Garden of the Prophet > Source of All Seeds

Tenth Finger of the Prophet

Seventeen long years the Technists have shaped the Tenth Finger of the Prophet, and now that great work goes to its place, the sands about the Spire of Wisdom. There will be ten columns of Prophet's Fire to mark the Lune realm in the high summer Festival, praise be to His name.

The peasants who work the lowest Cathedral levels speak when they think there are none to hear. They say the Fingers built in the honor of the Prophet, in defense of the Faith, grind the souls of the desert beneath their treads. They say that which was built in defense of their very souls from Contagion brings the wind howling and sand to clot the Prophet's works! They huddle in their superstitions, and yet the Order sends no Preachers amongst them. Truly, Brothers, I cannot divine the mind of the Ordained.

These deserts of the Old Holies were half formed of bone and broken armor before the Cathedral, were burned to glass before the Order, were scoured by the wind before the Prophet, praise be to His coming. The weight of the mighty Fingers are the lightest caress beside the unhallowed death that passed before the Prophet brought His light to all.

Come, exhort your armor to movement, my Brothers, take up sword and long-cannon! The High Technist charges treads and tracks with the Prophet's Fire, and we will be a voice for the Order beside the third flank wheel of the Tenth Finger, as is right and holy.

[ Posted by Reason on May 3, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Contagion in the Valley

Brother, you have heard our long-cannon speak below! You have held your watch where a peasant soldier would run to battle, and that is well. But hark: Preacher Aren spoke with the Prophet's voice in sending us - Contagion, Contagion and heresy come here! The village below has served our Order for a century, and this is how our trust and guidance in the Faith are repaid.

Yes, Brother, it is true! Brother Mathe discovered two devices with the appearance of foul far-talkers or worse, rank with the signs of Contagion. We turned our long-cannon to the dwellings that harbored this heresy - smoking rubble stands there now! There were cries and wails, yes, and more when we piled stone atop the elders until they confessed to have dug this Contagion from the very fields. Lies! They have broken the Prophet's Law in soul for years, and now boldly build the tools of Contagion in the very shadow of our Cathedral. It is just as the Prophet warns, and these wretches will suffer the fate of all heretics, this I vow!

Brother, I will take this watch point. Turn your armor to the war-barque and bring this news to the Voidmaster: the Hateless Order has need of the Prophet's Fire. He will exhort his vessel to rise with strength redoubled, by the blessed Ordained, for there must be naught but char and glass in the valley on the morrow!

[ Posted by Reason on May 3, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

The Hopeless Healed and Made Whole

Brothers, armored we are the Prophet's hand! Rise from your long-table, you faithful, for I bring glad tidings for all our Order - another of the Hopeless rises from the Chapel Technis to swell our numbers. Yes, Brothers, the armor Vesi is healed and whole once more, by the grace of the Prophet and the faith of High Technist Redanne! The peasants move Vesi to the Cathedral shafts even now, and soon to our war-shrine.

A day to recall, a day for prayer and festival! Set aside your platters, send word to Preacher Aurent, for we shall honor the Prophet well this day.

Ten Brothers has Vesi carried in the service of the Faith, ten who gave blood and life for the Prophet, praise His name. Ten of the Order we shall remember, ten crypts we shall burnish and hang with pennons - but I recall the last, fifty years and more past though it was, as I stood armored by his side.

Brother Darre of Nomande and Vesi fell in the Purgen of High Andens Hold, pierced and crushed by a great deadfall of severed columns in the mountain vaults. Contagion and its vile tools bring low cunning to the heretic, twisting the heart to cowardice as they turn the soul from the Faith. Peasants of the highest reaches of the Andens thought themselves hidden beyond the Order's sight, the Contagion in their very souls free to speak to the Void and practice the Six Revulsions. We must be ever vigilant in the service of the Prophet!

The heretics were put to the sword and cannon - none lie beyond the Prophet's hand, and we fell upon them in war-barque and burnished armor, Brothers. Their Contagion was yet young, and we called out the glories of the Prophet as we enacted Purgen. So it was ordered by the Ordained, may the Prophet watch over their souls, and so it was done.

Purgen of cannon turned to Purgen of sword and then to a time of Prophet's Fire to char Contagion wherever it could hide. I exhorted the armor Treserre that carries me still to battle, in the name of the Prophet to lift the very vault from its fall - and lo! it was done. I carried forth the fallen from the smoking Hold seal-gates such that their service would be honored. Brothers, I call for a remembrance of Brother Darre, for we stood armored together against Contagion.

