Kingdom of God: A Quest of Holy Revolution

The 30th of Tislev is indeed beautiful. Orlachag, the festival of lights, is a celebration of the hope not just for a better world but its accomplishment in the Kingdom of God, and even the most cynical and exhausted must take some solace in the silence of the factories and the joy of the streets. The winter storm has come and gone, and those who mourn, mourn, while those who have survived praise God and the Sanhedron.

Those men and women of the Sanhedron are ensconced in prayer in the Muvad Mekdash, the day a sanctum from the tumult of history unleashed. Some close enough to their estates and cities have even taken holiday, with the Elder Akabar Morsi returning to Kedarkan to spend a few days in his home circle. The Patriarch himself, it is reported, is in seclusion, not seen since the night before, surely enjoying the reprieve and the rest owed to a vicar of the holy God.

The railway workers are mostly on break as well, with only the most essential cargo being laden. Whilst the witches and souls of the Autocephalates keep working, it is at a lower and a slower pace, knowing well that their pious bosses are unlikely to bother them on this, the most essential of all winter holidays. The night-time service continued into early morning for the scholars of the city, who spent hours poring over legal texts and debating them till their eyes are red and their throats hoarse, as has become tradition for those inclined to associate the festival with the illumination of the past half-century.

It is a brisk but cloudless morning. Sailors are snoozing and singers dancing in popular parades, but for the sects and their disciples who have wrapped themselves in new and invigorated faith the morning is a time for service. In the HaKhofshim Mekdash, prayer begins with hymns and praises, then readings from the Book of Ghadi, lectures by Dvorah and guest speakers like the Ma'on martial artist Hugi Bakom, who shows off a new method for grappling developed from Guru Bluff's instruction. Bluff himself is at temple too, having brought many of the most prominent members for Ma'on for the morning service as a gesture of support. In the evening, a number of the sages of HaKhofshim will join him at the Ma'on Mekdash, several blocks down, in reciprocal alliance.

Everyone is determined, and in firm belief and confidence that they will soon be prepared for a true streetfight. The Starshy Ilyon, sent by Varhan Sarbadgar, has already begun providing basic advice from his veteran's perspective on keeping order and taking cover, and the destructive power of the new rifles sent to the sect by Sarbadgar. The good Komandir himself is at Karogen Academy, having declined the Sanhedral service in preference for a more private affair with his own officers at the Academy hosted by the dean. The Jury of Nachivan is quiet, in its fortresses. And, of course, the Synodic Archdeacons have all fled, and if they take their service, it is somewhere far away, from Nachivan, and you think, God.

It is a day of merriment. A day of calm. A day of peace.

A day no one would suspect.
Nuns from the convent of the Eucharist are the first to spot oddness. Far away, a flock of birds fly high, from the direction of the city wall. There's distant commotion some blocks south, but it is hard to tell if the cause is just a parade -

Boom.

An explosion. From the Heavenly Mount. Large, by the sound, a thunderclap that shakes windows. Black smoke rises, from the barracks of the Cheshvan mothguard. Disciples from inside the Mekdash come out to see, and then gape in horror. No. It can't be. What has happened? Is the Patriarch -

Further explosions, much more distant, coming from the south and east. Dhagan House, and Targon Monastery. More disciples come out. Mouflons open window shutters and come onto balconies. Some cry out to God when they see the smoke rising from the Heavenly Mount, and fall to their knees in terror.

And then, a piercing blast from the Mount. The Horn of Ages, meant only to be blown at the turning of the year, a majestic dirge that dies suddenly on the lips of its player. Not in its required regal descent, but in a whimper and a gasp.

Sounds like pops, from the north. Is it happening, disciples whisper in utter dread? No one is prepared. It can't be. It's a holy day. A day of peace, they couldn't...a sinking feeling that they could, and of course they would. Of course today. Of course, and the authority that grant exemptions to observance - the Great Synod, whose members are safely - safely outside the city -

Several disciples of Ma'on break off from service, begging apologies, and rush back to their temple, street gurus scattering to rally disciples. Ilyon advises order even as he is clearly anxious himself - Sarbadgar is not at the Sanhedron, the weapons -

Disciples start to shout at one another as a crowd begins to form, and then from the north, a sound that has not been heard in two hundred years. Inside every golem gate statue, as if to simulate an iron tongue, are great graggers, noisemaking lips of metal that clap against a gear inside the golem. The clacking can be heard for leagues, and has always been Nachivan's great warning system against invasion. The operators of the golem are mocked as men of sinecure, who have never worked a true day in their lives, but now -

Clack. Clack.

