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The Cycles of History and the Liberation of the Spirit


Birdman
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THE CYCLES OF HISTORY

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I tell you, my kinsmen: this world of ours that we walk today will pass away, just as all the others before it. Do you really think it could be otherwise? The sun rises and the sun sets, the moon hides her face and smiles, the stars march relentlessly along their heavenly courses, each returning again to its own, each again in its proper time. Are gods and men so different than these? Within the lifetime of a single generation, the land we have called our home will sink into the sea, leaving us beggars and vagabonds once again. We run ashore on a new continent, planting our flags, building cities, fortresses, temples. But there is no escape from black time- did Arcas escape her jaws? Or Anthos? Or even Aegis, our noble mother, our childhood home? So it has been since days of old- the cosmic clock will strike the hour, the gates of hell will open wide, and a new menace will emerge from its cursed womb to devour us once again. And so it shall be for you, for this vain life of yours, and so it shall be for your children, and for your grandchildren, and for theirs... On and on, without ceasing or deviation- an endless chain, infinite perhaps! With nothing to mark a stop, nothing to build or hope for. No final resting place, no completion. Only repetition. Only more.

 

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Kinsmen, see this world of ours for what it is. You own nothing. Nothing that your hands touch will save you from the fate that awaits us. Nothing can protect you from it- not the highest walls. Nothing can distract you from it- not the sweetest melody. All that you build will be destroyed, sinking once more into the churning flux from whence it came. 

Talk to our elders- what do they tell you? Read the history of our realm- what do you see? Rex follows Rex, war follows war, the Empire rises, falls, rises again. The same names, the same bloodlines, appear again and again, playing out the same conflicts without fail. We are no different than the stars above us,  nor from the great forces that wipe our worlds away. We too keep to our courses, running over the same old ground, spurred on by the same fears, desires, hatreds, loves. For that which has been is that which shall be, and all things return to their birthplace in the end. 

 

 

There is no escape from these cycles, kinsmen. Only acceptance. 

 

 

 

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LIBERATION OF THE SPIRIT

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There are many well-tread paths to escape the meaninglessness of this life, but there are two that our people take to like birds to the sky.

 

 

THE PATH OF WAR

 

Embrace your bloodlust, kinsmen. Embrace the dark gift that is your inheritance. In the glories of battle, many have found deliverance from their suffering, and redemption from a life marked by idleness or misdeeds. War can elevate the spirit- instilling discipline, courage, and selflessness into those who serve her faithfully. The quickening of the mind and the overflow of the heart that combat brings- these banish all thoughts of tomorrow. When you lock eyes with a worthy foe, hear your sword crash against his, feel sinew and bone give way beneath a well-placed strike- yes, when Enhrok takes full possession of your spirit, and you stand over the bloody heap of steel and flesh that was once your enemy- that is freedom, kinsmen, for the raptures of war are their own reward. There are no questions of purpose in the demands of the present moment, for one feels nothing but immediate awareness of danger or safety, pain or pleasure, victory or defeat. All are consumed in the eternal Now. 


THE PATH OF CONTEMPLATION

 

Another path beckons to our people, as ancient and primordial as the warrior tradition. At the dread feet of a shrine, in the warm darkness of a cave, or alone on the highest mountain peak, our people have found release and completion in this world. The shamans have instructed our folk in devotion to beings higher than ourselves, and have guided many through the spiritual labyrinths that await us in the next life. Others have found peace in stillness, renouncing the ties that bind us to the world of everyday appearance, emptying and perfecting their souls to make them vessels of a mysterious Power. 

 

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The two paths are not so different as they first appear. Each demands an ascetic’s discipline, and each promises a blessed forgetfulness- a subsuming of the self into something greater and nobler-  freedom from the ceaseless turnings of the world-wheel. 
 

Edited by Birdman
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