Cantate Lamentationem

Urbis Gloriosae Nostrae

Carxandria; city of the divine.

Few things on earth can compare to the ancient glory of Carxandria. The city is as old as time itself, having many layers of history upon its surface, each adding to its lore, and countless beneath it, forgotten by most save in myth and song. From one side to the other, everything within adds to its beauty. The sea lies on its eastern harbor and Lake Copiah frames the western harbor, connecting it to the water intimately with its trade and the bounty that accompanies it. From its north, a massive bridge spans the channel connecting Lake Copiah to the sea, and to its south, a promontory of land connects the city to the continent. The history of the city is always one of struggle mixed with prosperity. Change has ever been a storm it could weather…

The moonlight, ever vigilant in its watch, lit the towers and grand houses of Carxandria: its rich mansions, the modest trader and shopkeepers’ homes, the military forts, the adobe huts of the poor district, the bountiful and orderly fields about the lake and the chaotic trade district along its many channels. Temples and gardens, libraries and theatres, towers and impenetrable walls, not to mention the thousands of homes all surrounded the center where there stood a tall man-made hill of stone and earth and, set upon its summit, the largest buildings for the king, priests, and offices of the state. The Acropolis towered above all in the moonlight and its statues and marble structures shone brightly even as its torches flickered under the gusts of wind high above the city. The city shone with a brilliant light, its surface a perfect image of glory and wealth.

Below the acropolis, under its three layers on its north side, and into the poor district, the sparkling image of grandeur fades. At its stone base, just behind a row of dirty adobe houses stacked on top of one another, a party of eleven walked slowly. A torch held aloft by a man dressed too fine for his surroundings led the way and another, almost identical figure in dress and items took up the rear. Beside the party was a man dressed in a fine cloak, glancing about nervously as he followed them. Between the two finely dressed men, several rough and ill-dressed men carried along three elongated sacks tied about the middle. All three sacks struggled in the arms of the men as they were carried aloft and muffled sounds came from within.

The moonlit night ignored the muffled cries and sight of these men, shining instead upon the glowing rooftops in a pompous display to catch the eye and distract. The party followed the base of the acropolis and continued on through the city, down a set of stairs to follow the waterfront, abandoned at the hour of daemones. They followed it till they reached an arched stone passageway that led beneath the streets of the city. Into its dark embrace, they continued, their shadows lengthening in the light of the two torches.

The splendor of Carxandria had vanished and the world became slimy, dark; uncleaned for hundreds of years. Here the refuse dwelt, physical and allegorical light was snuffed out, and deeds that must be accomplished are brought to fruition. In the sewers of the city, following a sluggishly moving waterway, the party continued along their slow path, seemingly oblivious to the stench and sights before them. Only the figure in the cloak acknowledged the smells and sights by covering his face and grimacing. They turned away from the massive tunnel beneath the city and into a smaller tunnel until they reached an expansive room that opened up under the earth. The room was filled with the smoke of fires and incense which floated about in a suffocating cloud. Figures stood about in small circles or knelt before men in robes, engaged in whispered conversation or prayers. All the people, however, were trivial compared to the centerpiece of the sanctuary. A giant statue projected out from the wall, its face pleasing to look at though its expression was cold. From his bare torso, many arms sprang forth from it and each hand lay open to bear a gift. Coins, silks, food, drink, games and naked figures, all made of stone, were just some of the items it offered to the miniature stone figures at its base as they looked up pleadingly like a band of small children.

The finely dressed men approached a door on the side of the statue as their servants roughly threw the struggling figures onto the ground before the statue. The man in the cloak stood aside and watched the proceedings with immense caution. At the statue's base, beside the figures pleading below it, two hands connected together in what seemed an offering were positioned, palms upward, to create a strange bumpy table by which the bundles wrapped in canvas lay. From the door in the rockface, another figure, more finely dressed than any before, with scarlet robes of silk and gold trim that flowed about him and opened near the right shoulder, emerged and the entire assembly of people stopped all conversation to watch and listen as the man approached the figures.

The new figure whispered, “Do you have him?”

“We do lord. This is the man you sought.”

The three figures in canvas were rolled out onto the floor, two men and a woman. One man, a servant, shivered in his tunic but remained silent. The other man and woman were completely undressed and the woman clutched at the canvas as she spilled out to cover herself from the statue before her and she bowed to it. The naked man was not so modest but not for lack of trying as his bound hands and mouth kept him from doing much but squirm.

The grand figure approached the woman and bent to lift her chin. “Do not be afraid of the Lord of Change. He welcomes your presence.”

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She lifted her gaze to peer into the face of the man before her. Grand was his raiment but hideous was his face, scarred and tattooed beyond recognition of what he once was. She shivered under his gaze as he proffered a hand to the side and one of the finely dressed men placed a bag into it. It jingled faintly. “For you, my dear. The Lord of Change repays his servants in what it is they desire. Go…find your husband and son and buy yourself comfort. Your days of working for the pleasure of men like this,” here he gestured at the bound and naked man on the floor, “are over.”

