The Three Pillars

[Security_ 2287]

 

PREFACE:

Spoiler

The three pillars has been a longstanding tradition in azdromothian heraldry, yet I could never really find many writings on it. You can find snippets and parts that relate to one part, yet never one that allowed for newer heralds and seekers to get a jist and understanding of it all. Written from an in-character perspective, it is a very biased and at times less-than-objective take. Thank you to Moumins for formatting this :)

 

 

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ  ᴛ ʜ ʀ ᴇ ᴇ  ᴘ ɪ ʟ ʟ ᴀ ʀ ꜱ

⸸.-─────────.-──–──-.─────────-.⸸

༺─-.─–─.-─༻

Nothing stands without support. No boat rocks afloat if weighted incorrectly. There are no cultures, nor nations that last through the ages without balance. It is balance that the three pillars facilitate in tandem, a balance between body, mind, and spirit. A constant fire that burns steel red, molds it, and sharpens it to a honing edge. Fated are few to find Asioth, fated fewer find it unbalanced.  ─-..-─ The three pillars, War, Song, and Wisdom make up the core of Azdromothian Heraldry, practiced by the first who sought Ruin, and by those who found Asioth.

──●◎●──

⸸.-─────────.-──–──-.─────────-.⸸ 

WAR

.- ─ ── ── ────.-──.  ⊰●⊱  .──-.──── ── ── ─ -.

 

What is faith but the clashing of ideology?

 

What is knowledge but the destruction of ignorance?

 

Forged by a warrior race, heraldry has long been intertwined with the fires of war.

 As the first Dragon Knights were tasked to battle the dark, in our modern age it is our duty to combat the Inverse Flame in all its aspects. For otherwise, we fall to sloth, becoming hermits of faith and knowledge - only to realize it all shall be rendered to ash as our enemies break through our blackstone walls, burn our books, and desecrate our relics.

 

War is a strengthening of the body, of the vessel itself through trial and error.

It is associated with Red Flame, Being. Truly, to bleed, is to be.

In Being, the world finds the world, and the One is a single clattering of blades closer.

 

Steel swings so sweet, for it is the very bones of mountains clashing in symphony for purpose. A song of delicate dances, for pride, for honor, for peace. Heed mine words o’ brothers and sisters, be ye of fire and flame, or stilled tongue and empty. We fight not for pride, honor, nor peace. We fight for it is our charge, for, it is as the flowers which must bloom when spring dawns, for which a machination is crafted with but one sole purpose. 

 

──●◎●──

ᴄᴏɴᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

༺ ۝ ༻

 

Conviction to stand as what IS, against that which is NOT. Truth, glorious does it shine in fractals parsed and shattered upon our realm. Truth, it would not be so, as but a man who viewed but an iota of it wrong. Upside down, or even the slightest bit askew, and that Truth is no longer. Malformed, no. Malperceived, for Truth Shines. Truth Burns. It is the conscious vessel that ascertains its sense, its sight, what it knows, what it alone scrounged to cobble together a patchwork monster of reality which MUST be truth.

 

And it is wrong.

 

And they would wield Truth a sword. They would give Truth a worldly name. They would fashion it a god, and call it other, and claim it He. This is the Untruth, which deigns that Ego, Flesh, and Power are all to aspire. It was Truth realized when the King-Who-Is consumed Xan, affirming His mantle, becoming one. Both are the same, simply two facets of one. War manifest, of Fate against Order. Salvation versus Stagnation. Order has always been Fate, yet only through war with its other half, and war with one’s self is it realized. It is in this war we are tasked to bring our enemies to unity. Nestled within the first dragon knights, battle against the dark burns our very hearts, stoking them in righteous cause. It is this war by which our Pact was made, to defend the mortal realms from fell forces beyond, and to which we will perish till our flame snuffs to cinders. It is the dark which grows greater with light, with us as mediators to find the balance between them. Inscribed within Being, the act of war in itself is of the vessel; its fruits are of the spirit.

.-─────────.-──–──-.─────────-.

༺─-.──  ───── ۝ ─────  ──.-─༻

.-─────────      .-──–──-.      ─────────-.

