There are kingdoms that rise from ambition, Heraldon rose from faith. Nothing can bent their divine driven will, not the fear of mortal kings, not famine, nor winter, for all men know such burdens. Heraldon was born from the terror of what waits beyond the edge of firelight, beyond the reach of prayer, beneath and beyond the black waters of the world.
I learned this truth upon the western shores of Therasya, where the sea forever gnaws against black cliffs beneath skies of iron.
“No sane captain sails the deep oceans, remember this well.” Elenssar the captain said as our ship sailed upon favorable wind. “The old waters belong to demons.”
The old waters belong to demons.
Every child from Cord’s Arm to the northern glaciers knows the tales: Entire kingdoms vanished there in elder times. Fishermen speak of drowned cities beneath the waves, of abyssal temples where horned kings sleep in silence, and of creatures older than mortal memory drifting beneath night tides. Ships that stray too far from shore are never seen again. Sometimes wreckage returns weeks later with no crew aboard and claw marks carved deep into the hull. The abyss beyond the coastal routes is cursed ground. Only madmen, cultists, or the doomed venture far from shore.
Thus, our vessel remained close to land. For fourteen days we sailed northward along the western shores of Therasya aboard the Saint Dikae, a broad-keeled merchant carrack from Iliaktis bay reinforced with iron-banded wood and blessed silver nails hammered directly into the hull. Captain Elenssar trusted neither the sea nor the Eternals enough to sail without both steel and prayer. We never lost sight of the shore cliffs. At night, every lantern aboard was glowing with a blue blessed light keeping at bay what lay below in the sea. No singing was allowed after dusk and apart from prayers, not even whisper. None of the crew had the heart for it and they often spat over the rails whenever darkness settled too heavily upon the waters.
The captain had crossed Heraldian shores thrice before. His beard was salted white by age and storm.
“The sea listens and waits to snatch the unfaithful. What these lands taught me is all that keeps evil at bay is your willingness to do so…it’s just that mortal will is easily bent,” he warned me the first night.
We sailed only during daylight. At dusk the anchors dropped near shore regardless of weather, and every ship in our convoy formed a half-circle near the rocks, while lanterns illuminated our wooden fort like daylight. We broke camp on sandy beaches and laid in stone caverns until our backs broke by salt and rock. A bitter voyage with hard men, seldom laughing for fear of drawing attention.
On the third night I stood beside the captain, beneath freezing rain while waves hammered the hull below us. Fur cloaks wrapped every sailor aboard. Ice had formed along the ropes and railings.
“You truly believe demons swim these waters?” I asked him.
The captain did not answer immediately, instead he handed me a brass spyglass.
“Look west.” He said and I obeyed.
At first, I saw nothing but darkness. Then, far beyond the fog, I glimpsed half a dozen unearthly faint red lights upon the water. They looked like bright lanterns. Yet no ship hulls drifted beneath them. The lights simply floated there motionless upon the waves.
My blood turned cold.
“What are they?”
Elenssar quietly made the sign of Sermon’s wings across his chest despite not being Heraldian.
“Those,” he muttered, “are why old sailors never whistle at sea.”
I looked again. One of the lights vanished beneath the water, then another and then all of them.
The captain took back the spyglass.
“We leave at dawn,” he said. “No sooner.”
At first sunlight our guard post sounded the alarm. A new member joined our company, a warrior priestess named Cyrane of Angelkeep. She wore wolf furs over splint mail and carried a curved blade and mace at her waist. Unlike the sailors, she seemed irritated rather than frightened traversing the last meters down to our shore camp.
“You coastal men fear shadows too much,” she scoffed.
The captain observed her holy symbol and snorted.
“And church folk die off too fucking easily.” He said
Cyrane leaned against the railing laughing.
“In the north we fight beasts we can see. Care to give this old gal a ride?”
The captain stared westward into the braking morning.
“Then pray you never see these beasts upon us, you are welcome, but you will earn your stay.”
The stars vanished entirely on the fifth evening, only clouds rolling low like bruised flesh across the heavens. The waters turned black as obsidian. Every wave sounded wrong. Too heavy. Too slow. And then came the horn. A deep groaning cry rose from somewhere far beyond the coastal mist. This was not from land, nor from a nearby ship. It was from beneath, from the depths. The crew froze instantly. One sailor collapsed to his knees whispering the Litany of Sermon. Another drew a blade and carved holy sigils upon the mast with trembling hands.
