Kingdom of God: A Quest of Holy Revolution

From Underneath the Yoke

So it is written, so it is said: That the ox that loves its chain still tills the earth for the sake of evil. The liberation of the heart from the prison of oppression is not a single act but the slow healing of the sick from the pestilence of tyranny. Those still ill are to be pitied and not hated, and their insults the weak prods of the blind and forgotten. This is so of the penitents of Hasadaya, who look side-to-side and not up to blame for their troubles, and for this they cannot be faulted. They are ignorant souls, and if there is a sin that you have done, it is to not lift them up.

The criminals, when they are told of this, scoff and say that they have learned enough, that they do not need your advice, that the world is lost to you who have turned against it. But, Wendam says sharply, this world is a falsehood, and we will see it is lost once and for all. And, he adds, to the skeptical and the hateful of the penitent masses, their day will come as well, when they will wash their faces in the basin of freedom. When that day comes, and when they are ready, he will join them. You all, will join them.

And the criminals hear him, and their hearts harden, and they shrug away the core of revelation and retreat to their small and enserfed lives. But for the sect, there is no way but forward, and no life but that which is still to come. So turn the awoken from the sleepers, and so turn the illuminated from those engulfed in shadow.

But all pray that in time they will meet again, at the end of days, and on that battlefield, there will not just be Qanam, Wendam, Tanda, but Kondo the Stamper, and Uya the Stabber, and Atoni the bird-shooter. So it is wished for, and so it is done.

This is the unfaltering resolve of pugilism, that builds the last alliance of the good to save all humanity, made even of those who at first reject salvation.

Free, As Our Fathers Were

And as the Sect faces the villagers of Xococo, at the foot of a ruin's dream another now is born.

The ashes of old Kutan cannot be resurrected from the pyre of its conquest, but the tide will turn. The dominators falter, and the candle burns back the hand that snuffs it. How many little girls and boys like Kali have died for the sake of gold and slips of paper? How many yet are sacrificed on the altar of debt obligation? There is but one premier obligation above all others, and it is the first order of God: to love thy neighbor as they love thyself. For eight years, Xococo was your neighbor, and you shared with it the fields and the land which was owed to them but which they have been denied by the venality of distant monks. For eight years, you shared in happiness and sorrow, sowing and reaping, winter and summer, festival and funeral. These are bonds that cannot be broken by a momentary fright and the chaos of an evacuation. Wendam reaches out and offers his hand to the speaker, and the speaker offers his hand back, and as they grip one another they see: five fingers and one palm, one a shade darker and a shade lighter, intertwined.

All of man is God's creation, and when the spire built by the masters of man to reach heaven toppled and God scattered you like stars across the continent to free the slaves that built it, he did so that you would find your way back to one another, not as enemies fighting over the domains of his creation, but friends to share it. And as Wendam laughs and the speaker's eyes shine behind his mask, you know that you have found a friend. The villagers atop the hill cheer in relief as the speaker shouts an affirmation, and sing in their language of the land of cloud-mountains, where the potatoes grow great and the moa hatch eggs of shining gold, and you sing of the world to come, where the rainbow serpent's scales will gleam with the light of angels. The speaker grants his name, Wani Capac, and vows that you will meet again.

Two pilgrimages depart, one to the eternal city, and one to the eternal mummy. One to a river great and overflowing, another to a mountain sheer and overwhelming. But both with their children, their old, and their sick and wounded well in tow. Both, to the world to come.

Both, to be free, as all your fathers were, once long ago.

The Station

There, ahead, is the railway station. There, ahead, is the terminal from which runs a line connected to the pedestal of God. Railroads are part of the sacred geometry of Vaspukaran; to cut them is sacrilege, to build them is sacrament. Rav Kosun who innovated the broad gauge is sanctified among all of the Order of the Golden Spike who maintain the lines and run the trains. Each locomotive is a bull of heaven that belches a steam of rage at the distance that divides the souls of man. The spiral of truth, core principle of all faiths in God's Kingdom, states that truth is a winding maze by which the mysteries of creation are unveiled.