Every battle won in the materium is a battle won amongst the war of souls. A war not of bloodshed and suffering, but of Flames apart seeking to return to One.   Raise your blade not in Ire, but in Conviction, seeking to return the souls forlorn to the Great Pyre.

Seek to make thy vessel empty, so that it may be filled. For every strike against your form is a wisdom gained, and to the eldest of warriors their wisdom has been bled and relearned a thousand times over. Let the Ego run empty with the ichor that spills from you, embrace that which is pure, unadulterated Conviction. Purpose. In this your blade only raises in name of our glorious Father, in name of that which is Truth. Otherwise, you fight for self, and gain naught but what the self becomes - ash.

One cannot serve the Flame alone in song and wisdom, just as one cannot aim to feed a pyre if rain pours down from above. Mine brothers and sisters who may be apprehensive to seek out the Inverse Flame in war, to hunt them down and free them of their worldly chains - cast yourselves unto the flames, and feed it thus.

 

The rain is unrelenting, and the pyre threatens to snuff out. Hundreds before you fought against the unrelenting abyss, and hundreds are ash. You too, are ash. You are ash that may yet wield a sword, and make of it wisdom to enlighten our enemies of their enslavement by script of crimson lesions. Let steel sing against steel in loving tune of our Father in Fate. And let each of us know War, and love it, and learn it, for it is by War we find Asioth, by War our Father’s station, and by War our enemies shall find salvation.   The foolish man will reflect upon the highest peaks, and count each blessing the gold has giveth. Above the very notion of Untruth, ascended from what is worldly bloodshed, death, and war. Yet beneath, for each blessing of gold counted above, a soul is plucked by darkness. And when every blessing is planted true beside every star, does the fool look downwards - and the stars are no more.

 

.- ─ ── ── ────.-──.  ⊰●⊱  .──-.──── ── ── ─ -.

 

◎──────────────── ۝ ────────────────◎

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ?	SONG ⎝༺─- . ─–─ . -─༻⎠	ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡᴀʀ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪɴɢɪɴɢ ᴏf ʙʟᴀᴅᴇꜱ?
◎		◎

 

The act of Song spans to the eldest of those faithful to the Titan, whose throats parched in draconic prayer. It takes many forms, for it is the act of loving, and putting one’s faith into another. Acting as not only a social bond, but a bond with the King-Who-Is, it brings two facets nearer to one another. Core to periphery, greater to lesser. 

 

Without it, we are but brutes who wage war for the world alone, and consume knowledge as a flame beset on paper. There would be no greater purpose to our cause. There would be no Love to change what Is, and what is not. There would be only the profane world, and nothing to Love it.

 

Song is the strengthening of the soul through prayer, temperance, and cleansing. It is characterized by White Flame, Loving.

 

⎝༺─- . ─–⊰●⊱–─ . -─༻⎠

.-────── ─ ──.-─ ─–─ ─-.── ─ ──────-.

Sing thy praises so that it is heard across all the earth, for it falls ever short upon the heavens. To the flame may mountains speak, gracing upon ears rested within gardens. The world was made in Muse of selfless love, and from other was it cleaved to exist. From Asioth all things subside, from Asioth came Vessel and Flame, Being and Loving. 

 

The act of song is of selfless loving, expecting naught in return for your praise. It is to Azdromoth you Sing when the pretenders of Ruin are burnt in the offering pit before His altar. It is to Eresar you sing when an Um’ei is answered after years of inward thought. It is blest Dragur to which you sing for every tome, scroll, every iota of knowledge remembered. Greater loves lesser indeed; look to your brand marred upon the temporal flesh, and see the love our Titan gives so freely. 

 

─── ۝ ───

 

So too, return to him in song, so that you may love that which is yourself. By way of candle, incense, of prayer in the draconic, by burning to cinder the apostate, by falling to your knees in service to flame. Our station is that of service, in unending war against the Inverse, in unending remembrance of knowledge never lost, in Song of the Great Pyre every Flame does borrow and rest.

