Dɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ Cᴏʟᴏʀ ✦ #38028A || Tʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ Cᴏʟᴏʀ ✧ #6A339E
The rain kept pouring down, soaking through my mantle and running down my emaciated body, sending a chill all the way down to my very bones. I shivered, pulling my drenched garb more tightly around me as I struggled to stay standing on aching legs, the wind beating down on my face in icy blasts. Struggling to be heard over the noise of the storm, a man stood atop a podium, reading to each prisoner of their crimes and their sentence. Of course, it hardly mattered what the crime was. Some of these men might have been ruthless savages and enemies of the imperium. Others might simply have stolen a loaf of bread. Regardless, there was only one penalty that it was worth Yulia's time to make them pay.
Reaching the end of the line, where I stood shivering, the herald looked down at me with an air of confusion, as though unable to understand why I, wretched creature that I was, stood condemned amongst so many formidable knights and knaves. Struggling to make out the words on the drenched parchment, the ink running together in rivulets down the page, he at last determined the words of my sentence. As he spoke, for a split second, the storm grew still, the weight of my judgment resounding throughout the courtyard.
"Renevari le Frey, formerly Renevari le Murre... Your crime is your very existence!"
He stopped here for a moment, seeming confused by this, but nevertheless continued to recite the orders that had been laid down for me. "Due... Due to the threat you pose to Yulia and its interests, the High Inquisitorial Council has sentenced you to exile, with limited possibility of pardon. If you would seek to return to Yulia, you must make amends, and return unto this great nation the power which you have stolen from it. Return bearing the magic of the fallen land of Elidia, or not at all! That is the fate that has been decided for you!"
I hung my head. Now it all made sense. The Fallen Land of Elidia, said to be replete with ancient magics... Of course the Inquisition would turn their attentions to such a place as it became clear that the power of their own kingdom was waning. That was what the Inquisitor had meant when he said that I would serve as Yulia's "vessel." I was to go into this kingdom, and use my own twisted brand of sorcery to take its powers upon myself. Only then would I at last be able to be of service to anyone. And yet... more likely than not - no, almost without a doubt - I would die long before I could achieve such a preposterous feat. The fallen land was a kingdom only of the dead, filled with monstrosities and curses without end. With only knaves and fallen heretics as my guardians, how could one as hopeless as myself ever dream of surviving in such a place?
This sentence wasn't exile. It was death. And even in that death, I wouldn't be of use to anyone.
Maybe the herald, and the Inquisitors he spoke for, were right?
Maybe I really was cursed, just like the land I was about to venture unwillingly into...