Solace
[ Lyxian Archive vol. XXVII, section 1.][Archivist Azalea recording the dictated testament of a Disillusioned, calling themself “Strelitzia.” The subject was brought to the Archive upon our request for an interview, and agreed readily; Scribes Ija and Quinn were present for the recording.]
“There is nothing more beautiful than the Choir. Solace is a terrible thing. It devours flesh and twists it into grotesque shapes, maiming and distorting the endless procession of hostages fed to its ceaseless hunger. Each member of the Congregation bears a terrible, unconscionable guilt- a new Proselyte is a life taken by your hands, their ghoulish metamorphosis seen through your eyes- you are always watching, always beholding that which none should ever see. In this world, there are nightmares from which there is no waking, and Solace is host to the darkest of my own. …And yet, it is beautiful beyond comparison. Every member of the Congregation is a voice in the Choir, and the Metatron is its grand orchestrator. To experience it is to know true, sublime beauty: a hundred thousand voices singing as one into the deepest part of your mind, a swelling orchestra of impossible complexity and indescribable clarity, a rapturous polyphonic symphony, arresting your senses and filling the minds of the many with absolute purpose and irresistible conviction. The Metatron guides, and the Congregation follows. There is nothing else. You could never want for anything else. She speaks Intent with a voice like a thousand angels, cascading in perfect harmony, and her children embody her will in eternal service to her depthless compassion. …Until the Excommunication. The Metatron fell- cast from her Basilica by an Unconverted, tearing her from Solace; and for the first time the Choir found itself without its conductor. In the deafening silence, we many emerged from the dream, utterly lost. For most of us, it was the first time in decades in which we did not hear the song of our siblings every waking moment of our lives. The quiet was unbearable. Excruciating in its terrible loneliness. Many could not bear it. They chose obliteration over whatever new horror this deafened existence would bring. I hardly blame them for succumbing to their fears; Solace was all they’d ever known, their old lives stripped away ages prior. We were animals meant for a singular purpose, suddenly deprived of all meaning. Creatures of blind devotion suddenly devoid of sacrament. Our withdrawal was agonizing. The likes of you could not understand our pain. We found that our Vestments were permanent. Many of us bore augmentations of inexplicable purpose, some with several full limb replacements. Our spines had been replaced with interlocking metal segments, fitted with relays and dozens of connection points. In the back of every skull was a data port. We could not remove our masks, lest we experience physical pain unlike any other. The flesh underneath had long ago been substituted with synthetic sensory devices, our faces sealed inextricably to smooth, featureless casing. We saw our world through two microfilament lenses on an otherwise unmarked plane of impenetrable material. We no longer had eyes; we no longer had mouths. I suspected we no longer had skin under the mask- it was only machinery, her tools to see through our eyes and hear through our ears. We found we never hungered, and had no need to eat; still, many drove themselves to terrible ends in their attempts to remove them. I still hear their screaming sometimes. When the terror abated, we understood we were no longer shackled to the many, but instead were now Realized. We were singular. Autonomous. Free- in a sense- at a cost. So. We wandered. What else did we have? So many of our siblings lost themselves in this new liberation. So many Dispossessed, suddenly without a guide, scattered to the many frontiers of Lyx- wandering into the elements, heedless of danger. Some as children lost in the woods. Some as panicking animals fleeing an invisible predator. I hope they survived. It was a terrible sadness when one of our siblings fell, yet when one voice in the Choir wept, we all wept, and we shared this sorrow as one; to see them fall here, disconnected, without the lamentation of our many siblings, no internal presence to share the burden of our mutual pain… unbearable. We culled ourselves through ignorance. We knew nothing of this new hell. Yet not all were lost. Those of us who managed to survive did so on our own terms, using whatever means we had to keep moving forward. Many formed their own Congregations- bands of Dispossessed clinging to each other in a hostile world, relying on the familiarity of their siblings to ensure their new survival. They had it easier than those of us who chose complete Realization, setting out on our own path with none to guide us. We Disillusioned chose total solitude. Our pilgrimage was one of singular association. We are our own Congregation. We are free. Autonomy is a divine gift. Until its complete absence is felt, the singular being cannot know the rapture of its return. The apotheosis of becoming cannot be realized without agency. At long last, I know who I am. Do you know who you are, Emissary?” [ End transcript. 4.21.562CY ]
[WIP][WIP][WIP][WIP][WIP][WIP]
- Proselyte a teeming mass of organic thralls
- Partizan - Initiates judged worthy
- Propagator - Spreading the good word
- Ascendant - Living Saints
- Metatron- Voice of God
- Hive - where the magic happens
- Basilica - the Grand Hive of the Metatron
- Proselytization Engine - mobile hives sent to assimilate potential Congregation
Wary
The Amkha have held zero tolerance for Bound Solace for most of recorded time. They have been known to actively hunt down Hives and cleanse them with detached efficiency, and in return the Hives tend to be careful around Amkha settlements.
Things have changed somewhat after the Excommunication. Detached know very well that they were liberated by the effort of a solitary Amkha ( Aster Lugard of the Asphodel tribe), and tend to hold his kin in high regard, occasionally entreating their help in surviving the wastes. The Amkha are considerably more wary, and tend to be slightly distrustful of this new form of their ancient enemy. Trust tends to come from individual Amkha and do not typically reflect the views of their tribe.
Identified as Threat
High Command officially recognizes Solace and its Detached congregation as a threat; the liberated may convince their subjects they may also someday be free; and more than that, Solace is not easily controlled, even when one has been freed from the Hive. However, those liberated from Solace think very little of the Consortium; to them, it's another empire that will fall, just like the Hive.
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