[ Posted by Reason on May 13, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Heart-vaults of the Frozen Arkta Realm

You of the Arkta realm have proven true to the Faith in your delvings within this ice-buried city of the Unhallowed; the twinned and sealed heart-vaults you have found will be raised and exhorted to the service of the Prophet, great is His name. The prayers of the Chapel Technis will bring the Prophet's Fire to these Holies, and they will serve as do we in the defense of the faithful.

Lord Ense and the Ordained of the Order have proclaimed just reward; this work will meet the worth of your tithe and service for ten years hence. All the Garden will speak well of you, least of the faithful of the chill Arkta realm, and your gift to the Faith. Rejoice, and praise the Prophet for guiding your steps!

Yet listen now, you faithful! We of the Order bring warning as well as the Prophet's blessing. Heed me: delve within the vaults and towers of the Unhallowed and your very souls are at risk! Pity the Unhallowed dead, for they lived before this age of the Prophet; Contagion whispered from the Void and all men turned from rightful ways. The great works of the Unhallowed were thrown down by their own hands, for they tended not to their souls!

My Brothers are vigilant, as must be all the faithful, lest the Garden suffer as did the last of the Unhallowed Age. Contagion still flows in the Void, and its taint echoes yet in Unhallowed vaults - the path of the faithful is to touch not the remains of the past, but to call upon we Brethren to bring the Prophet's Fire to cleanse and hallow. Do not further risk your very souls in these ice-vaults, else Purgen will fall upon you!

[ Posted by Reason on May 27, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Deep Ruska, a Century From the Faith

It is the Prophet's will we came here, Brother. The Voidmaster's record might have lain a century more within the vent-works of ancient Heness, but for the careless tread of neonates. All who might recall amongst the Voidmen are long gone to the Prophet's arms, for few have the Prophet's seed and the life of years. The Ordained Renne would have known, the Prophet rest his soul, for he rose upon the Prophet's Fire with the Voidmen to every village and fortress of strong forgen in the realm.

Look you there and there - Preacher Etene gathers the peasants from hiding, and the good Voidmaster laughs yet. Poor-clothed and fearful they are; Heness has scared them mightily indeed by charring the rock and earth to black and steam in laying to rest. This, the Preacher will forgive, but it will be better for these least of the faithful should they recall their duties; to have stored tithe and stand in readiness to give service in the Prophet's name. So long lost from the hands of the Prophet, I fear they will be in great need of guidance and instruction for many summers.

There are yet strange towers of the Unhallowed high upon the nearest mountain, but no Lord of Ruska nor close-guard to place seals against the curious - not since the years of the High Ordained Geheseb, when Void-dancers hurled fire from the Void upon the realms. The Prophet alone knows how many souls dwell yet in the forests and amidst the char, but shall we forsake them for our ignorance? Look down below, Brother - this village, these woods, the mountains: all are as much the care of the Order as Alb and Messen in the shadow of the Cathedral. Praise to the Prophet for calling us hence to our duty after so many years!

[ Posted by Reason on June 7, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Heed Not the Whispers of the Heart

A part within all of the Faith cries out to Contagion - even within those most holy: my Brothers of the Hateless Order, who bear the Prophet's seed and live the life of years. Lo! For are we not descended from the Unhallowed who fell for their faithless ways? Do we not yet pay penance for their heresy? It is the Test of the Prophet that we heed not the whispers of the heart of our forefathers, for such would lead us into Contagion and the very destruction of our souls.

The Prophet has lit our way by the holy light of His Fire, but even the least of the faithful, even the peasant of the lowest levels, must stand firm and walk upon his own two legs. Would you be as one who fell beside the way, with char in place of soul? Or you, would you be as the hollow-hearted Unhallowed, who tore down all they cherished in flame and horror? Would you fall into Contagion, and be destroyed by the hand of the Prophet? No!

The beasts of field and garden-deck follow the heart, for they have not the soul nor understanding of the Prophet's words. You are not beasts with the appearance of men, as the savages beneath the far Lesser Suns! No, lest you stray from the path of the faithful. It is the heart that whispers a want to see farther than your father's eye; to call to loved ones gone to prayer, farther than your mother's voice; to recall more than your own memories; to stray into the forests and char where only Unhallowed towers stand. Harken not to your heart!

