Histories

The Book of Syrin

The Sight of Syrin

We all come to the Depths of God by different paths. Some tread the path of pain and suffering, others that of inspiration and enlightenment. But if we stay to that path, God will take our souls into His arms, giving us His gifts. But our path is as important to God as our destination, for it is that particular path which grants us insight to His particular Nature. So in prelude to my scribing of the Truth granted me by Sight, I will first set to record mine own path.

I was born to God on my fifteenth mortal summer. My parents were human peasants of some unremarkable sort, with noted exception, however, to their dealings with our Lord. It was folly happenstance, as often are the dealings of mortals with God. The man who was my father was given to temptations of greed and self-importance. He chanced to cross unfavourably one of our own Priests with his blustering behaviour and found himself cursed most terribly. All life about him was found blighted he and his wife were struck with syphilis, his pathetic farm plot errupted with the birth of maggots, and when his manhood became so rotted and vile it burst with pus, he finally found the humility to beg the pardon of the Priest and God whom he had offended.

For the return of his life the Priest demanded life. The sacrifice of his only son, given to God, restored light to his life. And so the man who was my father took me in innocence to kneel in the garden, surrounded by bloated vegetation and infested clay. And there he struck the knife through my heart and I died, a prayer to God, a true prayer, on my lips.

The feces slipped with life from my corpse into the garden and the blight rescinded. The Priest, gathering me up, carried me to True Life. Cleansed in Fire, I was born to God.

As teaching progressed, I chose to further my devotion to God as His own Priest. While others of you have taken up arts to bring about God's work on the earth, I have made God my art, to further spread his teachings amongst our kind and beyond to the mortals. In sacrifice of my own violition, I burned out mine eyes that I might See.

God has granted visions to His humble servant. It is here in this tome that I set these visions before you, that all His devoted might know Him closer. Forget not how He holds your soul.

Written in mine own hand,
Brother Cristofer
Priest of God, Seer of Syrin

-To Syrin, our Lord, we give praise.
--To Syrin, son of the Mother, we open our eyes.
---To Syrin, creator of diversity, giver of gifts, completement of
----the Ultimate Circle, we offer our lives.

So many mortals forget our Lord God. Let us always bear in our heart the knowledge that we mortals are the creation of the Mother. Let us always recall that the brother Tyrin created our world. Let us forever comprehend that is it Syrin who made the races, who trained our bodies and our minds, who gave us the gifts that allow us to act in service to the Gods. The Circle was created by the Mother, it was sustained by the Brother, but it was ended and reborn in our Lord.

I knelt in meditation, sinking my soul into the embrace of God. The empty sockets of my eyes dripping blood from my recent sacrifice began to burn with the Fire of God as His Sight came upon me for the first time.

I walk across the lush earth, amongst the created peoples, under the warm sun. Those around me raise their arms to the sky in praise of their creator of light, they bury their hands in the earth in remembrance of the Mother, but they turn away from the shadows which lie beneath the trees and under rocks. They do not even see their own shadows following them always, so intent are their eyes upon the brighter glories.

They wail at the loss of death. They implore bright Tyrin to restore life into their shallow bodies, they beg the Mother for mercy, they curse God for bringing Death to the world.

Through God's eyes I watch this with a heart of sorrow. The Mother understood the need for the Circle and in Her need created the Second Son. His soft voice whispers in my ear...

All this I gave to them and still they curse me. They invoke my brother's hatred against me. They fill their hearts with lies against my works and wound me with their words. Why must they deny my Being, my heart, my place in the heart of my Mother?

Teach them, little brother. Show them truth. Open their hearts and sing to their souls. Return my people to the Balance.

The Fire slips from my eyes and embraces my heart.

Prophesies of the Coming - Cristofer

In the third hour of night, my sight of the world dimmed and the Sight of God fell upon me. Piercing through the veil of night, I saw the lichnee drawn to the bonfires, the bright lights and dancing of the inns, and the warmths of mortal hearts. Carousing as mortals and seeking the false light of the Brother's creatures during the sacred night.

