Soliloquy of The Silvenar

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Violet
Lead Dev
Posts: 273
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2018 11:07 am

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.

Violet
Lead Dev
Posts: 273
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2018 11:07 am

Post by Violet »

Soliloquy of the Silvenar, Vol 2.

To warrant a change in tide or season, one must live through the chords echoing eternal. For rain falls on us all, but little do we know the whispers of her machinations. Seek guidance from the canopy so that you will gain a greater understanding of those roses yet to reveal themselves, for there are other words spoken in thorns you can not see.

Be sure to remember the formless and the sudden rejections of shape and size, for they are a warning to us all of what may come when his wrath falls short of nourshiring the soil. To expect a change in the inconsistent voidless structures is to expect a petal to follow the breeze from vines, green and serene. Y'ffre hears the rhythmic chanting of words unspoken, and it is our duty as Bosmer to harmonize with his grove-choirs.

The lead on jungled stage may plant his or her roots in un-sanctified soil, as is their desires, but to err against the Storyteller is to wish for inarticulation of one's forms. We are both the garden and the gardeners to the Law of the Soil and of the Now.

To hear the words of the First Tree, is to hear whispers of creation, for Falinesti is the first born of the Lawmaker, child of The Now. To whisper back is to speak to the roots of the ground of the twice-tuned cosmos. For as the apes would ascribe The Below to be above ourselves, so shall I and we say unto you. The spirit of the branches withering in advance is not the Now which has saved us from our antiquity, but is instead those stringless spirits of unmeasured sounds which aid in the conquest of the grove among firsts. For this is the Elden wood that they hate, and that they take hateful forms to. To hear a beast snarl and hiss is to witness a formless seed sprouting with ill-intent. A leftover of the Ooze made manifest in spite of this eternal change that embraces us. Pity them, enjoy their lusts and theories, mechanical and flesh. For their form will forever remain that which they are - and they are what we have not; aching shapes unfit to survive the sacred gardens of Y'ffre, father of forests and spinner of tales intertwined.

Soul in Soul, Song in Song, and Soil in Soil. Greet the children of Falinesti, of Morineth, of Yggrthyil, of Calostha, of Carunich, and of Selicisa as you would their father, who is my and our father. For within me breathes new duties for the caretakers of the green chorus. Our grand orator, whose stories and sonnets of wine and honey bring about foliage grand, has sealed himself within himself. For it is our duty to care for his children, and his children's children. A duty for which we may interpret in as many ways as we hear. We shall know if we break our vows, for it shall be displayed to us, and on us for all the forest to see.

Violet
Lead Dev
Posts: 273
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2018 11:07 am

Post by Violet »

Soliloquy of the Silvenar Vol 3
I beseech my amorphous memories to dawn unto you a wreath of the Now. The Apes tell tales of faerie whispers and seeds of the soil-spirits, of calling down strange beasts of stars and scale to wrangle and to dominate. The Orcs have traditions of great battles and persecutions beyond the walls of the Bosmeri settlements and their own strongholds. Even too do the Satyr boast of rejecting mine and The Lawmaker's hand for that which made us whole. I have seen Empires rise and fall, both in Y'ffre's Garden and beyond, for the Now is an ever-expanding tapestry of cyclical time.

To speak with diction is to sing in rhythm, and to speak for the green is to rhyme with law. Take heed of the stories of the Great Song-Children of oak. To listen to their choral creaks and soil-sonnets is to hear tales of the gods. Time can tell no greater tale than what is born of blood and sap.

Whisper unto me now the lyrical histories of your life, for The Lawmaker hears all which echo through his garden. I am a collection of stories, bound by chorus and contract, and so too are the lives of all those who return to the Ooze.

Some great mer tell tales of the Ooze, that ethereal place of every nothingness, as do I. Some mer too tell tales of curses and poisons, time blossoming into many petals, even the summits of drake-mated myth. To tell tales of myth are to bare children that are history, for all that is before The Now is the Ooze.

As our chaotic verse inches closer to patterned chorus, so too will myth return to meter, and meter to marry with truth. To get to the truth of one's tale, they must reach the end of their stanza. That which will remain for yours and our crescendo is both myself and those that I shall become, and those that I have been. So go to the forests' heart and sing your ballads, write your verse, for you should not fear what change may come, as the nature of the tale is one that is bound in ever-changing stasis, as are we all in the blessed Now.

Violet
Lead Dev
Posts: 273
Joined: Mon Apr 30, 2018 11:07 am

Post by Violet »

Soliloquy of The Silvenar Vol 4
When I was molded, the formless void of everything had been filled, The Ooze was but a place and a splotch of empty memory that would be my beginning. A contract pre-signed, that I could resign myself to become your ambiguous-shapes and seeping decay-forever-preserved, or so the story of another-me abounds. That other me is myself, one that had been mine and his to unmake and reform. This is the nature of the Ooze in my eyes, that is the eyes of all Bosmer.

The true nature of the Ooze, that which one can speak but never know, is the essence of time-unlimited. As the threads of time never pass, they also pass for an eternity of blissful agony, and screeching peace. It is a time borrowed from a dragon of the past. Borrowed by the Lawmaker to unmake that agonizing past-nothing-and-everything into the Now. And as his spirit was filled by that Ooze that which is that Drake's infinite vigor, The Past could die intertwined with the heavens, and so too could The Now begin within the canopies below. This would be the birth of that First Tree, Falinesti.

One can not take lightly the Drake and his influence, for at times he returns to wrestle with The Now once again. These intimate Laws of the earth and heavens cause times of the Now to be both future and past, present and alternative. I have asked Falinesti of his childrens' growth during the Middle Dawn, and he had spoken unto me the simplest of truths, for the Song-Children of Oak are gods born from time and nature, to extend either will result in the expansion of them.

The true nature of the Song-Children is one of vengeful love. They are to be our teachers and our protectors. The Song-Children sing to us comfort and fear, as the First Tree walks his eternal cycle so too shall the Second Trees follow their father, so too shall we follow the Grahts in quarter-stepped harmony. You must maintain yourselves to maintain the Pact, that which is my flesh, and so too must you maintain dignity in the eyes of the Divine Oaks.

If one can not maintain themselves, they must be banished, for they shall corrupt the forest before revealing their true misshapen selves. If one can not maintain the nation or its mer, then one may choose to enact a Wild, Terrible Hunt. One that may leave all to ruin in its wake.

The true nature of the Wild Hunt, that which is the true nature of the Green Pact, is to reject your own self - and embrace what came before The Now. For the Hunt is the physical manifestation of one's own Ooze incarnate. It is an act of stealing back what I have kindly bared for you, and thus can only be called by those who truly care for the most sacred of pacts. Once one has rejected themselves and the Pact, one shall lose themselves in both mind and body, and become something to be feared by all. A terrible price to maintain the nature of the Bosmer and their Lawmaker's Garden.

Know of these things, for they all serve as witness to what came before; and what is, and was, and will, and is again. This is the poetry The Gardener has sown for Mundus and his children. A glorious garden it has become.

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