Again, the horn sounded, this time it was closer. The water beside the ship began to ripple. I moved toward the railing despite captain’s warning and Cyrane cry to turn the ships to shore. Below the surface I glimpsed hollow lights moving in impossible depths, vast pale shapes drifting beneath us far larger than whales.
Eyes. Gods preserve me… eyes everywhere.
A sailor screamed as something struck the underside of the hull. The ship lurched violently. Men fell across the deck. Another impact followed from below, accompanied by a sound like claws scraping wood.
“Lights!” Elenssar roared. “Show the blessed lights! Run you scum, remember your families; they will starve if you die”
At once the crew uncovered iron lanterns etched with holy runes. Pale silver fire burst across the deck. The sailors began chanting hymns of Heraldon despite not being Heraldians themselves. The masts filled and drew our ships to shore, Lady Desmereth the biggest hull of our convoy wrecked upon rocks hidden by the waves. I can still hear the screams of sailors been swallowed by sea and demons below. Our ships reached shore, but the menace floated on our rear while the sun was hiding above heavy black clouds.
Then from the darkness ahead came another light, this time it was not silver but gold.
A throng of golden lanterns emerged through the fog along the shoreline cliffs. Horsemen a sailor screamed. “No knights” I said. These were not mere horsemen. The Heraldians had arrived. They rode upon the cliff roads above the sea wearing immense plate armor the color of silver. White cloaks thundered behind them in the storm winds. Upon every breastplate were engraved the wings of Sermon. Iron Knights, I said to myself enthralled by their defying image against weather and the demonic threat.
Behind them marched clerics bearing towering censers of burning incense while war-priests raised maces crowned in radiant crystals. Their chants echoed across the cliffs like a chorus on cathedral walls accompanying the ongoing thunder.
The sea answered with fury as the waters erupted beside our vessel. A creature emerged halfway from the sea abyss, a mass of drowned flesh and jagged bone, draped in black kelp and crowned with horns like a deep-sea beast. Its mouth split open far too wide, revealing rows of unnatural long sharp teeth. Its claws smashed through the starboard railing, tearing apart wood and flesh alike. A sailor vanished instantly beneath the black water, dragged screaming his mother’s name into darkness.
Men shivered and began praying openly. But the Heraldians did not stop at this sight. They chanted to Sermon as they charged with belief painted on their stern faces. Belief that they were unbeatable, shielded by the Eternals.
I shall never forget that sight so long as memory remains within me. The Iron Knights descended the cliff paths without hesitation while arrows tipped in silver flame rained from above. One knight leapt directly from the rocks onto the creature’s back, driving a glowing spear through its skull with Sermon’s name as a battle cry. The beast screamed. The sound shattered windows aboard our vessel. Then the priests raised their hands together. Golden light burst across the shoreline. This was not just magic. They channeled divinity.
The beast retaliated with horrifying speed. One claw struck an Iron Knight from his horse and hurled both rider and mount against the rocks below. Another templar vanished beneath snapping jaws, his armor shred like tin, red blood spraying at the shore.
For one impossible moment I saw vast spectral wings unfurl behind the Heraldian ranks, luminous against the storm itself. The sea recoiled from them. Steam erupted from the black waters as if the ocean feared their presence. “SMITE THE ABYSS!” one priest roared. The knights answered with a battle hymn. Gods… the power of it, the planks on our boat soared in their voices. This was not drunken screaming as other armies sing, but a terrible unified chorus that shook the cliffs themselves. Every voice moved with absolute conviction. Fear diluted, hesitation wavered and only purpose remained.
Brother Halveth, a Heraldian priest traveling with us toward Wingspyre, fell to his knees beside me praying, his aura covering part of the deck like a shielding hand for the sailors. “They are the wrath of Harmony,” he whispered in awe.
They are the wrath of Harmony.
The creature wounded and steaming tried to retreat beneath the waves. An Iron Knight seized its horn and drove his sword through its throat while another split open its skull with a two-handed hammer glowing white-hot with divine fire. Black blood flooded the shore eating at the sands. I saw a crab washed in the vile fluid turn to corruption, its carcass mutating to something unnatural. The demon under the divine light shattered. Its body dissolved into black ash scattering across the freezing sea winds while its unbearable shriek died off. Finally, the sea grew silent with only the waves washing the battle signs away. Slowly, the golden lights upon the cliffs dimmed and the hymn turned to a whispered prayer.
The Heraldians stood unmoving upon the rocks, watching the waters long after the beast had sunk beneath the tide. Their armor steamed beneath the cold rain. No celebration or warriors boasting. To them this was their duty, their job, a small victory against the endless abyssal ranks. One knight simply raised his sword toward the northern darkness beyond the sea, several blades joined saluting us and turned inwards to their next fight.