The lichnee look out into the darkness and smile at their realm, but they do not see it. They feel the powers of the night, but they seek to use them, not to obey them. So utterly are they consumed by the flame of false pride.

These Sons together did the Mother birth. From the same blood, they begin and close the Circle. Divided as they are, always are both part of the whole. Tyrin's day - light floods the land but in the presense of light do shadows lie. Syrin's night – blackness soaks into the earth, yet over head shine the dancing light of stars.

The lichnee are the touched by God's hand. They owe their strength, their powers, to God alone. But the light in them, the spark of life that God has turned, this was placed by the Brother. And in all mortals lies the shadow of God for one night shall they die.

Neither of these gifts, your life, your powers, have been acheived through your own means. Your pride, Lichnee, is the shameful pride of the self-righteous bastards who walk the land serving Syrin's death in the name of Tyrin. It is pathetic that you dare to think your power your own. And God, my Brothers, my Sisters, God most wroth indeed.

Before me, through His eyes, I see His hands as my own. From the womb of a woman who has this night conceived under the grunting form of her lover, I have ripped Tyrin's light of life. This life, yet untouched by the world of the Mother have I shaped into My chosen image, conferred upon My gift of immortality. This being, spun complete of My will, shall walk the earth as I cannot.

Those pathetic servants, strolling across the earth swollen with ignorance, as though their weak manhoods and their dry breasts were not shriveled and slack - these servants will have their arrogance raped from their souls by His true servant and avatar.

He is coming...

Written by my hand this seventh hour of the night,
Cristofer, the Prophet, the Seer.

Soft voices whisper in my ear...

It has begun...

Before me a mist rises from the earth, glowing an angry scarlet. The whispers surround me...

He is coming...all will be lost...all will be gained...the power...newborn life, sweet in its love...the Circle will be joined...only great death shall feed new life...

Before me I see a corpse, mangled. Its head near severed, its white hand splayed lifeless over its own spilled innards, its feces expelled violently from its bowels. Decay creeps over the flesh like a bride's wedding veil. From its open mouth, frozen in a scream, slides a thick worm with sightless eyes and a hungry tooth.

And the beautiful Mother steps from the sky, her eyes bright with love, her starlit hair streaming about her. And with tender hands she bends to lift the worm from the fetid corpse and places it on the lush grass at her feet.

The voices glide against me again, cold tongues flick at my ear...

Her creation has risen...His creations shall fall...

Let it thunder through your lungs, let the power crackle against your skin, let the words burn your tongue. It has come to pass. The unfaithful will cry out to the ones they have forsaken for mercy and their screams will bring only pleasure.

But let the faithful stand. Let those who have watched in silent respect come into their own. Let them gather up His mortal children who will come to learn, come to understand what He truly is. Let them stand to witness the glory of the completion of the Circle. Come.

Written by my hand this eleventh hour of the night,
Cristofer, the Prophet, the Seer

Perceptions - Sziromicon

Part One

The gray noise was more felt than heard. The crackling silence enveloped the senses. The landscape that wasnt there shifted.

'Where am I?'

'Everywhere. Nowhere. At one with me in the universe of your mind.'

Sziromicon knelt in quiet reverence, and in a near silent whisper, 'It has begun..'

'It has. As we speak, I strip you of the mortal flesh binding you to the mortal plane. Everlasting unlife granted to you so you may serve to share wisdom among my children.'

Sziromicon knew better than to attempt raising his head to ascertain the origin of the voice he felt. He knew it would not be there if he did.

'All have a place. In your lifetime, you served as an agent of chaos. In your unlife, you will catalyze a shift, opening the gate of understanding. Wisdom through chaos, enlightenment through suffering. Those whose life strings you will tap, will gain insight into themselves. From this wellspring will come the future souls of thought.'

'I do not understand.'

'You have eternity to understand. As your flesh on the mortal plane has been consumed, so too have your emotions. You will be gifted with visions, attuned to auras. These are tools I give to you for your servitude. Go forth chaos knight and do what needs be done.'

The gray faded out, the slow yet serene evolution from stupor to consciousness, the last whispers came, 'Go forward. This gift I give you and yours. Fail me not.'