She bowed and took the bag. “Praise be to the one who brings change.”

“And he shall dear one, he shall,” said the grand figure, moving toward the bound man on the floor.

As the woman backed away, the cloaked man stepped forward and, in a proper, more imperious tone said, “I was promised to see what this cult was about…yet all I have seen is the snatching of men in the night. What is this?”

The grand and disfigured face turned to him. “Catonus of gens Conditius…a pleasure to see you again. We promised you answers and you shall have them.”

“Thus far, I have only seen a man trussed up and delivered to you. Where is the magic of old I was told so much about?”

All in good time.” The grand figure turned to his servants. “Is this he?”

“It is, lord. This a leading officer in the city guard, Belus. His weakness for his servant’s wife was truly his undoing.”

The grand figure nodded and gestured toward the men. They lifted the struggling figure onto the hands of the statue and he lay there, squirming still. The grand figure turned to the hooded man. “Watch and see…and who is this?”

He gestured to the man shivering in a tunic. One of the finely dressed men responded, “He is but a servant of Belus. He stood watch at the door of the chamber.”

The grand figure reached out and caressed the servant’s cheek. “Be not afraid. The lord of Change helps those who help themselves. Renounce your master, and walk another path.”

The servant nodded and the grand figure turned away in disinterest. The attention now lay on the squirming figure laid upon the hands of the statue which gazed down with its steadfastly cold stare. A hand shot out from the robes as he barked a command, “Bring forth the gem.”

The crowd stirred in excitement as one of the finely dressed men returned to the back room and came out with an object, about the size of a fist, wrapped in a purple cloth. He approached the grand figure and knelt, presenting the cloth upward. A hand snaked out and removed the cloth with care to reveal a gem, murky in color. From its interior, a faint light could be seen as it pulsed with an enticing glow, like a burning coal with a heartbeat. “Turn him over.”

The cloaked man watched in fascination as the naked officer was flipped over, his face toward the altar, and lifted a foot into the air by several hands as the grand figure placed the gem on the altar, just beneath the man’s head. “For the Lord of Change!” he cried out.

“For progress is made through him!” responded the onlookers.

The grand figure took the petrified man by the scruff of his neck and, with a smile, nodded to the men and pushed downward. The man's head smashed into the crystal and, instead of a sickening crunch coming from a a skull splitting on the gem, there was a shatter and a tinkling sound. The gem had broken under the impact and the light within seeped into the man’s head as his struggling became weaker. “May the Lord of Change grant you the power you rightly deserve. What you desire…and what you already possess hidden within.

The man’s struggle ceased as he collapsed onto the altar. The grand figure gestured to the men who took the limp yet still breathing figure from the table and removed him to the back room. The cloaked man, Catonus of gens Conditius, moved forward. “What will happen to him?”

“He will rest. In a few hours, we will test him to see what abilities he will form.”

“Will he gain abilities?”

“Of a sort. They will be intimately tied to his nature and reveal his true self.”

The cloaked head shook. “I would see that. But, why give it to him? He is a weak and vicious man.”

“Through magic, he may learn to be what he is meant to be. We simply reveal his truth to him.”

“His truth?”

“What truly lies within…what he had all along. We are learning the ability to unlock the secrets of the past and reveal man’s true potential.”

“But still…why him? Surely others who are already of a stronger nature would be better…”

“Simple. He will be of use to our mission.”

“And you couldn’t ask him to help?”

“Why ask him when you can reveal what is in it for him in the most intimate way possible…gifting him with magic.”

“Still…that seems a strange tactic. Highly illegal as well…”

“We will discuss in more detail in comfort if you wish.” The grand figure gestured to the back room where the officer had disappeared. “If you follow those who brought you here, we will see you are nourished. Our man’s power should manifest soon and you can see what we are truly speaking off and what the future of humanity holds.”

He turned and bowed to the statue as the crowd followed suit then continued their conversations and offerings. He then flicked his wrist toward the door. “My fellow members will lead you to my home along Lake Copiah. There, all your questions will be answered.”

Catonus nodded. “I shall expect to see you there.”

The grand figure nodded. “And you shall as soon as I finish my prayer.”

Catonus followed two members of the Order of Change reluctantly. The grand figure turned back to the statue before him and bowed low once more. “Change shall come in your name,” he whispered. “At the spilling of blood and the disruption of society, it will come. May our many sacrifices appease your justice and bring about the change we need…that we desire.”

He rose from his bow and left in a swishing of robes. Every figure he passed bowed low to him. None could stare into his face, ornate yet disturbing. None would dare to look upon it as the light of anticipation and fiendish joy crossed it.

The best was yet to come. At the cost of cities and civilizations, it would come.

Progress was inevitable.