The crank begins, then louder and faster, from Yovan Golem, closest to the Sanhedron. Then returned by one golem, then another. Clack. Clack. The Western Golems. Clack. Clack. The Eastern Golems. Clack - Clack, clack, clack, clack, clackclackclackclack -

A shrill and toneless sound, and then, not soon after, the first true confirmation of the worst possibility. Of what is happening. Of who is happening. Men and women running south, some in bloody shirts, screaming, panic spreading. The Jurors are coming. They've shot into a parade in Juror's March. They're marching on the Sanhedron. Oh, god, oh god. The Patriarch is dead, the Patriarch is fled, they're going to kill us, they're going to kill us -

Baba Tanda slams steel-toed boots into the ground and makes a tremendous racket, and the disciples are shaken from their stupor. The Guns of Hasadaya, brothers, the rifles of Sarbadgar, sisters, she shouts. The Six-Shin-Aluf, everyone, she demands. Unfurl it.

Wendam is shaken. Dvorah is pale-faced. Akov is grim and ashen. But Baba Tanda shouts, and then shouts louder, barking orders that all follow. And now the crowd is watching too, the crowd of the panicked on the street, the horde of the people who are filing out from everywhere. Who had their days off. Who now whisper of murder. Of Apostasy. Of Treason. Of Attack.

Who demand justice.
And the banner of justice's come.

The Six-Shin Aluf, for the first time since Kutan. Disciples, rallying, forming a huge mob. Ravs of Labour, in their holiday clothes. Nuns of the Gunpowder Eucharist, in their formal dresses. Flagellants of the Scourge of God, in patched uniforms. Guru Wendam, rising up on a bucket branded with Komnandir's Shulgi's anointing soap. Shouting down to the mass, not just the disciples with their arms and ammunition passed about, not just to their ally Ilyon, but to the assembling people, who look up now. The crowd mutters to one another, skeptical. They have guns, they whisper. These strange sectarians, with their six-shin-aluf, they have guns.

There is no time for speeches now. No time for grand pronouncements. A red-faced sprinting Ma'on street guru, coming from the north with fifty men, hands a paper to Wendam ripped from a temple door. He reads it out.

That is it. That is all. That is how they wish to smother freedom, with a slip of paper and the naked hand of treacherous and vilely deployed force. But, Wendam asks, do we bow to them? And the disciples, who tie headbands to their heads with shaking fingers shout, nay! And Dvorah shouts: We will stand against the sword, and break its edge! And the disciples call out a ragged cheer, and re-ignite the fire of Kutan. And Tanda yells: And we shall show them, who are the true children of the righteous judge! And the disciples scream, voices breaking from the tenor of your outrage.

And from up the street, a horde of young men with orange shirts and melee weapons, some carrying revolvers or outdated rifles, carry a banner of their own.

And there is the hand of God, red with wicked blood spilled right. Ma'on is here, Guru Bluff declares, and Ma'on is ready. More news streams south as the crowd grows larger, turns into a mob. More volunteers come out, some of them the girls from the factory upstairs, some the cassowary fighters, some merchants, some mouflons, some low priests. All, together, now, for the sake of freedom. For the sake of survival. They take orders, or else demand that they be sent somewhere. You are new to them, but Ma'on is not, and the Western Navel remembers its protection, and they see you with your weapons and your war demeanor: So use it, and protect your city!

There is no time left. Only action now will save you from the death of hope. They come, and they come in their multitudes, from everywhere to engulf you. They swarm you, but you will cut them down. They engulf you, but you will cut them down!

The bridges have been fortified and closed, cutting the city into thirds. There are rumors Sword-Altar has marched to Doshan Castle, and maybe Dhagan House. There is fighting around the Sanhedron at the Muvad Mekdash, where many elders are now trapped. The situation on the Heavenly Mount is unknown. There are sounds of fighting. Columns are approaching it.

But if thy hoped for simple victory, a quiet triumph and a temple coup, they have made a grave mistake. It is Orlachag. To break it is blasphemy; to break it in this way is heresy. Every soul in the city who was on break from work is out on the streets. Before, celebrating. Now, with news of a massacre at Yovan Gate, howling. There is an energy that is as infectious as it is angry. The cobblestones are boiling with rage. Many of them are being pried off, and primitive street-walls are already being formed. The Ravs, who have some builders among them, see an opportunity.

