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Expansion Post: In the Shadow of Solonicon III - Manāsol - Ⲙɑπɒςoʌ

Vorec Talamenēs planted his burly fists upon his hips, to the gentle whisk of the metalled, lamellar plates layered there. He lofted his gaze skyward, his expression impassive, as he beheld bustling town of Manāsol before him. Built high into the hill, with tenuously perched farms and no small number of lethargically turning mills rounding in the breeze. Little walls of drystone separated the various allotted areas for each homestead, clung with the orange-brown lichen found so commonly in this part of the Bay. It was still higher, that Vorec’s gaze was set. For there, on the highest, jutting outcrop sat an ancient solonnaos¹, it crowning some long collapsed inwards and its pool long dry. However sad as it was to see such a piece of architectural beauty in a state of disrepair, that was not what dampened his spirits from their priorly elated highs. No, for it was the whitewash that had been slathered haphazardly in alternating thick to thinning redoubts across the once vibrant and flamboyant mosaics and murals that adorned these monuments of colourful Vyzanti culture. Damn the Vhorse and their heathen, Sun shying ways.

High above the obscuring veil of plaster, an effigy of the Moon had been erected, in the paramount position reserved only for the Sun. Of course, the Moon was revered with tenacity and passion to all Chiroists, but it has its own temples and its own places of special import, such as the groves and pools. Such flagrant vandalism was ill befitting even the Vorzi.

He advanced through the little pasture that contained the decaying building, plucking out a couple of spurious weeds in the path as we made way towards it. He reached out, to try the door handle, which creaked and groaned in pain at his insistence but yielded shortly therein. As he shed light into the dim interior, ridden with a few daring shafts of blessed sunlight, a number of birds took to flight, surprised that any might disturb their nesting. Vorec ducked, allowing his winged friends room enough to pass him over without distress. He had always been rather fond of birds, particularly the thistlebircher native to the southern shore’s rolling hills. Alas, these were no thistlebirchers, but springlarks. Still, their plumage was vivid and refreshing, and they were an omen of rebirth. Fitting, really, that they should flutter past in these times of Vyzantia renewed.

As he heaved over a fallen, rotting beam, he began to hum to himself. A merry, winding tune that took its time in reaching it’s peak, as he liked to take as a pace for life, too. He began his long, tedious work of plucking up debris and placing it in order, throwing out bits of irreparable or unidentifiable detritus into a stack outside the doorway. For now, he would simply bring a little order to the Vhorse chaos. When his comrades returned from their foraging, he might be able to start carefully chipping away at the whitewash placed over the religious mosaics. Even later still, perhaps some painters and artisans might be able to restore it wholly. Such would bring him the deepest satisfaction. He hobbled over to the pool, with it’s faded, algae-covered Sun resplendent obscured by stinking detritus. Holding his breath as best he could in repulsion, he delved that quagmire, hastily throwing aside thick handfuls of damp sludge and bird droppings that had been let in by the solar inlet in the ceiling and later the wider bore of the partially collapsed roof.

Once satisfied, he hauled himself upwards, making his way to the dais, heartfallingly bereft of its copy of the Aētam², but instead desecrated with a Vhorse metallic effigy of a serpent. In a fit of distaste, he batted it aside with the back of his hand, sending it to the floor with a reverberating clatter that shook his eardrums. Possessing no copy of the Aētam on his person, he instead went for a stopgap option. He unshouldered his rounded parallelogram shield, heaving it on its strap and into place atop the dais. He stepped back, peering at the now sun illuminated image of the sun itself, upon a field of repeating diagonal blue and white stripes. He cocked his head. It was not ideal, but it was enough to settle his soul for the time being. At least until old temple, and indeed, Vyzantia herself, could be restored.

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1 - A temple of the Sun. These are usually reserved for cities or sites of significant leyline importance. Note, this is only capitalised when referring to the great temple in Solonicon / Selenica.
2 - The holy scriptures of Chiroism.