 

The very incredulous, everwarping “you” is the shadow of a Flame. Like a Fire above water, there exists the Fire, the water, and a shadow cast upon it. Praise not the shadow, but that which casts it. Praise in understanding, in knowing, in genuflect. It is Soul in experience of what Is, and corruption of one leads to the corruption of the other. Cleanse thy vessel before the cleansing of thy flame. Wash, burn, purge the impurities of the body first before any ritual act is done, lest the ritual be made impure. Cleanse the mind, and become empty. Corruptions of the mind alter the song, warping its intent, falling from Truth. And lastly, cleanse the Flame. In utter selflessness, let Song flow freely in love of other. In this loving of other, it is in loving the Flame, upon which you are a shadow cast. It is in loving yourself.

 

A part wishes to return to one, and through Song you may return. For to Love without want, is to become. And in loving true, a glimmer of Asioth is achieved. Love and serve, and should Fate deem it so, salvation is granted. Salvation to know, truly, where the soul shall rest. Salvation to will it so, and to know it thus.

 

─── ۝ ───

 

Damnation, is to try and break from chains unbreakable. To deny Truth, and to think yourself free by way of hate.    To serve yourself, to pact with demons on high, or to bind thy soul amidst a graft of a thousand others. It is to rear against the chains of Being, only to throttle the neck as the chains bind tighter. The soul bound is thus damned, sold or consumed to the highest bidder who may pluck it from empty clay, for it is no longer yours. Truly it was never yours, yet, shall you accept this, genuflect, and stoke a greater flame with face pressed against the fire - or, shall you scream and kick and cry as a babe thrust into the world. A babe whose voice falls upon deaf ears, who strangles upon their own choking wails.

 

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀʀɪᴏʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴇɪɴꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇꜱ’ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ. ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴅɪᴇ ʙʏ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴀɴᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜꜱ ᴅɪᴅ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴇ. ɴᴏ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇʀ ᴡᴀꜱ ʜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ, ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜʏ ʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɢʜᴛ. ɪɴ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇᴅ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ; ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ.

 

.-──.  ⊰●⊱  .──-.

◎──────────────── ۝ ────────────────◎

.-───── ──────༺─༺  ༻─༻────── ─────-.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴡᴀʀ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

WISDOM ⎝༺─- . ─–─ . -─༻⎠

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ the ᴡᴏʀᴅ

 

The gift of Dragur, the gift of eternity is timeless insight. Wisdom is to many the application of knowledge, garnered only by time. Wisdom is not gained by learning, but rather by knowing, remembering what was never lost. Age begets wisdom, yet without knowledge, there is no depth within. Like a wick without a base, it may burn for but a short time. 

 

Garner wax to mold beneath it, and the flame burns continually. The collection of knowledge in grand libraries and galleries is an ancient tradition of heralds, likely brought about by Dragur’s influence upon his blessed creations. Inherited to seek and amass knowledge has thereby been deigned upon the heralds, tasked to create libraries as troves of knowledge. Without Wisdom, there is no timeless insight, nor ageless knowledge. Without it, we are fated to fall to the mistakes of our forefathers, singing and warring, and forgetting.

 

Wisdom is the strengthening of the mind, the collection of knowledge, and the insight of applying it. It is Gold Flame - Knowing.

─-──────༺─༺  ༻─༻──────-─

⎝༺─- . ─–─ . -─༻⎠

 

You sit in a lightless place, never an iota of light graces you. You cannot feel walls, never affirming where your place starts or ends. Every footfall is uneasy, unsure of the next. There is no smell, there is no sound but your heartbeat thumping through your ears, and of the earth beneath your feet. For once you admit to yourself - you know nothing.

 

The vessel arrives before a distant land and claims itself learned. It knows all that it has garnered, and carries this knowledge like water within. Knowledge may be divine, mundane, or accursed. Akin to the secular man who does not devise the food he consumes, small corruptions arise. 

 

To consume corruption is to have a part of you corrupted. Similarly, knowledge may be corrosive to the mind. It is in Wisdom, that we discern Truth, from Untruth. It is the difference between salvation, and damnation. So too, this vessel filled with a myriad of knowledge must prostrate itself, fall genuflect to the floor - and empty. 

 

The emptying of the vessel is to admit the sole fact.

 

I know nothing.

