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In the Hetmanate of Fheuv'n, long, long ago, when IVF stood for something else

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Chenier:
Letter from Guillaume Chénier   (26 days, 18 hours ago) [sent in december 2011]
Message sent to everyone in your realm (15 recipients)
Nobles of Fheuv'n, my Enweili brothers,

It is apparent that the daimons seek to strike fear into our hearts. Some rulers may seek to simply hide the information from their nobles, I would not.

Rather, I would tell you why you need not fear. For yes, there will be a great trial ahead, with a lot of suffering and death. We may all die because of it. But paradise awaits.

The signs have been numerous, for those with open eyes. But hard to confirm, mostly. Some of you may wonder why I so strongly believe we are the chosen people, and why our fate is none else than glory. Let me tell you that while my brother preached the same in his days, I was not always this confident.

In fact, my confidence started where his ceased to be. Let me explain. A few years ago, in the beginning of the last invasion, large hordes of monsters attacked Enweil with viciousness none had ever seen before. Nobles were not simply being wounded in battle, they were being killed and dropped like flies. At least a dozen died in battle in just a few days, trying to save Enweil from the invading hordes. Amongst them was my older brother, Nicolas Chénier, the Field Marshal of Enweil and first Supreme Chancellor. I was a priest at the time, and had not witnessed the battles. But as I heard of the news, the first thing I did was to go fetch my brother. My grief was too great, I could not accept that he had died. So I took a horse and a donkey, and brought his body with me to the North, where I bugged to the undead and to the West, where I begged to the goddess of the Daimons. My sorrow was too great, I was ready for anything to bring him back. But the undead could not return his soul, and the daimons would have perverted what he was. In the deserts of the West, in the outskirts of Taghalaz, I mourned. I cried, I yelled, and I chanted prayers to the gods. He had always been there for me, protecting me, I felt alone, vulnerable, and betrayed. My peers were dying left and right, and I did not know what to do.

My presence and chantings were not appreciated by the locals. These memories are blurred, and I do not remember if it was daimon worshipers or the New Path of the Dragon (they are both as bad, anyways), but shadows rose with a desert storm. I remember only screaming and stabbing. I do not remember how long it lasted, how many there were, if they were human or not, what time of day it was... These memories are all gone.

When the sand storm calmed, my body lay lifeless in the sand, buried in the sand. I do not know how long it was there, cold, drying out under the sands of the desert. But this, my brothers, is when I truly gained my faith. While I was a priest at the time, the words I preached had never truly echoed in my heart. Until then. For that is when the gods spoke to me. I was... I am not sure where. Neither on this world, but not yet in the next. I was alone, when they spoke to me. Many but united. They told me not to grief for my brother, that he was in their care now, and that I should celebrate his death instead of mourning it. They told me, however, that my own time had not yet come, and that I now had a great duty to achieve. They told me to return to my people, that I had to guide them to victory. That they had grand plans for us, and that our suffering would not be for nothing.

And then they cast me back. I awoke, buried under a foot of sand, having laid there for who knows how long. I was cold, icy cold. My throat was so dry I thought I had not drank in months. Pain crippled me, and I could not stand up. Their words echoed in my head for days, or so it seemed. It took a great amount of time before I felt my heart beat again. Then, some time later, I finally felt the need to breath again. The shock of it burst me out of the sand, where I grasped for air. All was dark around me, but I could see the sun was rising. My arms and my torso were littered with scars, scars I still have, but were intact and healed.

After I rose, I saw my brother's body next to me, surrounded by vultures. But as I scared them away, I noticed none of them had even touched him, and he was perfectly intact. I then carried him on my back as I walked back to Enweil, to bury him in Wheling's Imperial Crypt.

That, my brothers, is why my faith is so strong, and my determination resolute. The gods favor us, and regardless of what is to come, we can be content by knowing that bliss awaits us in the afterlife.

Guillaume Chénier
Hetman and Ataman of Imperskoe Viys'ko iz Fheuv'na, Duke of Iato, Ambassador of Imperskoe Viys'ko iz Fheuv'na

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