far East.

Nighttime fell upon the city of Theron, as its residents began to close up shops and head their merry way back home. Tolith stared in envy at the people going back to their families or others who were out galavanting with friends at whatever place full of drunkards would take them. Oh, how it has been only 4 years since he has enjoyed partaking in those activities.

Now he sat bored in the Ayduin watchtower, unable to leave. At times it felt like torture or a cruel joke. But he couldn’t leave, he swore an oath years ago and if it were found he neglected his duties, the newly appointed high magistrate Fenian Reyfaren would have his head. He rubbed his neck out of instinctual habit, the coarse and calloused hands rough against his clean-shaven face. He looked at his hands, examining them and thinking back to his bladework which caused them. His mind went elsewhere as he thought that the others who swore the same oath weren’t all the same as him. Some were skilled in deceit, or magicks. He always envied the magic casters and the things he could do with their power. All the lives he could have saved. He looked back to his blade. It felt feeble now compared to what others do.

He looked down enviously at the citizens of Theron once again. He let his mind drift to the authority he now wielded due to this rising threat. A new Ordo being established, and of such secrecy as well. It was hard to not let the power he held get to him at times. If he wanted as such he could have a stranger's Intestines pulled and fed to cattle if he said the word. Such is the authority that an inquisitor wields. As his mind continued down this path for a few moments, the hairs on his neck pricked up. He looked up again, and before him lay a thick and heavy mist before his eyes. A flash of panic rushed through him as his training kicked in, rushing to the bell Tolith began to ring it with all his might notifying the city.

It had been several years since these attacks started. It was said that it started as a small cult in Bel Shamar. The dredges of that place always tolerated things that were of the extreme. Followers of the Corsair, the pirate god took root there. Yet they never caused any major issues, and that all seemed to change when Sanguine's most loyal decided to take a particular interest in this minor deity. Starting small, they killed in the darkness of the night; however, as time went on they became more brazen. Leading to the current predicament. Tolith thought that Sanguines children were comfortable with all the support the Lumeric gave them. The blood bars, all the donations by willing citizens to make a few silver, it was a good system. Now though, any child of sanguine needing identification and a permit to move in and out of cities, it was simply madness.

As Tolith rang the massive bell, so too could others now be heard throughout the city. This would be the 4th time they have come under attack in the previous 3 years. The last one resulted in over 827 dead and many more injured. He would not allow that to happen again.

The thick mist reached him now as it rested upon his lips. This unnatural mist had a strange texture to it as with each breath it became harder to breathe. Tolith knew what was coming next, and every fiber of his being was on edge as bells of a similar sound could now be heard descending from the sky.

The sound of the bells descending from the sky was to mock them of course. Sanguines children thought themselves untouchable with how they were. Out of the mist came 8 large ethereal ships. Most importantly, one of the ships, a galleon which has the name Huron etched into it stood larger than the rest. This was Admiral Hythonia, she had come to show herself and help directly in this raid. As the ships descended a howling could be heard from multiple monstrosities on the ship's decks. It seems they are eager to collect riches and feast upon Theron's citizens. Frustration built in Tolith, as the issue is that they are able to move so quickly, by the time our forces gather, they have regrouped on their ships and disappeared back into the thick mist into the shadows.

A booming noise shudders throughout the air as the ships opened fire. Another watchtower near Tolith explodes in fiery might as the tolling of its bell comes to an end. The ships are still descending, just a little more Tolith thought to himself. Fires begin to erupt throughout the city as panic has grasped the populace.

Finally, as the ethereal ships reached a few stories above the nearby buildings, the plan was put into action. Tolith stopped tolling the bell as he reached to grab his sword which was gifted from grand inquisitor Zaleria herself. Knowing this could be one of the last moments of his life, he looked back at a sketch of his daughter Syvis which was poorly framed on the wall. Her dark curls tucked behind her ears showed her full face showing his favorite dimples. With no more fear in his heart, Tolith began to run down the spiraled staircase.

Running through the hectic streets, loud twanging noises resounding with booming snaps could be heard on either side of him. The air hissed in protest as massive wooden limbs hurled projectiles skyward. Sounding akin to a thunderclap.

Large ballistae hidden throughout the hunkered into the ships keeping them stationary and unable to escape. A cannon booms from above and before Tolith knows it the ground explodes around him. His legs burst as he is thrown backward onto the floor. His ears ring from the loudness, it takes him a moment to register his missing lower half as he begins to drift out of consciousness. He stares into the misty sky full of unquenched anger being unable to enact revenge on these pirates that killed his daughter.
- a first hand account from a Tolith, ex-inquisitor Erik V