 

From there, it may be refilled, tapped to its full, and once again spilled when wisdom bestows its simple truth once more. Knowledge spills forth, naming what was un-named. It is a voice, it speaks between another unseen. Insight radiates brilliant, forming what was un-formed. It is seen, wordlessly it is understood by those who accept it thus. Together, Wisdom is ascertained, it is honed and practiced until its perfection is unrivaled. 

 

And again, it repeats, never truly finished. Never do we cease in learning, never do we cease in understanding. It is this hunger for knowledge true, not out of a wish for self gained power, nor for pride to forge a mound to stand upon - but the unadulterated, holy aim to learn, to teach, to garner Wisdom for no greater reason that makes us children of Dragur. 

 

It is Wisdom in full which draws us from the clutches of the Inverse Flame, that which is Untruth. Lies are sold and accepted, notched into fragments where the heart has broken and accepted its own deceit. It is the falsehood beholden to every warlock and weaver, and is only combated by the Burning Truth. 

 

If we are lax in our search and spread of Truth, steadily the world will fall to darkness. Not physical darkness, but ignorance which clouds the mind in self-affirming deceptions. Thus, we have failed, and many are doomed to never walk the Golden Path.

 

And yet, the darkness is temporary. Just as there are wizened men who, in the full Light of Truth, have fallen to ignorance and falsity - there are those who have broiled in the dark for millenia, who are struck by Truth, and realize the self’s position in the divine schisma. 

 

The King-Who-Is sat within the depths of the world for ages, and now has risen to his throne always destined. Be that light, be that spark which may drag your ignorant brother from the depths - or, rend them to ash. Knowledge that was whispered, insight that was seen, traded from Lover to Lover. They shall remember Truth with every burn upon their vessel, until there is naught but the ivory bone beneath. Knowledge is never lost, nor gained, only is it remembered.

For in the One, all is known, we have only yet to remember.

 

 

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɢᴇ ꜱᴀᴛ ᴏɴ ʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴᴛᴏᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀɴɢ. ʜᴇ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴɢ ᴛᴏ, ɴᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ꜱᴏɴɢ. ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʜɪꜱ ᴛʜʀᴏᴀᴛ ᴄʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀ-ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ʜᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀʟᴏꜰᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ ꜱɪɴɢ.

 

◎──────────────── ۝ ────────────────◎

 

༺─-.──  ─────༺  ༻ ─────  ──.-─༻

 

.-─────────      .-──–──-.      ─────────-.

 

ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟ ꜱɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟ ᴀ ʀɪᴠᴇʀ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀɪᴍꜱᴏɴ, ᴍᴀʀʀᴏᴡ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ

ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜɪɴᴇꜱ, ʙʀɪʟʟɪᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴜɴɢ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙᴇʟʟꜱ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱᴏɴɢ

ɪɴᴋ ᴅʀɪᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴡʟ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜰᴏɴᴛ, ᴛɪᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴡɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ, ᴋɴᴏᴡʟᴇᴅɢᴇ, ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ

 

.-──.  ⊰●⊱  .──-.

ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ:

Security

ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜʟᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:

Moumins

ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛᴛɪɴɢ: 

Moumins

⎝༺─- . ─–─ . -─༻⎠

[Moumins 378]

.-──–──-.

.-──.  ⊰●⊱  .──-.

In the early mornings, the Loving Ordained, Eremun could be found reading. Pages wheeled under burned fingers, smocked with various coloured linens. In the evenings, passages were committed to memory by chant; training seekers, or answering the Prince’s call to arms. At night, the pages were closed, and the book with it. A simple uttering of three stanzas revolved in harmony through the sound of a khaen.    On the sixth day, the place with a white mask spoke: “ʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇʀᴇᴍᴜɴ” And the countenance that looked back through a mirror nodded affirmation.  ───༺  ༻ ───

 

PLAINTEXT VERSION OF MAIN POST:

Spoiler

The Three Pillars

 

Nothing stands without support. No boat rocks afloat if weighted incorrectly. There are no cultures, nor nations that last through the ages without balance. It is balance that the three pillars facilitate in tandem, a balance between body, mind, and spirit. A constant fire that burns steel red, molds it, and sharpens it to a honing edge. Fated are few to find Asioth, fated fewer find it unbalanced.

