2nd of Saun 720 mid-afternoon
"Oy, master, gotcher shit right here." Fleaface said, taking a bloody rag off of his head, where the Theocratic priests had tried to carve a sigil onto his skin. Woe didn't want to know how he'd reacted to the attempt. Best he keep his troubles with the local clergy to himself. Yet, at the same time he couldn't have his servants disobeying the Theocratum.
"Very well, Fargis, you may go. Leave the stationery on the desk, as well as the prayer book."
Having said this, Fleaface muttered curses and invective under his breath as he took his leave of the mortalborn. Then, Woe got to work fixing his workspace for the trial to come.
Woe drew the curtains of his study, shielding himself from the worst of the evening Saun suns. Not for the first time, he thanked the fates and Sintra and whoever else would listen that his war had been fought largely under the cover of darkness. Had it been during the undying light of Saun, he might not have endured.
At any rate, he had a few materials gathered which Fleaface had graciously procured for him. An engraving pen, an invisible inkwell, and a brand new journal with which to write. Besides these stationery items, he also had a book of Theocratum Litanies and Prayers. That had been the easiest item to procure, with the Theocratum ramping up their efforts to spread the faith in the wake of Quacia's survival. Woe sensed an opportunity, however, to float Immortal sympathies during this time of upheaval. Many had lost their loved ones, bled for nothing as the Creep demolished their lives. Of course the Theocratum would call this a test of faith, or else credit their invisible god for the city's survival. Woe knew better. It was the magi who saved the city from ultimate destruction. It was the tolerance for powers beyond the ken of spirits and mortals that bolstered humanity.
Even so, it was not time yet to reveal his divine nature to the city he'd chosen for a home. Nor was it time to reveal his Immortal loyalties.
It was time to plant seeds, that would bear fruit in the coming arcs. It was time to set the stage for Sintra's ascension, and by extension Labrae's and his own. The Webspinners had served their purpose, but they were now hamstrung by centuries of tradition and backroom deals. It would be acceptable for them to shuffle off into the dustbin of history. And in their place? A new form of organization. A new religion even, one that uplifted those belonging to the most supreme Immortal line of Sintra.
So, Woe took a seat by his desk, which was provided just enough light by the shades in the windows. He took out his Theocratum prayer book, and began thumbing through its pages to find a suitable Hymnal that he could redeem.
Woe stopped on a page, the Crimson Hymnal, that was suitable for reciting alone or in a congregation. As good a place to start as any, his career as a writer of Immortal devotionals. He flipped over the title page, and went through the text, line by line.
Listen to his voice calling you,
Woe's shrugged, seeing this as an easy change. He only needed to change the gender of the object of prayer to female. Done.
Asking you for your blood,
Here it was tricky. While Sintra probably didn't balk at the idea of blood, that was not her domain. Also, it had far too much in common with the Theocratic obsession with bleeding. If he was to turn aside the peoples' loyalties from an invisible god to his divine mother, she would have to not remind them of the horror they'd be fleeing. So he tamed it a bit, with less gloom and doom promises, with a gentle suggestion that they listen.
Requesting for your ear,
A suitable change, and one far less specific and threatening than the primal call for blood. He continued to the next passage.
Hear the moan of our god,
God needed to change genders as well, so Woe thought. And also, moan delineated weakness on the part of Sintra, which wouldn't appeal to her. He scratched that part from the invisible document he was penning. In its place, he put song. Good enough? Perhaps. He could always alter it later. Onwards.
As we bleed in thoughts of him.
Again the reference to bleeding. This time Woe replaced it with 'obey' at first. For a moment he thought this would please his mother. Yet, he remembered it skirted close to her sister's domain of servitude. He struck it from the text,and replaced it with 'collude'. He could always think of a better synonym later on.
Astray with forgetfulness, you may go,
This brought a smile to Woe. Forgetting felt like a nod to him personally, and so he thought to inject a bit of himself into the document. The very act brought warmth to his heart, as he replaced forgetfulness with 'ignorance'.
Still, he calls for your blood, leading you back to him.
This was somewhat difficult. He'd already replaced blood with life before, but now he had second thoughts about repeating the replacement. Instead, he decided to vary it up.
Still, she calls for your faith, leading you back to her.
It wasn't an ideal replacement by any stretch, but it was as good as Woe could do without stepping on any of the domains of her rivals.
We shall give our hearts to you,
To heal your wounds, as we keep watch for you.
He took the next pair of passages together, as they very much bled one into the other (no pun intended.). Heart was again a reference to blood, and healing her wounds? That wouldn't do for Sintra at all. He thought about what Sintra wanted from her followers, as the mother of arachnids and goddess of entrapment. Then it came to him. She required obedience of the influential, but as a spider, also sustenance.
We shall give our bodies to you,
To feed your brood, as we keep watch for you.
The light of our lives is in your crimson glow
Fighting to ease the sorrow we sow.
While Sintra could don red as well as any other color, Woe once more felt the need to make a departure from the Theocratum's familiar motif of red and black. He replaced it with these lines:
The light of our lives is in your cold embrace
Fighting to ease the sorrow we sow.
It felt a little too close to the original text, but there would always be time for refinement later. Woe would continue to come back to the text as he improved in his ability to write.
Then from his grace, he shall send,
A peace will come to us in the end.
Woe felt the need to only make a few alterations to this passage, replacing grace with 'web' and peace with 'gifts'. As personal gain was one of the main motivators that lured many to the power of Lethroda.
So listen to his voice calling you,
Asking you for blood once again,
Woe went over these lines with swiftness, replacing the motifs of service and devotion with promises of potency, manipulation, and command.
So listen to her voice calling you,
Guiding you to rule once again,
And then, the last two lines, which Woe had more trouble with as he came to them:
Give unto him every drop,
For our crimson praise shall forever flow.
He agonized over this for several bits, trying to find the words, meaning, and motif that would support and please Sintra. It wasn't easy for him, as writing itself was a new skill to him. But in the end, his good vocabulary and skill with rhetoric carried him in the end.
Give unto her every break,
For our meager bodies shall forever elate.
Good enough, he supposed. Thus having committed the words to invisible ink, he let it dry before shutting the journal. Once he was recovered from his musing over the work he'd done that trial, he slipped the journal into a false drawer in his desk.
The Silken Hymnal
Listen to her voice calling you,
Requesting your ear,
Hear the word of our goddess,
As we collude in line with her.
Astray with Ignorance, you may go,
Still, she calls for your faith, leading you back to her.
We shall give our bodies to you,
To feed your brood, as we keep watch for you.
The warmth of our lives is in your cold embrace
Fighting to ease the sorrow we sow.
Then from her web, she shall send,
Her gifts will come to us in the end.
So listen to her voice calling you,
Guiding you to rule once again,
Give unto her every break,
For our meager bodies shall forever elate.
Requesting your ear,
Hear the word of our goddess,
As we collude in line with her.
Astray with Ignorance, you may go,
Still, she calls for your faith, leading you back to her.
We shall give our bodies to you,
To feed your brood, as we keep watch for you.
The warmth of our lives is in your cold embrace
Fighting to ease the sorrow we sow.
Then from her web, she shall send,
Her gifts will come to us in the end.
So listen to her voice calling you,
Guiding you to rule once again,
Give unto her every break,
For our meager bodies shall forever elate.