As more is illuminated of the spiral, and progress is made on every front of human discovery, the soul draws closer to the root of creation, the ultimate theory of existence. The ancient copper king Ran Tang Yoo was more enlightened than the ensigns of Kokab, and the Bambisnan Vashti who was martyred by the Malek of Babarak more enlightened than he, and Sufgan who brought the angel Simurgh to his house of worship even more, and Amalgast infinitely more than all before, and the Six Ravs more, and the Pasan Ghadi more, and Myriam more than he, and now, at the end of this chain of knowledge, do you sit, at the cusp of a new age of relevation.

And what is before you? Hollow men, who choose immolation over redemption. What is to be done to those who refuse the spiral of truth and cling to old traditions? You beseech the jurors guarding the railway station. Here is your komandir: we have him tied up. Here is your wounded, who we tend to them as we do our own. Here are your brothers, who have accepted the revelation and been inducted into the mass of the sect, accepting the salvation of the righteous and the good. Why not join them now? And here is a vast horde of us, who will surely defeat you, if you dare resist.

But they give four denials: that we do not care for our komandir, that our wounded should have died, that our brothers are disowned, and that we are not afraid to go extinct, for the sake of Black Elephant and the holy vow of the juror's bravery, to die before surrender. They fortify the station, hiding behind white-bleached walls of the pathetic guardman's post, and send out useless telegrams when the line has been cut already by the actions of Rector Qanam, who acted fast with an axe and five supporting riders to bring down a pole south of here and doom their hope of warning others.

The Vow of the Flagellent

And it would be the end. It would be the end of them, and the end of their line, and the end of hope for their mortal souls, if that was all that happened, and they were allowed to light their standard and come the same end as the men below the fortress Hasadaya. But then, Hyanaki Akov steps forward.

Hyanaki Akov, who has been deprived of everything. Hyanaki Akov, who urged his brothers to choose life, and watched a cavalcade of death. Hyanaki Akov, who just as much as anyone, dreams so much of home, but refuses to let it become a draught that blinds him to the future. Hyanaki Akov, who will not let another brother waste his time on earth beneath a banner burning for the sake of nothing but the ghost of honor.

Hyanaki Akov walks forward calmly in the rocky field between the sect and the jurors. He rends his clothes and shouts, here is what they who send us into war, think of our mother-tailored uniforms. He takes a bullwhip and slashes it across his bare back three times, drawing blood, and screams, here is what they think of our bodies that they send to be blown apart. He scoops a hand of bloody sand, and smears it across his headband, and sobs, here is the wreath of gold they think that we deserve. Here, he says as he hoists up a bandolier of ammunition and hangs it atop his forehead, is the wreath of thorns they offer.

What is a soul worth, he howls to the silent men, to those who promise us salvation? Nothing at all but a number on a ledger, or an item to be cleared from a promised pension. What is a soul worth, when it is sent to die for nothing? Who will remember you who immolate here, save those who you fight against, and who will think you simple the objects of their pity? What heroism is to be gained by your sacrifice, to burn for the sake of Atamans who think you shit underneath their boots? To die turning against your Patriarch for the sake of the treasury accounts of the villains you call komandirs? These men, who stuff ballots and think our sacred votes a joke to be manipulated and not a custom to be unquestioned?

He thrusts his arms forward, trembling, tears streaming down his face down to his bare chest scarred with wartime wounds, his sharp Nesran top-knot quivering, his tattoos highlighted on his skinny, poorly-fed frame.

And Akov says to the jurors: Do not be a coward now and die, but take heart and live! Damn you all to hell below, live!

