The following is a translation of passages from the Mysterium Eschatonica, provided to us by the Pious Ward in the Free City of Delve:
“His boundless grasp reached across to the east,
and with one hand did He pinion fire to our world.
The Eschaton unleashed warmth and creativity upon us,
and through His magnanimity did we know industry.”
At the dawn of the Eschaton’s primal creation, He enlisted fire to grant it light and warmth. Anchored to the world by the will of His Helm, the land held heat close, its sacred emanation a cherished ward against gelid darkness. Charged with creation and destruction in equal parts, the roaring inferno learned to reason with metal, wage wars of attrition upon rivers and streams, and to dance in the wind with utter defiance.
The Eschaton looked upon the land and knew that fire could not roam its beauteous reaches without guidance, for it was too eager to spread the joy of His bequest. He cursed His burning servant with hunger, that it would wither and die without fuel, safeguarding His precious world for so long as it kept the ravening at bay. To achieve balance, He bestowed upon mortals a vibrant spark. Through this brilliant well, His people learned to cast aside the darkness of ignorance, as well as the bane of frigidity. In so doing, they granted fire the fleeting gift of freedom and consumption, ensuring harmony reigned within His design.
“Bound to the east by worldforged chains,
the Eschaton kindled fire in His world’s veins.
Coursing along each link was calescent emotion,
gifting mortals with sorrow and glee as equal notion.”
We give thanks to the Eschaton for the fire that warms our souls, nestled at the very core of our being. Without it, we would feel no other gratitude, know no other joy, endure no other sorrow. Our hearts would be as stone, bereft of life’s glee, comedy, solemnity, or curiosity, for it is His burning legacy that lends such to us.
Show your adoration for Him beneath the growing crescent and the dying gibbous, for both represent the ascension and termination of fire’s crackling influence. Consign effigies to roaring bonfires and shape metal within the fired forges of industry, for both are acts of worship that appreciate the duality of His design. Distribute these offerings to the world as you see fit, for He is within everything and everything is within Him.
Daub your entryways with ash amidst ceremonies of mourning, for a person’s passage from this realm is the final flicker of their gifted spark. Know that the Eschaton’s enigmatic will has a purpose, for in the end all things are decided by Him, known by Him, arranged by Him. All happenings – even terrible ones – have a purpose within His grand work, and it is not for mortals to question the tragedy He bestowed upon us if we are to love the rapture He provides us in equal parts.
“Our hearts became as stone before Him,
the flame of joy rendered dim.
Fire wavered before Light and Dark,
thus upon two roads did it embark.”
Remember always that your heart is bare to the Eschaton, for it was wrought by His hand, per His will, and all you experience in this life is His to give or take. His design is one of eternal love and ancient enmity, of laughter and sorrow, of solemnity and comedy – all that we experience is by His permission. Hold any or all in your heart for Him, for mere experience of His world is to give praise to Him. Recall the dark times when we lost all expression, a world held still and apathetic before the abject terror of such a fraught age. Pray to Him that we remain worthy, so that He never again returns us to such a wretched, ignorant state.
Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 22nd of Khepary, in the year 511 MA.