On the sixth day we encountered a Heraldian sea patrol. Twin immense warships emerged from the northern fog near the Runic Waters Bay. Their hulls were churned ironwood reinforced with silver scripture plates, while enormous white banners bearing the wings of Sermon thundered in the freezing winds. Every prow carried a small statue of an angel, while heavy ballistae lined their decks. Upon the upper battlements stood ranks of Iron Knights motionless as statues in their heavy armor. They would rather meet their end in the depths than adorn something lighter.
One vessel approached close enough for us to hear bells ringing aboard. A voice echoed across the waters. “State your names and purpose beneath the gaze of Sermon and Gregorion”
Captain Elenssar removed his hood immediately. “Trade vessel Saint Dikae! Bearing sanctioned goods to Wingspyre!”
A silence followed. Then another voice shouted: “Remain near shore. The western tides grow restless.”
No further explanation came. The Heraldian ships vanished into fog as swiftly as they had appeared. Cyrane watched them disappear. “See how they look less like sailors,” she muttered, “They belong to the Seraphic order. They are sworn to servitude to the Eternals for life”
Elenssar grimly replied: “In Heraldon there is little difference between a life sentence for criminals and innocent alike.”
Cyrane stared at him with discontent: “You southerners will never understand”.
On the tenth day the storm broke and the glorious sun bathed our hulls. Brother Halveth began chanting prayers the moment the clouds opened wide. “The abyss retreats, we are reaching the blessed lands of our home.” He was a gaunt man draped in layered white furs and silver chains etched with scripture. His face was scarred by ritual brands burned into his flesh. While eating in the mess room with our captain at the table head, the chief mate broke bread and said the noon prayers. I turned to the master: “For the life of me I don’t understand why anyone would become a sailor. Stale loafs, mice, disease, the salt eating your lungs and skin and if the sea does not kill you the demons await after every shore reef”
Aldryon the chief mate looked at his captain for approval and formed the first words I heard of him apart from orders to the crew: “I have a dozen mouths to feed. Nothing pays like the sea. It’s just one life for the sake of twelve.”
I turned to him: “I would rather fly with a kinetika airship over a volcano than cross waters here again.”
Cyrane stared into brother Halveth’s eyes and nodded him to stay silent. There was no point explaining to folk living on the protected slopes of Therra’s Spine.
At dawn we finally reached Heraldon capital. The first sight of Wingspyre rose through the icy winds like a vision from sacred scripture. Tenths of cathedral spires pierced the gray heavens while immense statues of angels overlooked the sea. Bells rang across the cliffs as templars and knights filled the streets below. The scent of incense filled the sea breeze and our hearts eased by the echoes of distant prayers. Sweet voices, nuns praising the sunlight. Massive watchtowers crowned the black cliffs every few hundred yards, connected by enormous stone fortifications carved directly into the mountainside. Their walls rose impossibly high, layered with statues of heroes, insignia and burning braziers. Above all towers stood the Great Cathedral of Sermon, crowned in white fire like a second dawn against the dying night. I remember asking Elenssar then: “How can men live upon such cursed shores?”
The old sailor stared toward the northern seas where the mist concealed the distant demonic continents.
“They do not merely live here,” he said quietly. “They stand as walls while the demonic tides break against them for the rest of us to live free.”
We entered the harbor walls while a regiment of iron Knights was descending through the massive gates on horse. I have witnessed armies before, dwarven shield walls that held against demons and their cursed spawn keeping death at bay. But none compared in sound to the charge of Heraldon. Even at this pace the tremble made my heart fill with pride and a certainty, a kind of camaraderie that soldiers share in the front. A thunder like an arch Angel voice commanding the darkness to stay away. Their gleaming armor, the metals of valor, the silver banners flowing like angel wings, enormous fur cloaks whipping behind them in the wind and those eyes, the eyes burning determined concealed under the narrow slits of heavy helmets.
My sight caught an exorcist in his white attire and someone walking beside him, looked like an angel, an archon bearing a trumpet, they were walking to our dock, one to divine our purpose and the other to check for corruption. Their presence served as a warning and even now I struggle to describe their intentions faithfully. I turned to the master: “How do these people endure such challenges?”
The old sailor stared toward the walls and the grand church:
“Forget Thergen endurance, they worship against fear.”
Captain Elenssar
— From the journals of Eolon of Oemon
