Searing Voice

Cast your gaze towards the heavens, and look upon the towers of glass. 

From your station of labor you eye the throngs of merry, decadent people, adorned in glistening stone and vibrant colors. Their lips all part and twist with cheer and ecstasy, calling forth waves of shimmering sparkles of ever-changing hue. They grow wild in strength and pleasure as they bask in each other’s enchantments. This is the boon of those who have mastered wielding of the Vox.

By arranging the tierms discovered and compiled within the world’s Lexicon, we conjure forth the Vox from our mouths and cast it upon the world as we see fit, channeling its energy to magnify the lands together. 

All are not equal in its discipline, as mastery of the Vox requires great knowledge and practice. Some are gifted with the charisma, diction, and natural talent to gracefully string together a plethora of tierms to form countless combinations and ciphers, enacting a myriad of effects upon the mortal realm. Yet some are clumsy, unlearned, and limited in their use of the Vox, their skill in structuring tierms severely lacking. However, it is that very ineptitude that instills fear within the realm, as the temptation to rely on forbidden tierms is all too great. 

There exists devastating tierms that need not skill in the structure of ciphers, nor the poise and command of one’s voice; alone these forbidden tierms enact fiery destruction upon all within earshot of its cast. It is with terror of such tierms that those of inept and loose command of the Vox are relegated to stations of humble, homely services, much like yourself.

Your hands, slick with sweat and grime, claw at the metal vice that enshrouds your mouth, allowing only metallic, raspy breaths to escape. After all, what need is there for uneducated, sheltered masons to exercise the Vox? 

Day in and day out, you toil away as passersby, driven by ambition and envy, mock and scorn your humble lot. Their tongues flit and flicker as they gleefully cast ciphers of prickly acid while you limp through the days. Poison, needles, exhaustion, freezing cold, barbed rope, jagged stone; vile strings of tierms that erode the soul yet nowhere near forbidden. 

Your muffled cries. Your aching, quivering body. Their mockery and laughter. One day a crowd gathers. You understand everything, and like before, they understand nothing. 

You remember the tierms. 

Your stomach boils. Your throat burns. Your teeth grit. Cast your searing gaze upon them all as sparks crackle behind your mask, desperate to escape. Metal bends and melts. Laughter slowly fades. 

For one moment in an age…Silence.

Your maw surges as Fury and Hell leap forth, and all before you becomes ash. The dust eventually settles, and finally, your reckoning is achieved.  

Now go, cast your gaze upon all that the Vox had built! Stoke your flames and tear it all asunder! Go forth, o Silenced One! Go forth and curse this realm to cinders!