'Kill her.', Suqlaheru, Avatar of Syrin requested plainly. Without hesitation, words of dark magic slid easily from what was now a grinning black skull. Mallika bore the brunt as her bones decayed further. The spidery words continued a short while. With a gesture and a word, the battle ceased. 'I am satisfied.', and in an instant, the Avatar had vanished into the ether.

'My beloved.'

'Eternally.' Mallika returned, as the two went through the mortal ritual of a tender kiss.

'The winds of change stir. The test has afforded a brief moment of enlightenment. A Champion is to be born.'

Part Three

Excerpts from a leather bound journal:

'...and being on two sides of the same coin, it would stand to reason the only difference is perspective.'

'The good, and the evil are but abstracts. Names given in a vain attempt to explain the complexities of existence and the effect souls have on one another. Easier yet it becomes to accept when "good" and "evil" are associated with physical beings, Tyrin and Syrin respectively.'

'...an understanding that all who would serve Him, serve in their own way. The way in which they feel guided by Him. Is it good? Is it evil? It just is. That is the one certainty.'

- Sziromicon, Dark Prophet of The Church

An Epistle to The Church - Reilyn

The form of the lichnee is almost as varied as the kine race. Some of our brethren appear as skeletal remains long removed of decay, others in almost every possible stage of decay, the newly dead, and some even retain the luster of life. You may read that we are Created in His Image, yet with our different forms, it can be difficult to understand that we are all of His Image. The High Prophet Cristofer once penned that the stage of death of the lichnee was parallel to his or her level of resistance in sacrifice and transformation. Those that willingly went into His Arms retained a large part of their livelihood, while those who struggled found upon their rebirth the struggle had taken its toll on their physical form. While this could be accurate, we know that others, in their private moments of communion with Our Lord, have been granted requests regarding their continued vitality, or lack thereof. The only truth we know that each of us who is reborn becomes one with Him in that precious time of rebirth, and that in the semblance of life or in death, we are His Children, and each of us are a part of Him and the extension of His Will.

We come to death in sacrifice and life once more in service. This is the true mission of the Lich - Service to our Lord Syrin. It is the sole purpose of your creation. It is also the mission of the Church of Syrin, the organization to which all lichnee are bound. Your level of participation in the official works of the Church is dependent upon you. There are no requirements of service made upon our brethren. And while it is a requirement of all lichnee to be of the Church, it is not restricted solely to our brethren. Any race of people wishing to follow the path of service may join the Church. Our temples are open to all, the devout and skeptic alike.

Since our Lord's banishment from this land, His eyes are upon us and our voices heard by Him through His and Our Avatar, Suqlaheru. Suqlaheru is the host of our Lord's Will, and His Will shall be done. Avatar Suqlaheru oversees the Church, ordaining officials as he deems necessary. The Avatar also has the power to strip those unfitting of our Lord's gifts and return him or her to mortality. Those who stray from the purpose of their existence will find themselves at the Avatars mercy. The leaders of the Church, referred to as the High Council, are the High Priest or Priestess, and the High Champion.

The Church itself is of two parts Word and Will. The High Priest or Priestess spearheads this particular branch of the Church. The priests and non-combative members of the Church are responsible for spreading His Word. These are the missionaries who would enlighten the masses on what we are, what the Church is, and why Syrin is the Master of us all. You would be surprised how few people realize that the blood of the fey or draconian that runs through their veins is because our Lord gave the gift of diversity to Moran's children.

The Will of the Church is found in His Lament and the House Pahktun of the Order. Under the command of the High Champion, the soldiers of the Church of Syrin defend the Church and its members. His Wrath falls upon those whom would attack us, those which blindly find our existence evil, and those outside the Church that are hostile unto us. The Church is not aggressive unless provoked. We always seek to peacefully coexist with those who would follow different beliefs, until those beliefs are carried out in actions that are hostile. Those zealots and heretics determined to shed blood will be met with the unyielding Wrath of our Lord.

