The Sharadith
# Chapter One
(In the 33rd year of the reign of High Matriarch Ramsen of the Empire of the Petrified Child)
DEAR Milkweed,
It has been too long since I last saw you and our mother. If I had the means, surely, I would make the travel across Tseireph to our home, but grave events have ensured my continued residence in the hills of Anqhïrs. These will be explained in due time, and hopefully unchecked. I have intended to write to you for months ere now. I departed from you and our mother with such determination that I regrettably neglected to mention the reason for my flight. But I have continually read your letters with care and affection, yet without the time nor energy to write back—for all of these faults I am deeply sorry, my dear Milkweed, and I meant no alarm to you nor our mother. For my thoughts have been focussed almost wholly on the subject of my arrival here. That being the Sharadith. Those wretched creatures that have dwelt here since before you and I were but a thought in the minds of the Angels, how your heart must pound at their name! But it is not fear that drives me, but rather pity, for it has been my hypothesis that these creatures are not evil beasts, but rather curable men and women, ready to be made whole again, and their minds mended for the benefit of our imperial and holy Matriarchdom.
This flame within my mind was ignited by the venerable Priest Elkwort. It was during my studies at the grand temple that I learned of the intricacies of the Sharadith, beyond the tales our Mother told us. I was enchanted by the many things I read. How could these creatures enact such evil, without attracting the ire of the Child? Surely if any one of us unafflicted by the curse commited such evil transgressions as murder, or as exsanguination, we should be cast into the earth, and our entire being scattered within the meadows. And yet these detestable beings do such, and are not dealt with so justly. I believe this is for a reason. In the months I spent in the rooms of the temple, I read many scrolls in an endeavour to find this reason. Some of these scrolls were easy to understand, and yet these were worn by the hands of eager students like your brother, and their contents thus known by all who learn in those halls. The more igniting information was kept within those written in more archaic style, their contents obfuscated by the confusion of our tongue. And so I resolved to translate these texts.
Elkwort, knowing some of the ancient tongue as it pertains to the liturgy, was able to aid me in this matter. With his help, I was able to learn of the methods by which one might become a Sharadh, a process triggered by the consumption of the flesh or blood of a fellowperson. This dark truth shook me to my core as a fatal bell, ringing out upon a funeral, and at points I even considered abandoning my studies. And yet, as if by some unseen force, I was driven ever onward in my studies. I was struck by dreams, nay, nightmares, of what might happen were I to become a Sharadh, and what grave happenstance that would occur to facilitate this becoming. But it is best not to give heed to such thoughts, and the ever returning Sarvaran sunrise over the eastern horizon was fit to cast these apprehensions away into the ether. There was something of the east, even, that intruigued me, of the same species as this unseen force of motivation. Through further studies, it was proven to me by the ancient texts that the east certainly was the source of the Sharadith, that they make their origin in the hills of Anqhïrs, that wretched place in the south of the peninsula to our east. I thought, what significance does this location hold that I might be drawn there? It was now that I had made the decision to leave for Anqhïrs, if only I had made a proper goodbye to you and our mother! Maybe then I should die happy if I were to never see you again. But yet, the prelude to my departure was still some kind of goodbye, if gravely regrettable, and were I to do it all over, I would not have been so brief.
I left for Anqhïrs by wooden carriage, led by a man known by no other name than Bergamot, a diminutive man who suffered from some kind of deformity, a commoner as we are, yet he is amongst the poor of our caste. This was a man who knew no kindness than his own, yet from entering his carriage I felt as if within the company of an old friend, and treated him well. He was delighted to recieve my kindness. I paid him not only with my good company, but also a generous amount of gold to convey me to the dark and fatal corners of Tseireph. It was difficult to tell if his happiness was owed to my generosity or rather his own heart, but it became clear to me that this man was counted amongst the kindest of people, and my heart ached with the knowledge of the place he was dealt within our society. On our journey, we picked up many fellow travellers, but most were surprised to know where I was headed, and weren’t headed toward a like destination. Only two of these fleeting souls stayed with me for the remainder of our Journey, that being a priestess known as Hellebore, and a Corothic noblewoman known as Anise. O Milkweed, how I wish you could have met Anise! She shined not only with beauty but also with authority and wisdom. The priestess Hellebore was owed a similar amount of reverence, and yet we were reluctant to do so. She was a bitter woman in spite of her great and respectable service in our society, and following her arrival I found that the moments spent in her slumber were the brightest. However, I discovered that Hellebore came to Anqhïrs with a similar goal to your brother, that she sought to do many works concerning the Sharadith; but her goals differed from mine in that she wished to commune with the Child and the Angels to destroy them, and not cure them.
%% I departed from Sarvara on a wooden carriage led by a diminutive servant man called Acorn, and his 6 draught animals, each with unique and peculiar deformities. It seemed as though the man choked on every word, forcing each sentence out with a cough. ‘To Anqhïrs, sir?’ He asked. ‘Aye.’ ‘I hear there’s Sharadith there. It wouldn’t be wise of me to take you without a fee.’ My contempt of the ugly man grew with this greedy proposition, but I was obliged to comply with his request, lest I forsake my unseen force, or lead this pitiful man into near-death without fitting payment. ‘Thank you sir, kind sir. I don’t suppose you’ll wish for any company, sir?’ He replied. ‘I’ll pick up more passengers along the way, sir.’
The journey itself was that of over a month, and the presence of company was one I desired dearly. We stopped by cities in search of new passengers, but Acorn was laughed at by most, save for by some kind souls. By the midpoint of our journey, we had picked up a couple new friends. The first of the two was a Corothic tradeswoman named Apricot, and the second was a husband of a noble from a land unknown to me, named Bergamot.