Soliloquy of The Silvenar

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Violet
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Soliloquy of The Silvenar

Post by Violet »

Soliloquy of The Silvenar

dictated by The Silvenar, arranged by Paligrinth Vrayden

Within the elden grove lies a song of synchronicity. The patterns ebb and flow unanimously as the oaks sway, marching to the meter of floral repose. There is none unlike the other's least spoken of features, and yet, there abounds a countless stream of cherished canopies. This is the sacred grove of Y'ffre's garden, perched high and low as a perfect melody swirls beneath the feet of every pact bearer. The Bosmer dance in tune with the grove, as its heart beats 10 times a whisper is unraveled.

There is a sign of unfortunate change among the grovelings, these come from time to time, but what is Now is rhythmic and destined to repeat its chorus in scale. One such turn of phrase was Falinesti's first dance; Rocerylen fell to the roots of bone, while the first tree met the sky with a neighborly smile. What changes for the better also changes for the worse, and what changes for the worse also changes the nature of "worse", this is the truth of The Now.

A parallel to draw from is a flower unbloomed; did it wither away like a pact-breaker's house-lover? Or did it simply never exist at all. Thus is the nature of the world as the Singer had sung. There is but one state of being that remains past The Ooze, that is the state of The Now.

Before the Ooze, there was life unlived. During the Ooze there was void unseen. After the Ooze is The Now. After The Now is the Ooze. After the Ooze there is life yet lived. After the life yet lived, there is only the pact. This is the cycle of living in The Now.

Regarding the history of those whom withstood the legless standstill of form, know that I was among your kin and grandchildren, fathers and mothers. With the seed of the Storyteller, I have been birthed with myself to guide those who do not form words of infinite impermanence. For all those who started their tales' drowning in the Ooze, their fates are among their beginnings, and thus the origins of their formless space had been taken up by those few timeless stanza. I was the first to become one with the Singer, as I was the last to hear his words plainly. This is the chorus of the Green Pact, that which inhibits The Now to form.

The matters at hand, those unique issues of life, love, and harmony, blend together in a passage of stale time that leaves tomorrow unresolved. For your grovelings beseech the Green, and yet your words fall out of tune to those within his soil. Sing unto the Green with resonance and diction, passion and awe, guile and wit, and you may yet find the lyrics to his psalms as we have witnessed. Among the hum of his eldest seeds ring true the nature of true shapeless stability, for those who hear in perplexed patterns. There is no reconciling one's self to his other selves, there is only the nature of things made solid, which is to say the song of the wilds made manifest in spite of its own tongues. This is the nature of The Now.

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