The outside world perceives our Brethren and His Church in an entirely different light than that which we know ourselves and the Church to be. We are seen as a selective group, often targeted for our differences. We are met with fear because of our forms because of our animation and free will despite being dead creatures. In the eyes of the uneducated, Syrin is the Lord of Darkness and Evil. Therefore, we are evil in the eyes of those who know no better. Those who would spread the word of Syrin are acutely aware of the truth in these words:

'The good, and the evil are but abstracts.  Names given in a vain
attempt to explain the complexities of existence and the effect
souls have on one another.  Easier yet it becomes to accept
when "good" and "evil" are associated with physical beings,
Tyrin and Syrin respectively.'

Evil is found in those that would attack us simply because we are His Chosen. Evil is found in the discrimination of the Children of Tyrin, striking upon those dually blessed with the gift of shape shifting. Evil is relative, and we seek to dispel the myth that we are evil. We are His Chosen, His Holy form upon this land. We are blessed, not cursed. We are teachers of His Word and Will, and our lives are to be lived as representatives of Him.

As a lichnee and member of the Church of Syrin, your conduct reflects upon your brethren, the Church, and our Lord. You have come into being with free will, and your path is not predetermined. However, this does not mean you have the right to act in a manner unbecoming to the Church or our Lord. Above all else, there is one Law which all must follow. The Ban of Syrin is this: You shall never strike your brethren. Any who break this Ban will find themselves at the mercy of the High Council of the Church and Our Avatar. This ban does not include being attacked or challenged. You have the right to defend yourself so long as you have the ability. Any loot is yours to keep if you are the one attacked or challenged. However, this does not give you the right to initiate attacks on the one who attacked you. A scroll should be immediately penned to The High Priest or Priestess, the High Champion, and Avatar Suqlaheru. Only the High Council has the ability to allow an attack on a brethren lichnee, and even then such attacks fall under the scrutiny of Our Avatar.

For any with further questions, consult a senior member of the Church or any of the High Council.

The Prophesy

The thick, musty air had been left undisturbed for some time. A rift opened quite suddenly, sending the scents of time and must into a frenzy, invisible to the eye. A dracolich appeared through the rift, barely settling its form upon the cold stone before the rift vanished. The room was still, silent. Only the disturbance of the scents in the air gave the warning of change. Stranger. Intruder.

The dracolich calculated the room with a quick but silent snap of its skeletal neck. Sensing no form of life, the creature shimmered in perception, twisting and shrinking from the form of a corporeal dragon to that of a lichnee. Translucent wings sheathed themselves neatly before withdrawing into the lich's back. Now the room was washed in a dim red light, and the lich appeared to see into the dim room with amazing clarity. The light source, a lock of the lich's hair, glowed like a dying ember. She tread lightly around the room, stopping in the center of the room, where the symbol of intertwined circles had been inlayed into the stone floor using different colored gems. The Arcaenum Keep. She found the door and attempted to open it, only to find it locked from the outside. Turning back into the chamber, she walked to the nearest table, standing still as a corpse when the mahogany table creaked of its own volition, as if protesting the lichnee's presence. She glanced down at the table, covered in scrolls and open books, all covered in an almost imperceptible layer of dust.

If a skeleton could ever frown, it did so now, unable to decipher the ancient languages written. A string of curses came from the lich, hushed and sounding undeniably feminine, the tone permeated with the monotony of a life lived longer than humanity's confines. In the common tongue she swore, cursing her lack of magical understanding, to have stumbled into the very bowels of Arcaenum's secrets, only to find the contents useless!

Turning again, she scanned the rest of the vault. The words to transport her away died on her lips as she noticed a box laying on a shelf of one of the many bookcases in the vault. Fashioned of black wood, the image of a scythe had been carved into the lid. With great care not to disturb the box, she lifted the lid, revealing a scroll of great age. Slowly removing the scroll from the box, she noted the Seal of the Church of Syrin broken upon it. The scroll unrolled of its own will, and the lich began to read.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have walked through it only in dreams but the vision that came to 
me this night was different. I was there, listening to my feet echo 
upon the stone. I felt the carvings upon the walls, stood before the 
gates and saw the guardians with my own eyes. Then the bowels of the 
earth swallowed this perfection, this glorious Temple, and the ground 
showed no disruption, smoothing itself to perfection. I doubted my 
eyes, looking to the ground for clues, and found the only evidence 
that I had indeed just seen this, a symbol of our Lord lodged into the 
dirt.

