Book 9. Chapter 22: Kaelan and Lissandra - Rekindling the Front Lines
Kaelan wiped a smear of greasy soot from his brow. The bone-white stone of the incinerator room reflected the violent orange glow of the furnace–a stark contrast to the eternal stillness of Morvalis.
He hefted his heavy iron pitchfork, shoving another load of mangled flesh into the roaring flames. These weren't standard ghouls. They were stitched together with jagged, blackened wire, their veins pulsing with a sickly, oily residue. They were the remnants of the betrayers' experiments–the Tartarus abominations that the new ruling faction had spent the last several weeks violently purging from the continent.
“Watch the temperature, you clumsy spark,” a sharp, nasal voice snapped from the shadowed archway.
Priest Vane stood at a safe distance, a perfumed handkerchief pressed to his nose. Vane was a mid-level functionary of the Church of Mortem, one of the many who had quickly bent the knee when the terrifying, unliving Emberborn arrived to take over the capital. But behind closed doors, Vane still clung to the old dogma.
The Church valued the pristine preservation of death, focusing their worship on the elegant, unblemished cycle of souls and bone. To them, only pure necromancy was holy. Nearly thirty percent of the populace was born with affinities for the natural elements like fire, wind, and water, rendering them completely incompatible with the Church.
But the priests were merciless even to their own. Mages born with death-adjacent affinities–the poison-weavers and the curse-binders–were branded heretics. Poison melted the sacred flesh. Curses agitated the soul, breaking the holy stillness. They, too, were cast down into the shadows alongside the elementals to do the messy, thankless work.
“You are burning them too hot,” Vane sneered, his silver holy symbol glinting in the firelight. “Such a waste of perfectly viable, raw necrotic material. The Church could have cleansed them. Reused them. Instead, these new savage overlords order everything reduced to ash.”
“The taint is too deep, Priest Vane,” Kaelan replied, keeping his head respectfully bowed as he worked. “If I don't burn them hot, the miasma lingers. It corrupts the stone.”
“Do not lecture me on corruption, street rat,” Vane hissed, stepping just out of the reach of the heat. “Look at what these Hearthtribe heathens are doing to our world. They are gathering the dregs. Venom-spinners, hex-casters, and elemental flaws like you. They are offering them sanctuary. It is a disgrace.”