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 infinite reach spanned to the west,
and with one hand He chained water to the physical world.
The Eschaton turned glimmering streams upon us,
and through His generosity we never knew thirst.”
The Eschaton coerced water to join His creation, for He knew that its bounty would ensure the prosperity of the realm. Anchored to the world by the will of His Helm, it quenched the thirst of the land, ensuring His people always knew plenty. Upon the streams did the Eschaton set life’s essential component, and to the waters did He bestow the strength to render fields fertile, birth storms, and smother the implacable advance of wildfire.
The almighty Creator looked upon the flowing waters and knew them to be the most mercurial of elements. Changing form to match its companions, water demonstrated its adaptability – it fit every vessel the earth provided, turned to steam in the face of calescent heat, hardened to ice amidst the frigidity of the dark, and joined the bountiful winds in tempestuous rampages across the firmament. He entrusted water with the power to change the world, so that it could tend to such matters in His stead whilst He saw to other aspects of His enigmatic design.
“Bound to the west by worldforged chains,
the Eschaton unleashed water within His world’s veins.
Flowing along each link was infinite change,
mortal possibility imbued within its range.”
We give thanks to the Eschaton for His gift of ephemerality and change, for new experiences ward away stagnancy and allow us constant growth. Without such fluid possibility, we would exist in stasis, our minds and spirits set to interminable atrophy and paralytic certainty. His gift allows us to convey ourselves via motion, via thought, and to thusly shape ourselves like unto the mountains amidst millennial storms.
Revel in physical motion, for it is representative of the changing power He has given you. Perform dance that interprets your glee and your rage in equal parts or else demonstrate your mastery of weaponry by way of martial forms. Walk these sacred steps beneath the pale light of the dying crescent and the growing gibbous, for they represent the ebb and flow of the Eschaton’s enlisted tides.
Express yourselves and remain forever changing, for your myriad detail is an exultation of the Creator’s unknowable design and an acknowledgement of your place within His curated reality. Let your faith be everlasting and evergrowing, weathered by life’s waves into a beautous monument of His awe-inspiring potential. Stand alone against eternity in a show of uttermost devotion and allow His oceanic realm to scour away your sins in ritual cleansing, for its saline purity will wash away all misdeeds, all half-truths, and render you a newly made instrument of His Divine purpose.
“Before Him we were without thought,
all notion rendered to naught.
Banality became eternity,
our being frozen by certainty.”
Change itself is one of His primal bestowments, granted to you in hopes that you shall grow and refine His Creation with your every step. All that shifts and morphs is His acknowledgement of your capacity to contribute to His design, and that which is immovable is a sign of your mortal limitations. Reach not beyond your boundaries, for your place is that of creation and His in turn is that of Creator. Recall the dark times when we were robbed of all change, forced into static horror and immovable certainty that allowed naught but stagnation. Pray to Him that we remain as mutable as we are worthy, so that He never again consigns us to such a dismal eternity.
Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 13th of Severin, in the year 512 MA.