 

The three pillars, War, Song, and Wisdom make up the core of Azdromothian Heraldry, practiced by the first who sought Ruin, and by those who found Asioth. 

 

War

 

What is faith but the clashing of ideology

What is knowledge but the destruction of ignorance

 

Forged by a warrior race, heraldry has long been intertwined with the fires of war. As the first Dragon Knights were tasked to battle the dark, in our modern age it is our duty to combat the Inverse Flame in all its aspects. For otherwise, we fall to sloth, becoming hermits of faith and knowledge - only to realize it all shall be rendered to ash as our enemies break through our blackstone walls, burn our books, and desecrate our relics.

 

War is a strengthening of the body, of the vessel itself through trial and error. It is associated with Red Flame, Being. Truly, to bleed, is to be. In Being, the world finds the world, and the One is a single clattering of blades closer.

 

Steel swings so sweet, for it is the very bones of mountains clashing in symphony for purpose. A song of delicate dances, for pride, for honor, for peace. Heed mine words o brothers and sisters, be ye of fire and flame, or stilled tongue and empty. We fight not for pride, honor, nor peace. We fight for it is our charge, for, it is as the flowers which must bloom when spring dawns, for which a machination is crafted with but one sole purpose. 

 

CONVICTION.

 

Conviction to stand as what IS, against that which is NOT. Truth, glorious does it shine in fractals parsed and shattered upon our realm. Truth, it would not be so, as but a man who viewed but an iota of it wrong. Upside down, or even the slightest bit askew, and that Truth is no longer. Malformed, no. Malperceived, for Truth Shines. Truth Burns. It is the conscious vessel that ascertains its sense, its sight, what it knows, what it alone scrounged to cobble together a patchwork monster of reality which MUST be truth.

 

And it is wrong. 

 

And they would wield Truth a sword. They would give Truth a worldly name. They would fashion it a god, and call it other, and claim it He. This is the Untruth, which deigns that Ego, Flesh, and Power are all to aspire. It was Truth, when the King-Who-Is consumed Xan, affirming His mantle, becoming him. Both are the same, simply two facets of one. War manifest, of Fate against Order. Salvation versus Stagnation. 

 

Order has always been Fate, yet only through war with its other half, and war with one’s self is it realized. 

 

Nestled within the first dragon knights, war against the dark burns our very hearts, stoking them in righteous cause. It is this war by which our Pact was made, to defend the mortal realms from fell forces beyond, and to which we will perish till our flame snuffs to cinders. It is the dark which grows greater with light, with us as mediators to find the balance between them. Inscribed within Being, the act of war in itself is of the vessel; its fruits are of the spirit.

 

Every battle won in the materium is a battle won amongst the war of souls. A war not of bloodshed and suffering, but of Flames apart seeking to return to One. Raise your blade not in Ire, but in Conviction, seeking to return the souls forlorn to the Great Pyre.

 

Seek to make thy vessel empty, so that it may be filled. For every strike against your form is a wisdom gained, and to the eldest of warriors their wisdom has been bled and relearned a thousand times over. Let the Ego run empty with the ichor that spills from you, embrace that which is pure, unadulterated Conviction. Purpose. In this your blade only raises in name of our glorious Father, in name of that which is Truth. Otherwise, you fight for self, and gain naught but what the self becomes - ash.

 

One cannot serve the Flame alone in song and wisdom, just as one cannot aim to feed a pyre if rain pours down from above. Mine brothers and sisters who may be apprehensive to seek out the Inverse Flame in war, to hunt them down and free them of their worldly chains - cast yourselves unto the flames, and feed it thus. 

 

The rain is unrelenting, and the pyre threatens to snuff out. Hundreds before you fought against the unrelenting abyss, and hundreds are ash. You too, are ash. You are ash that may yet wield a sword, and make of it wisdom to enlighten our enemies of their enslavement by script of crimson lesions. Let steel sing against steel in loving tune of our Father in Fate. And let each of us know War, and love it, and learn it, for it is by War we find Asioth, by War our Father’s station, and by War our enemies shall find salvation.

