The Worldeater Saga, appendix c, pt 4
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 immeasurable touch was felt in the south,
and with one hand did He secure earth to our world.
The Eschaton unfurled before us soil and stone,
and through His charity did we have hearth and home.”
The first moments of the Eschaton’s primal world came to pass when He compelled the earth to serve as its stage. Anchored to the world by the will of His Helm, the land became the bones of reality, lending outlines to the myriad majesty of His realm. Its placement provided terrestrial boundaries that separated it from the sky, fashioned a canvas for the roaring storms and crashing oceans, and granted shelter to fire not yet ready to show itself to the world.
The Eschaton looked upon the earth and knew it to be the most stoic of elements. He entrusted it with the duty of holding its fellows upright, for in earth’s absence, fire would possess no food, air would find no resistance, and water would lack vessels. In so knowing its burden, earth sought strength, and thus the mountains, hills, and craggy cliffs sprang forth as its brawn. The fruit of its labour gave metal and gems to mortalkind, as thus they came to understand beauty and purpose.
“Bound to the south by worldforged chains,
the Eschaton arranged earth into endless domains.
Born of each link was physical space,
its presence forming Prime Material base.”
We give thanks to the Eschaton for His gift of primal being, for without such boundaries we would be incapable of perceiving all His splendour and woefully inept at understanding its form and function. His gift of existence lends us a hunger for experience and sustenance, ensuring the cultivation of our bodies, minds, and souls.
Enact devotional rites during times of the quarter moon, when shadow and light toil to split it into sacred, equal dichotomy. Hold yourself to stillness alike to the land and kneel in prayer throughout a full night; speak no words, for the earth welcomes no wind within its rugged bones. Reflect upon your existence in solemn prayer and arise anew upon the conclusion of your thoughtful worship.
Know hunger and know plenty, grow and gain strength – in so doing, you strengthen an aspect of His Creation and join with Him in the blessed unity of purpose.
“Before Him did we forget hunger,
and so too did we forget border.
We blurred together in that terrible age,
shattered beneath Night and Day’s rage.”
Reality itself is His first gift to you and through it do you come to understand slivers of the Eschaton’s enigmatic design. To walk the land and know it with the intimacy of life’s sojourn is to worship Him, for your mere recognition of its sprawling glory is an acknowledgement of your Creator’s rightful claim. Without existential individuality, we would be a mere blur of time and light and shadow, joined together in terror both interminable and instantaneous. Recall the dark times when we lost all definition, our thoughts and lives made a hideous admixture of inconsistency and ethereality. Pray to Him that we are found worthy of the land’s strength, for its burdensome duty lasts only as long as the Eschaton wills it so.
Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 5th of Haernos, in the year 511 MA.
