The Witch Slayers have always been a zealous lot, and among them no one has been more devoted than the man they call Sacrilege. Born Jonathan Wry, his named is revered in the Order of Purity as a “Slayer’s Slayer.” He has rooted out heresies from the highest orders of the church, stamped out pagan cults before they could give rise to corruption and even faced off against the so called “Ancient Gods,” driving them and their followers into the hinterlands, away from the lands of the Church of Sol.
As news of the Scar’s expansion reached Arasunia, Sacrilege knew his duty was to find the source and prevent the Third Corruption from seeping into Newerth. He carried with him the one artifact of Sol that might purify the cursed lands – the Sun Chalice. Ever full with the nectar of the lord of the heavens, it was said that by pouring its full cup into the Scar, the land would heal. Armies had tried to advance on the land and failed, repelled by Maliken Grimm and his daemonic hoards, but this new eruption meant Maliken would be fighting for his own throne, his attention drawn away from the Scar. So Wry gathered a band of heroes and headed into the lands owned by the Hellbourne.
As they fought their way to the open wound in the land each one of his companions fell victim – not to the hoards of foes that they cut through, but to the Hellbourne corruption itself. The hound gave way to fear, the assassin to possession, the mage to the seduction of power, and even the sister fell to the promises of false salvation. All gave way and the corruption began to infect Wry himself. He felt it creeping into his form, but he still pressed on to the edge of the Scar.
As he approached the precipice of All Hells he reached into his satchel to remove the sacred vessel. Wry held the Chalice in his now twisted hand and a voice called to him from behind. “Stay your hand Slayer.” The words fell like sweet salve on his ears. He turned to see the source.
Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and on her shoulder sat a small dragon with its wings torn asunder. “You are so very close to finishing this,” she said as she stepped closer. His eyes locked on her lips as she spoke, transfixed by their softness in the ashen heat of the land.
“Who are you?” he asked, unaware of the infection spreading through his veins. As he stared at her the corruption moved further up his arm and began to engulf his face. The urgency to unwrap the Chalice began to fade as she replied.
“Like you I serve Sol, but unlike you I have seen his vision for this land. This Scar is not a curse, or a weeping wound. Instead it is like a lanced sore, removing the corruption from below and allowing the world to be cleansed. All of those unrighteously condemned by the Judges shall be free once more and Newerth will usher in a new age of true enlightenment. One where Jeraziah shall finally be set in his place as the Prince of Sol, away from his wretched pagan sister, and take his true Queen to rule at his side. You have fought a good fight thus far Jonathan. Do not let your vision be clouded by the heresies the High Priest mutters as the will of Sol. Join us in seeing Sol’s true will being completed!”
Wry hesitated for a moment. Her words had such conviction that he momentarily doubted himself, and one moment of doubt was all the corruption needed to fully take hold. It spread through him like a fire and seared his very soul. The hand holding the Chalice twisted and turned into a massive claw which crushed the holy artifact. The nectar fell to the ground and the areas it touched sprang back to life, with flowers and grass taking root in the ashen soil. Wry paid the miracle no heed and tossed the crumpled debris to the side. Corruption filled his vision and he saw with clarity now his place in the great plan. He would stamp out the heresies of Sol and help to bring salvation to all as Sacrilege.