And he collapses to the ground, bowing his head down, expecting to die here as the bullets are exchanged, and there is a long quiet. But then he feels a hand upon his shoulder, and then another, and then a huddle all around, as the jurors of the mass and the jurors of the railway station both step forward, and each reach out to bring him up, as the standard of the Black Elephant is lowered from its pole. And as the members of the sect tentatively step forward, the jurors each throw down their arms, and pass the bullwhip about, and make a vow: A vow to surrender, a vow to life, and a vow to return home. And then, all of them at once, they sing.

They do not stop singing to stop Wendam as he carries the Six-Shin-Aluf preciously draped in his arms, now pockmarked by bullets, and they do not stop singing to stop him as he starts to hoist it high. And then Yoni the young sneezer joins him, and they do not stop him, and helps with the flagstaff's rope, and then Chana the shouter joins him, and they do not stop her, and then Tanda, and Qanam, and then the rest of the sect, young and old, big and small, and then the Six-Shin-Aluf flies above the station.

And in the distance, the smoke of a locomotive, coming nearer. And as they await it, the whole sect and mass and a great host of the jurors gathered together, share a meal, the first of the day, and pray the afternoon prayer in the direction of the city of Nachivan. Some of the jurors sit in respectful silence well away, but others form a great horde around Akov, who quakes with newfound iron faith, granted the title Flagellant as he and Wendam do their best to inculcate the exhausted and poorly paid soldiers in the doctrine of the sect and mass.

And it is here, at last, that your legend truly begins.

Hyanaki Akov has been added to the leaderpool. He is a Nesran former juror who has experienced a religious revelation and has a bonus to actions related to Jurors, especially common standard-bearer Jurors rather than the monastic elite.

Choose one doctrine to incorporate permanently into your sect's reputation, philosophy, and legend. This will represent the lessons and effect of the journey so far on the sect and its effect on the sect's culture. This doctrine will grant a small permanent bonus to a specific category of actions rather than being a general focus such as the decision for discipline, fervour, or popularity as your primary attribute.

This doctrine can later be strengthened and improved.

[] The Doctrine of Extinguishment. A doctrine attacking the practice of immolation and Juror philosophy in general, extinguishment is a general critique of the honor and self-sacrificing culture of Juror tradition from a place of intimate familiarity and drawing from the Pasan Ghadi's writings. Pursuing this doctrine will significantly strengthen actions related to negotiating with, appealing to, and converting Jurors. It will however, also be seen by Juror Atamsans and Komandirs everywhere the sect spreads as a threat that must be rooted much earlier than otherwise.

[] The Doctrine of Converging Revelation. A doctrine adapting to a disparate and fractured schismatic landscape, Converging Revelation draws from Opernani Myriam's historical apologies for allied Amalist sects made to shore up commonalities. It seeks to exploit vectors of agreement between different sects and inculcate sect alliance as a sacred principle. Converging Revelation makes forming radical alliances easier and allows you to even adopt versions of their own doctrine into your own, at the expense of weakening your appeal to moderate pugilists.

[] The Doctrine of Relentless Illumination. A doctrine that demands a dedication to missionary effort and appeal to the masses even when they at first reject the words of the sect, Relentless Illumination is drawn from both the precursor to the Pugilists, the great Rav Karogen, and later militant pugilist writers such as Bavan Kina who emphasized the necessity of breadth of belief in order for Pugilism to survive. Relentless Illumination emphasizes an aggression and universalism in movement-building that competing sects and priestly authorities will find threatening.

Ride the Rails to Freedom

The Order of the Golden Spike that runs the railroads is young and proud and brash like a new-fit soldier boy, and so when the train arrives and is immediately surrounded by hundreds of armed souls the train crew panic and open fire with their arms meant to protect from bandits. The boy who takes the shot and downs an older juror is shot in turn, and then it is pandemonium as both the converted jurors and the sect's exhausted and by now absolutely desperate membership storm the train. It is a passenger train built in Henoch and therefore has few of the icons and totems typical of trains: iconoclasm is influential there and the designers prefer fine geometries and angles to please God inside, lines and fine-carved stars.

