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The Veiled Prophet - Sea Shanties | Forum

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The Veiled Prophet
Fun fact about the sea: The Prophet doesn't care for it.
Iyeris of the Black Tide

enjoy!)

The Forum post is edited by Iyeris of the Black Tide Nov 6
The Veiled Prophet
"In the days before the Sanctum," he wrote. Time had never been so cleanly arrayed, though, had it? We and I and It had been confused and cross-contaminated for as long as he remembered. Will and dreaming-fire and the clever lies thereof were the only constants, the singular light which burned in the sky above, guiding the half-conscious whirling of his mind as much as the scrawling of his hand.


"Flicker, then, good light, and let the new ways be forged," he exhorted the amber torches and candles of the Temple. "And they shall be for your own benefit, for we have never led each other astray. Our dreams have always been one, and this is the hidden joy of the Thin Path." Light died in that moment, and the hand clutching the quill flew eagerly into motion, pouring the truth of the matter onto the page before the amber seeped into the walls again. Will, after all, was the crux of the matter, and Will had never meant being so enamored that small rebellions were out of the question.


"Die, good light, and let me compose our words in solitude." Out with the light; the Prophet must write.

Iyeris of the Black Tide

"the child")
Iyeris of the Black Tide

"false star")
The Forum post is edited by Iyeris of the Black Tide Nov 9
The Veiled Prophet


Quote from Iyeris of the Black Tide
"the child")

There were days, long ago, that he would run beneath the weeping boughs of crooked trees and play games with spirits and search for the reflection of his face in brackish water. Abandoned to some, but nonetheless content to be so. When we know nothing else, contentment comes easily. He is wiser now, and worn thin from worry. The eccentricities of youth have found no place to rest within that aching golden shell. So why is it that on cold, still nights, when the wind can hardly bring itself to stir the water, he sees smaller shadows dancing in the witch-light of the swamp and a younger face, all but forgotten, watching from beneath the surface?

The Veiled Prophet

Quote from Iyeris of the Black Tide
"false star")

A pinprick of amber that watches us at tangents and subgradients from the abyss in which it has nestled. It is transient, discursive, mercurial. A drop of quicksilver fallen from the mold in which its twin idol was cast and to which it refuses to be rejoined, for all it would entail. There were few in the old days and now there is one, though given time the sky might yet be stained and the hearts of those figments of our collective imagination used for the ink. The fortune of the Seekers is scrawled across the heavens, written in false stars. It is a promise of manufactured destiny, echoing through every corner of the Sanctum and whispered in a voice which is not our own.


The Veiled Prophet

Quote from Caedun https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hviiGCkVMiY
There was a sort of beauty in his state, he supposed. The drowning of the Temple and snuffing out of the amber light had left him without place or purpose, wandering without end in search of what he had lost. He left the marsh far behind and for the first time was thrust into the role of weary traveler. No longer upheld by what he had lost, his legs grew sore and weak, his form withered with hunger, his immaculate golden carapace was left a tattered sallow mess.

Still, though, it was perhaps the first time in his life that he had truly seen the world around him. Blinded with purpose, he had taken to flitting about this way and that, preoccupied with grander things and matters of an altogether higher nature. In this way, perhaps the death throes of the Sanctum were a blessing in their own right. If this were true, however, why did he find himself changing course so frequently toward that dreary swamp? The answer, of course, was simple enough. A home is not so easily shed, the death of a part of oneself not so easily shrugged off. To leave is not always to escape.
The Veiled Prophet

Quote from Colme Blackveil .


Quote from The Veiled Prophet
Quote from Caedun https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hviiGCkVMiY
There was a sort of beauty in his state, he supposed. The drowning of the Temple and snuffing out of the amber light had left him without place or purpose, wandering without end in search of what he had lost. He left the marsh far behind and for the first time was thrust into the role of weary traveler. No longer upheld by what he had lost, his legs grew sore and weak, his form withered with hunger, his immaculate golden carapace was left a tattered sallow mess.

Still, though, it was perhaps the first time in his life that he had truly seen the world around him. Blinded with purpose, he had taken to flitting about this way and that, preoccupied with grander things and matters of an altogether higher nature. In this way, perhaps the death throes of the Sanctum were a blessing in their own right. If this were true, however, why did he find himself changing course so frequently toward that dreary swamp? The answer, of course, was simple enough. A home is not so easily shed, the death of a part of oneself not so easily shrugged off. To leave is not always to escape.
And if there could be no escape, then there would be change. A shift in the tide, torn kicking and screaming from the depths of the Temple and thrust mercilessly into the light. It was an act of rage at its heart-- an expression of spite dressed in all the trappings of solemnity and esotericism. He cradled his own brass face, traced the embers in his eyes. It watched, lifeless, as it always had. Thus was his malice given form and set into motion-- a final grand scheme to bring an end to the woes of the Seekers. The golden face would eat its fill and the Sanctum would speak in its own voice. It would have always been so.
The Veiled Prophet

Quote from Pauleen Vernon .
During the flood, a wall in a forgotten corner of the Sanctum cracked and collapsed. From the opening, bits of scrimshaw rushed forth, covered in runes and phrases carved in ages past. The whalebone was followed shortly by smaller, more intricate pieces: a maxilla here, a sacrum there. They were well kept once, before being consigned to the space behind the wall. They served a purpose long ago, though it would seem that they had since been relieved of such duties. Still, though, that they continued to exist at all was evidence of either sentimentality or a great vindictiveness. While the details of their creation and the purpose they had held were lost to time-- if indeed they had ceased their service at all-- they were, each and all, answers in their own right. Each fragment that was dredged from its hiding place by the black water was a new word, strung together to reveal truths that might have been better left alone. Did the Prophet harbor any regrets? What were the dark figures that congregated at the fringes of one's vision in the deeper corners of the Sanctum? What became of the old Seekers that fell from their path?
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