Suddenly the image blurred, and I found myself upon the battlefield, 
witnessing the High Council as they wrote furiously into small books. 
Our Lord appeared, and I bowed before realizing none could see my 
presence, I was but a spectator. No sooner had the thought crossed my 
mind, when He looked directly at me, and I had no doubt He knew I was 
there, and that I was here for a reason. I was meant to see this, it 
was He who brought me to this place, this time, and now in my waking 
state I struggle to understand exactly what happened.

He turned His attention to them, His most loyal and chosen Council, 
and I was awed with the Fatherly manner in which Our Lord addressed 
them.

"Alone, these books are but tired volumes of nothingness, with no 
meaning, no purpose. Not one is better than the other, simply 
different it its lessons. Unified and united, they serve Me, and the 
lesson will not be taught until those in the position to understand 
this lesson as you have, step forward and sacrifice themselves to 
learn once again."

He touched the first book, and blessed it with these words...
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whether fate, the divine hand, or simply time has reached its pinnacle of revelation is unknown, but the fact remains in that moment, the scroll withered and crumpled in the lichnee's hands to dust. This time, without the premeditated restraint she had before, she swore until the sound echoed through the room, and slammed the lid of the box down into place. The sound of footsteps outside the door snapped her from her self indulgent temper tantrum. Whispering an arcane word, a portal to the Temple of Midgaard opened. She quickly entered, the last sound before leaving was the sound of a key turning the lock. The portal closed a mere second before the door opened.

A woman walked in, the aura of power surrounding her lit the room instantly. She turned, as is a sixth sense guided her, and her eyes focused immediately on the small black box. Eyes narrowed, she removed the lid, and not flicker of surprise moved her features of her face as she looked into the empty container. Glancing down, she looked directly to the scattered dust freshly sprinkled on the floor. She left the vault, locking the door once again, and climbed up from the bowels of the Keep of Arcaenum. Looking out across Rhia from one of the many walls surrounding the Keep, she saw a disturbance in the land, new drifting wafts of energy that rose from Midgaard, spreading out across the land as the lich gathered her Brothers, sharing her findings. Astyron allowed herself a small smile, watching the web grow slowly across the sky.

She pulled from her robes a small folded note that she unfolded to read again, for second time in two years. Once when received, and again when the promise came to pass.

I hope you understand that I have to leave the Circles. My role is elsewhere. The scrolls written by the acolyte who attended me in my walks with My Lord has placed them in Arcaenum's care. They will find the lichnee as is His Will. His Blessings on Arcaenum and you. Cristofer"

Tucking the note back into her robe she muttered, 'Always the prophet, Cristofer' and she turned and walked away from the parapet, back to her chambers.

Eruve's First Service - Eruve

This is a recording of the first service I held for all who wish to read.

I will start from the very beginning. Rhian is the mother of Tyrin and Syrin as you know it, but I am here to tell you, that Lord Syrin has existed just as long as Rhian. At first, Lord Syrin was silent, drawing Rhian into his plans without her knowing, it was he who told her to create the sun to accent her beauty, and by flattering her he succeeded in bringing her into the palm of his hand. To be honest, it was Lord Syrin who whispered the idea of weaving Tyrin into Rhian's ear. As Rhian weaved Tyrin, he was only a tapestry, lifeless and pointless until the night, when it began to weave itself and came to life.

It was in fact, Lord Syrin bringing this creation to life. Then Syrin lay dormant for some time, letting Tyrin create the things he did and letting him show it to his mother. After it was shown and she again had a dream, a dream of balance, a being that would bring balance, a dark dream. Again it was an image that was implanted by Lord Syrin. After the dream she began again, working on a tapestry, and as she rested from her long and hard job of completing the dream to protection, Lord Syring manifested himself into this tapestry. Rhian herself was surprised at the look in his eyes, the look of infinity, the look of experience, a look one can only get with time.