It is also in a desperate state as the surfeit of taxes being applied in the Mission of Kutan are choking the purses of the low priests and urban mouflons who would use it, and so many of the seats are worm-bitten and the coach windows dirty and uncleaned. The train crew thankfully surrender as the crew car is besieged and broken into where the souls of the sect find the poor conductor, is in fact the twenty-two year old Dyada Tarina Sayina covering for her ill and much older husband the train abbot Hugu Stipak. In Vaspukarani custom, a single title or position may be shared between a married husband and wife, and so a dyada serves as the apprentice and second of her husband, able to replace him when he is indisposed. The Dyada and the novice nun hiding with her underneath her bed is found and dragged before Guru Wendam, her habit half-ripped and in tears, and he sighs and slaps hard the men who brought her, forcing each to apologize.

He orders a samovar filled and prepared in the crew cabin, collects some small cakes from among the packed rations still on the wagons being transferred to the train, and pilfers some smelly tea from the jurors' own rations. A mother of the sect wraps her cloak around the still-petrified Dyada, while her husband, utterly incapacitated and delirious from fever in his own bed, mutters for the noise to be kept down. When she demands the novice nun called Rina be brought to her as well, Baba Tanda finally lets her go from among the rest of the captured train crew. In her presence, holding hands, the Dyada at least is calm enough to be negotiated with.

As the Dyada inspects her cup of tea as if expecting it to be brewed with gunpowder Guru Wendam very kindly and calmly explains to her that the sect is on its way to Nachivan and cannot afford the costs of the trip, so they will need the tickets covered. The Dyada calls them bandits and Guru Wendam points out the portrait of the Patriarch Maravan, famed for completion of the railway Godspine which runs across the length of the whole of Vaspukaran, and that they are simply following the will of the Patriarch in exercising their freedom denied as schismatic penitents.

Then Sayina's eyes widen and she curses. The Patriarch's edict has created mass chaos across the country, she says bitterly, as everywhere penitents either schismatic or pretending to be are trying to escape their estates and flee on trains, carriages, and footpaths home. She cannot understand why he would do something so foolish, especially to reinforce his edict a mere week later by saying those who oppose the freedom of those who he has pardoned will become penitents themselves.

The sect are, as far as she concerned, awful, awful bandits, and likely heretics as well, who murdered the poor monk Ghumi who was just trying to protect the train. Wendam points out bandits do not have tea time with their hostages. He outlines that they need to get to Wertag and receive passports to get to Nachivan, and she admits that is a meager request, but that she cannot forgive them.

Standing up, Wendam shrugs and says only that forgiveness is not for her to bestow. He has the wounded and the sick and the righteous on board, and he acts on the word of God, so it will be she who will beg forgiveness if she tries to cross them. The Baba Tanda, standing in the back, idly spins her revolver, and the Dyada grasps the point. Rina whispers something in her ear, and she sighs and accepts that they must take them to Wertag, but that they must compensate them somehow. Wendam agrees, and offers a small portion of the Komandir's ransom, at which point the Dyada almost faints.

Leaving the train, Guru Wendam surveys it. There are enough seats to fit all the wounded, sick, exhausted and the children and their belongings, but some will have to ride atop it. It will be several hours to Wertag, but with a hostage in tow and now several hundred armed souls, they are a formidable force the town would not be able to stand up to if they are not given forewarning. As Wendam walks, all cheer for him, and many wave small banners of red or gold, and the Six-Shin-Aluf is packed up. Wendam now calls out to the sect:

"How should we approach Wertag? As conquering heroes, with their banners high, or armed pilgrims, neat and polite but always ready for a fight?"

[] As heroes, the Six-Shin Aluf flying high, to put fear into the heart of villainy.
[] As pilgrims, to show honest piety and shame those who would dare to stop us.