The Great and Imperishable
Sarhush, the First King and Last Unbowed, Binder of Crowns, Whose Decree is the Iron Chain, would tell you that his demesne is
Civilization and
Kingship. Detractors and fiends might castigate him as only a lord of filth, oppression, and tyranny; Sarhush cares little for their impotent clamoring.
The strong will do as they please and the weak must suffer their decrees and do as they must: this is the self-evident and immutable way of the world, and this is Sarhush's philosophy. To obey his sage counsel and wise decrees is to rule with an iron fist and to realize your own greatness; to defy him is to invite the divine right of rule to fall upon one of your rivals who is not so feeble!
Appearance:
The likeness of Sarhush will never stray far from that of the creature to whom he addresses, but he is always a daunting figure of mighty and regal frame. His garb is always kingly, his face harsh and like it has been carved from stone, and his eyes are cold and pitiless. He rarely smiles, but if ever he does, it is a terrible and fearsome thing.
There is a stench that clings to him always. He reeks of sweat, filth, and smoke, and this odor is both overpowering and inescapable. At times a trace of fine perfume or incense rises through it, but only in discord, for it is never strong enough to conquer the reek of civilization that surrounds him.
Nature itself is offensive and exists to be subjugated and destroyed by mortal toil. The worthless expanses of wilderness and forest must be cultivated and turned to settlements and farmland, and every last tree should be felled and then burnt for fuel or shaped into timber buildings.
The vast majority of beings are nearly worthless, but fortunately it is much easier to mold them into something more useful than to tame the land itself. There is a rare spark of greatness that dwells in the hearts of some beings, and those that are such endowed are in a position to dominate and mobilize their lessers in such a way as to achieve greatness and civilization. This subjugation is not only the prerogative of natural rulers, it is their very purpose in life. Few things are more anathema than spineless, collective, or timid leadership; even the anarchy and disorganization of nature is preferable to a society that finds itself in such a backwards state of affairs.
It is not Sarhush's way to personally depose of the evils of democracy, kindness, or feeble rulers wherever these weeds come up. To do so in a direct way would be a refutation of his own philosophy, that the strong should naturally arise to dominate their lessers; moreover, fighting with mortals is something that he views as wholly beneath him. But he is not entirely beyond placing his thumb on the scale. Those who embody his views and emulate his attitudes can win his approval easily enough, and then he will bless their righteous claim to rule.
This blessing could take many forms, but among the prominent of Sarhush's gifts would the endowment of one or several
Mes upon a worthy would-be leader. The
Mes are physical objects fashioned from the lived memories of Sarhush himself, as a form of knowledge and firsthand understanding made manifest.
Screams filled the air. There were so many that they melded together as one soothing drone, like the hum of insects at dusk. The sounds of swords clashing occasionally punctuating that melody as the sacking of the city went on. Through the metallic reek of blood, a musty and ripe odor cut through. The warlord turned to see his patron Sarhush emerge from a narrow alleyway. "I congratulate you on this victory,
Great King," the god itself purred, "Savor the sweetness of this victory, but do not grow fond of it and find yourself wanting for its taste again. It would be best if a rebellion such as this never happens again, if such a thing was unthinkable for the rest of living memory."
The world seemed to close in as the warlord contemplating these wise words. For a long few moments it was just the two of them standing there; the city and the screams were gone. But then he finally answered his patron, "Yes, your words ring true, but how would the prudent lord achieve this?"
Sarhush shrugged. "If I were you, I command the men to spend three days razing this place. In the center of the ruin, erect a great obelisk in commemoration. The priests can engrave it with the story of how this place rebelled, and of how on this occasion, you offered no mercy to the conquered. Let it speak to their fates in grisly detail! In a thousand years all that you know and have seen may be as dust, but that obelisk shall remain, your triumph today will be remembered, would-be rebels will know what it means to defy their lord, and all shall tremble at the utterance of your name."
Availability:
Fairly limited at present, though that will hopefully not be so much the case in a month or two. I do not want to overcommit though, so I'll just say a post every week to week and a half is probably about right.