 

The foolish man will reflect upon the highest peaks, and count each blessing the gold has giveth. Above the very notion of Untruth, ascended from what is worldly bloodshed, death, and war. Yet beneath, for each blessing of gold counted, a soul is plucked by darkness. And when every blessing is planted true beside every star, does the fool look downwards - and the stars are no more.

 

Song

 

What is battle but the singing of blades

What is wisdom but the praise of truth

 

The act of Song spans to the eldest of those faithful to the Titan, whose throats parched in draconic prayer. It takes many forms, for it is the act of loving, and putting one’s faith into another. Acting as not only a social bond, but a bond with the King-Who-Is, it brings two facets nearer to one another. Core to periphery, greater to lesser. 

 

Without Song, we are but brutes who wage war for the world alone, and consume knowledge as a flame beset on paper. There would be no greater purpose to our cause. There would be no Love to change what Is, and what is not. There would be only the profane world, and nothing to Love it.

 

Song is the strengthening of the soul through prayer, temperance, and cleansing. It is characterized by White Flame, Loving. 

 

Sing thy praises so that it is heard across all the earth, for it falls ever short upon the heavens. To the flame may mountains speak, gracing upon ears rested within gardens. The world was made in Song of selfless love, and from other was it cleaved to exist. From Asioth all things subside, from Asioth came Vessel and Flame, Being and Loving. 

 

The act of song is of selfless loving, expecting naught in return for your praise. It is to Azdromoth you Sing when the pretenders of Ruin are burnt in the offering pit before His altar. It is to Eresin you sing when an Um’ei is answered after years of inward thought. It is blest Dragur to which you sing for every tome, scroll, every iota of knowledge remembered. Greater loves lesser indeed; look to your brand marred upon the temporal flesh, and see the love our Titan gives so freely. 

 

So too, return to him in song, so that you may love that which is yourself. By way of candle, incense, of prayer in the draconic, by burning to cinder the apostate, by falling to your knees in service to flame. Our station is that of service, in unending war against the Inverse, in unending remembrance of knowledge never lost, in Song of the Great Pyre every Flame does borrow and rest.

 

The very incredulous, everwarping “you” is the shadow of a Flame. Like a Fire above water, there exists the Fire, the water, and a shadow cast upon it. Praise not the shadow, but that which casts it. It is Soul in experience of what Is, and corruption of one leads to the corruption of the other. Cleanse thy vessel before the cleansing of thy flame. Wash, burn, purge the impurities of the body first before any ritual act is done, lest the ritual be made impure. Cleanse the mind, and become empty. Corruptions of the mind alter the song, warping its intent, falling from Truth. And lastly, cleanse the Flame. In utter selflessness, let Song flow freely in love of other. In this loving of other, it is in loving the Flame, upon which you are a shadow cast. It is in loving yourself.

 

A part wishes to return to one, and through Song you may return. For to Love without want, is to become. And in loving true, a glimmer of Asioth is achieved. Love and serve, and should Fate deem it so, salvation is granted. Salvation to know, truly, where the soul shall rest. Salvation to will it so, and to know it thus.

 

Damnation, is to try and break from chains unbreakable. To deny Truth, and to think yourself free by way of hate. To serve yourself, to pact with demons on high, or to bind thy soul amidst a graft of a thousand others. It is to rear against the chains of Being, only to throttle the neck as the chains bind tighter. The soul bound is thus damned, sold or consumed to the highest bidder who may pluck it from empty clay, for it is no longer yours. 

 

Truly it was never yours, yet, shall you accept this, genuflect, and stoke a greater flame with face pressed against the fire - or, shall you scream and kick and cry as a babe thrust into the world. A babe whose voice falls upon deaf ears, who strangles upon their own choking wails.

 

The warrior knew only the blood of his veins, and the taste of his enemies’ hearts. A thousand would die by his hand, and a thousand deaths did he die. No closer was he to completion than when he started, for he knew not why he fought. In those final moments, he stared into the eyes of his killer; they were his own.