Sword-Altar has declared war on Nachivan, and so it has declared war on God. But they are clever and sly, and have timed it well. The telegraph lines are cut off to the east and west. The railway workers are on break almost everywhere but in the Autocephalates. Most of Sword-Altar's enemies are in temple. They could not have expected this. You could not have. Who could have? But they have acted. The Patriarch may be dead. The Sanhedron may be besieged, perhaps it has already fallen.

But the alternative is to flee. And you cannot. There is no time, and no path to heaven lies behind you, with your tail between your legs.

The only option is that which Pugilists learn from their first lesson: to thrust a fist, to the jaw of evil.
The crowd that has gathered to listen to you is huge. It is unwieldy. But it demands orders. And you must give more than one order. There is too much to do. Too much to deal with. Ma'on is here, and their manpower added to yours forms you into a street militia. But you need Sarbadgar, and his machine guns and Starshy Ilyon claims, artillery. You need the other sects, who have been cut off by the Jury's seizing of the bridges. You need the Sanhedron, and its elders. And you need to safeguard the safety of your children and the safety of your people.

But thanks to God, you are not alone. You have sectpower. Now, use it.

Riot rules are activated. You are now a revolutionary mob, centered around the sect, in a desperate fight for survival.

Choose one option from below. Each option will take place simultaneously with the support of those who voted for it. The more who vote for an option proportionately, the more powerful the effect is. The more who vote for it period, the more powerful the effect is. This will collect into the sectpower of each action, which is influenced both by how many votes it has and the proportion who have voted for it. Ma'on will be supporting your actions and providing you a significant manpower multiplier.

If you have been lurking the quest until now, or held back, now is the time. If you have a friend who is interested, now is the time. If you are a complete bystander, and simply want to participate in a holy revolution, now is the time.

Not every option is created equal. Some options make sense to commit more people to. Discuss among yourselves.

Nachivan depends on it.

[] Retrieve Sarbadgar from Karogen Academy and reinforce his push on the Sanhedron [Scourge of God will be supporting this action].

Starshy Ilyon: "We need brave fighters to get to Karogen Academy and provide an escort and support for Sarbadgar and his forces from the Academy. He will need both logistical support in pulling his artillery and our bulletsplitter machine guns and an armed escort to prevent an ambush from Sword-Altar before he can get there."

[] Get the children and elderly of the sect to safety.

Guru Wendam: "Brave souls who are willing to put aside glory in battle for glory in survival must protect our children and our elders who cannot fight. We will not abandon our own, ever. There are sympathetic families and temples of a non-sectarian type who can offer them refuge here. Ma'on knows many. It must be done now."

[] Build barricades in the streets and fortify the Great Synod [Ravs of Labour will support this actin].

Rav Bukak: "These are the times that try our lives, but we must remain focus as strikers do before the firing squad. The House of Creation is the largest building in the area, has no garrison, and if the Sanhedron falls the Elders will fall back here. We need to break into that damned retirement home, fortify it, and barricade the streets."

[] Menace Vikrag Prison and prevent sorties [Nuns of the Gunpowder Eucharist will support this action].

Galavani Chana: "We cannot directly push the bridge with Vikrag held by the Jurors, and we do not know what numbers they hold inside. We need enough brave souls who are willing to bottle them up and inform on their disposition. It is an old fortress - surely there are ways in that do not require artillery."

[] March on the Sanhedron and protect the Elders at all costs.

Kendanaya Dvorah: "No matter what we may feel about its more moderate members without the Sanhedron none of this has been possible. They are the greatest target aside from the Patriarch and stand directly athwart the main route south at the Muvad Mekdash. Our fellow-sects, Elder Kardon Hadi - God, it must not fall!"

[] Fortify the streets around the Heavenly Mount.

Baba Tanda: "Creature of his chamber or no, if the Patriarch is captured and the holy ghost put into jeapardy it will be a Temple Coup. They will massacre us in the streets and he will order his flock to stand down for he will have no other choice. The Cheshvan Mothguard must hold the Mount itself - we will close the streets."

[] Write-in.

Hyanaki Akov: "Let it not be known that this is a dictation! All who have ideas, all who have proposals wise and cunning, speak up now, or forever be silent!"

Be advised you have limited information. Not everything you hear is true, and you will hear contradictory information. Rumors are everywhere. The telegraph lines outside of the city have been cut almost everywhere. If messages were sent out before, they will take time to reach their intended recipients.

Good luck, and godspeed.

For now, is the deluge.