Now, Lord Syrin has always been thought of as the evil god, but the things I am about to reveal to you will show you that it is in fact Tyrin who is the god of darkness. All of my facts came from scrolls and there will be nothing I have made up. 'When he first came to the earth, while Tyrin was in his own kingdom, Syrin was out spending time with the children of Yanna. As he was with the children he began games, the best of the game would be rewarded by Syrin. The children were given perfect gifts the gift e experimented with his powers in games he played with the children. K'yesh who was the oldest was gifted with the ability to see in the night. Moiran, who was the second oldest was given wings like a bird. Oggrish who was the third son was given strength beyond belief. He stayed for many days and gifted each of the children except the last. Now some may say that he purposely did not gift the last child, but in all my readings I did not hear that anywhere.

When creating perfect gifts to give each of the children it is hard when you have just given 10, and still need another. He simply wasn't given the time to create the perfect gift for the child. Before he was givin the time to gift the last child of Yana, Tyrin cursed him. Tyrin banished him and Tyrin said he would be hunted just for being who he was. Now it was not enough, just having Kiyanne hunted, but he was created so that he would have to drink blood and kill as long as he should survive.

Tyrin is the reason there are creatures larking around in the dark, drinking the blood of innocents not, Lord Syrin. Even in the beginning of the earth, there was an order formed they called themselves The Order of Creation. The Order of Creation was an army made in the name of Tyrin, all followers of Tyrin. Now I am sure there are those of you who are familiar with The Great War but it was when Tyrin gathered an army and assaulted all of Syrin's followers.

It was Tyrin's army that came to Syrin and his followers and started war as correctly recorded in the scrolls. It was because of Tyrin that Lord Syrin was forced to gather his followers and ask them to fight for him. The war was waged for many days, and Syrin's followers fought bravely against their attackers. The battle went on to even the very last men, the leader of Tyrin's army, and the leader of Syrin's followers. Now Syrin did everything he could to keep his last follower alive. He gave him unnatural powers just to be able to stay alive and defend himself against the brutal follower of Tyrin. And Tyrin did everything he could to make sure that his follower was stronger then Lord Syrin's. It came down to the last swing, and as the swords were swung time stopped.

Rhian came down from her kingdom and shed a tear from the sight of what Tyrin had caused. It was because of Tyrin and his greed and jealousy that Lord Syrin was banished from ever walking the realm of mortals again. Then time was continued as they departed and both followers were beheaded. And even in these days, in the present day I look around and I see Tyrin's followers. I see them banning together and trying to slay those who have been gifted. They go about trying to slay the creations of Tyrin. Tyrin has gifted them with special abilities that help them carry out his evil deeds. At first, before the first coven departed they were not given such gifts. And I have personally spoken with a follower of Tyrin and he admitted why the coven was dismantled.

His words were "Tyrin left us, he abandoned us." And when Tyrin returned he figured the reason they could not cleanse the world was because they were not able to, so such as The Great War he again pours power into his followers just so they can attack and kill. Some still might doubt what I am saying, so I will give an example. At this time, Lilith is at large, and twice, the hunter priest and Cysan have been in the same place as her. And you might be asking what they did, I shall tell you. They sent her away. They did not stop her, they did not slay her, and they did not attempt to slay her, simply send her away. Now why would this happen? Why would they let her continue to build her city?

Tyrin is the god of death and darkness. He created the creature to kill he has an order of followers out killing, why would he stop his biggest producer of death? I believe it was once said that Cysan himself was once a vampire. One more example, when Lord Syrin was banished from walking the Earth again he sent The Avatar to be in his physical place. The Avatar guides and instructs the church when needed. What has Tyrin sent, nothing, he does not care as long as death continues to happen in large amounts. The reason he gathered the coven again was because the death toll dropped to low for his liking. Has Lord Syrin ever abandoned us?

I look around and see no group of Lord Syrin's followers set out on a mission to kill. The only fighting is done to protect the things He has given us. Just like in the Great War so many years ago. Now, Syrin is the giver of light and life, it is simple and there is only one reason that need be given. Look at the lichnee that roam the land, he has given us life after death. He has given life, after death.

Eruve, High Priest of His Church.