 

Wisdom

 

What is war but the knowledge of form

What is song without word

 

The gift of Dragur, the gift of eternity is timeless insight. Wisdom is to many the application of knowledge, garnered only by time. Wisdom is not gained by reading, but rather by being. Age begets wisdom, yet without knowledge, there is no depth within. Like a wick without a base, it may burn for but a short time. 

 

Garner wax to mold beneath it, and the flame burns continually. The collection of knowledge in forms written is an ancient tradition of heralds, likely brought about by Dragur’s influence upon his blessed creations. Inherited to seek and amass knowledge has thereby been deigned upon the heralds, tasked to create libraries as troves of knowledge. Without Wisdom, there is no timeless insight. Without it, we are fated to fall to the mistakes of our forefathers, singing and warring, and forgetting.

 

Wisdom is the strengthening of the mind, the collection of knowledge, and the insight of applying knowledge. It is Gold Flame - Knowing.

 

You sit in a lightless place, never an iota of light graces you. You cannot feel walls, never affirming where your place starts or ends. Every footfall is uneasy, unsure of the next. There is no smell, there is no sound but your heartbeat thumping through your ears, and of the earth beneath your feet. For once you admit to yourself - you know nothing.

 

The vessel arrives before a distant land and claims itself learned. It knows all that it has garnered, and carries this knowledge like water within. Knowledge may be divine, mundane, or accursed. Akin to the secular man who does not devise the food he consumes, small corruptions may begin to arise. 

 

To consume corruption is to have a part of you corrupted. Similarly, knowledge may be corrosive to the mind. It is in Wisdom, that we discern Truth, from Untruth. It is the difference between salvation, and damnation. So too, this vessel filled with a myriad of knowledge must prostrate itself, fall genuflect to the floor - and empty. 

 

The emptying of the vessel is to admit the sole fact.

 

I know nothing.

 

From there, it may be refilled, tapped to its full, and once again spilled when wisdom bestows its simple truth once more. Knowledge spills forth, naming what was un-named. It is a voice, it speaks between another unseen. Insight radiates brilliant, forming what was un-formed. It is seen, wordlessly it is understood by those who accept it thus. Together, Wisdom is ascertained, it is honed and practiced until its perfection is unrivaled. 

 

And again, it repeats, never truly finished. Never do we cease in learning, never do we cease in understanding. It is this hunger for knowledge true, not out of a wish for self gained power, nor for pride to forge a mound to stand upon - but the unadulterated, holy aim to learn, to teach, to garner Wisdom for no greater reason that makes us children of Dragur. 

 

It is Wisdom in full which draws us from the clutches of the Inverse Flame, that which is Untruth. Lies are sold and accepted, notched into fragments where the heart has broken and accepted its own deceit. It is the falsehood beholden to every warlock and mystai, and is only combatted by the Burning Truth. 

 

If we are lax in our search and spread of Truth, steadily the world will fall to darkness. Not physical darkness, but ignorance which clouds the mind in self-affirming deceptions. Thus, we have failed, and many are doomed to never walk the Golden Path.

 

And yet, the darkness is temporary. Just as there are wizened men who, in the full Light of Truth, have fallen to ignorance and falsity - there are those who have broiled in the dark for millenia, who are struck by Truth, and realize the self’s position in the schisma. 

 

The King-Who-Is sat within the depths of the world for ages, and now has risen to his throne always destined. Be that light, be that spark which may drag your ignorant brother from the depths - or, rend them to ash. They shall remember Truth with every burn upon their vessel, until there is naught but the ivory bone beneath. Knowledge is never lost, nor gained, only is it remembered. For in the One, all is known, we have only yet to remember.

 

The sage sat on his mountaintop and sang. He knew not what he sang to, nor the words of his own song. It was not until his throat clotted, and an ever-burning hand dragged him beneath, that he realized to What he did sing.

 

Steel sings so sweetly

A river divides the land

Crimson, marrow, death

 

Light shines, brilliant

Sung so sweet on timeless bells

Loving, praising, song 

 

Ink dried in black scrawl

Supped from font, wisdom, insight

Candlelight beckons

 

 

[KeiaTypeBeat 3276]

Spoiler

This is really good, Security, like holy wow