The Trinity of the Wild

[Lenny 1615]

 

The Trinity of the Wild

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Vareth had approached the Archdruid of the Sun Circle, Adriél aen Araleth, seeking connection to the natural world. Expecting to be sent into the briar to wrestle wolves or sing to saplings, a quill instead found itself within his hand.

 

“The Druids from the Sun Circle are not insular,” Adriél said. “You must be able to discern for yourself right from wrong.”

 

The initial task was simple in instruction, yet more complex in execution. The recording the truths of other attuned, and to witness the failings and strengths of our own flock. To become an observer, before a participant.

 

With time, this task saw completion and another was bestowed after the elder had peered upon his work. A trinity was spoken of, Life, Hunt, and Death.

“The start of life, survival, and death. That is what I want you to go out and find.” The Archdruid granted.

 

Feet dragged him into the gifts bestowed upon the el’Taynuel, as Vareth left the path to Caras Amath. The truth was to be sought, at the behest of his master’s wish.

 

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The Horned Lord ⋈

The first lesson found itself in the silence beneath a fern. Crouching, Vareth watched the dance between predator and prey. Archdruid Adriél had described Cernunnos not as some benevolent King, but as the feeling of the empty stomach. Vareth found him in the lean form of a wolf, stalking a hare.

 

Vareth observed the snap of the jaw, the lack of malice in its kill, and the act unfold. It was not a kill for sport, far from it, as survival demands the cycle to be upheld. The Hunt, in of itself, is not a cruel act. It is the engine which drives the strong, the cycle, to continue; survival.

 

The Cycle is inherited, and it cannot be undone or tampered with. Vareth himself was conflicted by the act of disagreeing with such a notion, to claim that the descendants of el’Taynuel were not part of it yet it was by Acaelen’s will that the kin of Malin were bestowed the quest by Availer, to tend to it.

 

The Crone ❉

The Archdruid insisted the name was uncomfortable to some, “Nemiisae”, Death made manifest and the holder of its domain.

 

“She is as important as the others.” Adriél insisted.  

 

Vareth found her manifestation in a fallen oak, toppled by age and weather in the fall of the Silver City. To the untrained, it could be observed as a tragedy, yet it was simply the cycle taking hold. The bark was soft to the touch, weakened, and had begun to give away to moss and fungi. Life had begun to root within the softening wood, and though the tree was dead, yes, it had become a home for others. It was feeding the soil, like autumn leaves falling to nurture the ground.

Without this very decay, the forest would choke itself to death with its position as fuel for this large cycle.

 

The Mother 𐂷

And there, amidst Nemiisae’s work, the final piece of the trinity made itself known. Growing directly from the nutrients mulch was a sapling. A single shoot of green reaching toward Sulnûl. The start of life, born from the energy released by the death of old, and would grow old enough to face the hunger of the hunt.

 

The Mother’s part is played as a continuation, and she carries many names. Yet, her dominion is not creation for creation sake, it is more like restoration and inheritance. She does not shun the remnants of death, but she embraces them. In the rot, she finds food. And finally, the mantle of legacy is bestowed upon her restoration.
 

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The Cycle လ

Vareth returned to the path, the dirt of the world wreathed his hands, and he had seen them now. The Hunger which drives us, the Death that sustains us, and the Life that rises from it.

The Aspects are not gods to be petitioned for favors, but parts in Acaelen’s creation. The lesson was learnt, the trinity is a circle, not a hierarchy.

 

“Acaelen lights your path.” Did Vareth finally offer as his green-hued sockets peered upon that sapling, rising to stand once more and make way back to his home whilst travelling. In this path, he carved his conclusion into stone, chipping away at the tablet to prepare for his elder Adriél aen Araleth, the Autumn Prince, which would soon find itself within his reach;
 

“The cycle is a pulse we have walked alongside for centuries, from the very creation of this land. Our lives stretch long enough to watch forests rise and fall, to see rivers devour their banks and carve new paths, and to witness saplings become tree become dust.

 

The trinity is always upheld, whether by descendant’s choice or not, and they are not separate forces but a current which carves itself through the world in different shapes. The Alderfolk shall not fear it, but embrace it. The Horned Lord’s presence shall be felt with the tension of a bowstring, Nemiisae shall be heard in the creaking of an aged oak and the mercy bestowed upon a stagnating entity, and The Mother will remain the gentle hum from the soil to renew it.

It is a constant wheel which turns, and Acaelen forged no throne for these distant forces, but purpose. Their act is expected, and therefore, not to be worshipped. I still find myself respecting their paths, and I believe that is why you have set me on this path, but I shall no longer grant them worship or sacrifice as their purpose does not demand such.“

 

“iyul’maele asiol oem Acaelan ito kae’leh, el’Tuva Uelln’ehya el’Bilokir Tuva’leh, illern’leh el’Taynuel maele’ehya ay evarn’sae ahe’Malin’onn Lye’ehya.”  Found itself carved toward the end of that tablet, coupled with his own name signed; “Vareth”

@Aeus
 

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[Aeus 2653]

Adriel took the tablet in his hands, reading over the text carefully etched away into the stone. His face remained stoic as he nodded along to the words until finally a smile formed over his features. "You've done well, young sapling. Your future certainly is bright."

[Aesopian 1639]

The city is an evil corrupting force upon the world and must be annihilated.

 

No brick can remain unsmashed. No fence can remain in the earth. No tower can remain violating the sky.

 

Only death, death on a scale unimaginable can save this world. A million starving mothers pushing their empty breast up against the jaundiced face of their babe. A million fathers foraging rotting fields for mildewed grain. The gross excess of MEN must be CULLED; the evil of conscious thought RIPPED APART until nothing remains.

 

The Forest has been made into a wretched, pathetic thing. Fear must be restored, and this is only possible through sacred, horrific violence. 

[sprtn 3340]

4 hours ago, Aesopian said:

The city is an evil corrupting force upon the world and must be annihilated.

 

No brick can remain unsmashed. No fence can remain in the earth. No tower can remain violating the sky.

 

Only death, death on a scale unimaginable can save this world. A million starving mothers pushing their empty breast up against the jaundiced face of their babe. A million fathers foraging rotting fields for mildewed grain. The gross excess of MEN must be CULLED; the evil of conscious thought RIPPED APART until nothing remains.

 

The Forest has been made into a wretched, pathetic thing. Fear must be restored, and this is only possible through sacred, horrific violence.