Like offal upon the water, Contagion is within the Void betwixt realms of our great Garden. Like spoil thrown beneath the lowest forgen deck, Contagion is beneath the works of the Unhallowed yet. The whispers of your heart are the stench of rot, a warning! There are thorns in the Garden that would pierce and poison your very soul, but the words of the Prophet guide and protect the faithful!

Abide by the Faith and follow most dutifully the discipline of we Hateless Brethren! Look you to the Lord of the Rur realm and Magister Albret of Witan in matters of the flesh - but all flesh passes; this I have seen, and this you know. You must look to the Preacher, to my Brothers, to the Ordained of the Cathedral of Fraberg for the protection of your soul.

[ Posted by Reason on June 11, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

To Raise the Great Cathedral-spire

You faithful artisans! Our Lord Kemel sends word and commands your most earnest toil in his name. Magisters of the tall fortress Constantapel, risen athwart the great-channels, have pledged to our Lord of the Turaken realm. Fulsome is their wisdom upon seeing the procession of our Lord's guard about the wheels of the great-cannon Urlak!

This I give to you, from the factoria of Constantapel: forgen-sheet, cut to show the swallowing pit and mighty ruins of a holy great-shrine, Hallowed in the Prophet's name by the first Lord of the Turaken realm. Yet that Lord came to be maddened by the red heart-flux, for all his coffers he emptied upon the wise physicen of the realm and made pilgrimage upon the holy words of the Chapel Medicis. In the throes of red flux, he poured anger upon the Least-lords and magisters, scorn upon the holy Order of the Cathedral City.

The Prophet sees all that passes the souls of men, and gave the realms to shake and split. So the great-shrine beyond Constantapel fell into the Unhallowed pit of ancient vault-ways, its mighty, lone spire felled just as any tall-tree of the garden-decks.

So our Lord commands: you will raise the spire of the holy great-shrine from that Unhallowed pit, and set it true and tall in the Prophet's name! By this shall He know the true amongst the faithful, and so shall we prosper in His service.

[ Posted by Reason on July 6, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Great-tower of the Empty Realms

Far from here stands a great-tower of the Unhallowed that has stood through the Prophet's anger and ages of Faith; high and higher it stands to touch the very Void beyond the sky. This I have heard Brother Madene speak to his Brethren when I brought fare to their long-table.

Yes, good Verlan, bring forth our fare now that the Brothers feast. Praise to the Prophet upon this holy day!

This also the Brothers spoke: that Oculists mark the great-tower with their holy litanies, whence the Prophet's Fire carries war-cogs from the Void to the endless, empty seas of the Pasafek realms. The Ordained of the Mountain Vault set pennons upon the cloud-deck of their high Cathedral, whence they see the great-tower cut a line across the sunset.

Were there Void-whispers and Contagion upon the empty realms, there would be a crusade of the Order! No, tall and empty that Unhallowed tower stands, and the better for we faithful that a wide sea flows between. Shun the ancient vaults and ways in honest faith ... but let us speak no more of the works of the Unhallowed. May the Prophet watch over our souls, as well as those who came before.

We shall bring life to our pilgrimage anon. Whilst the faith of these Brethren can guide our steps, we are wise to plan well the leagues to the Mercyless Cathedral and the Prophet's Arm. Come; bring forth that which we have long spoken of and let us make a holy work of it!

[ Posted by Reason on July 22, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Armors of the Heretics

Brother Palte, set down your long-cannon and give armor to rest once more - it is but I. You have found good vantage here upon this rock and hill-char, but the slope is hard without exhortation and the steadfast forgen of holy armor. How this heat presses like steam above the pot!

Does this night find you well in your duty, Brother? I bring fare from below, and water from the river now that black char and mud has washed from midstream. By the Prophet's seed, I am gladdened in my heart to be out and above this jungle and its winged vermin! They thirst for the blood of the Faithful, no less than the thorns and spears of every plant - whilst serpents bearing fever-poison lie in wait beneath the rot of fallen wood.

Look yonder, at the war-barque - burnished fit for the Prophet's eyes by this Lune realm light, pennoned fit to bring the Prophet's word into the very hearts of the faithless. Were I Voidmaster of Tibene, there would be naught but char where now is vile green. Thence the Faithful dark-men would tend the Holies free from plagues of fly and serpent, and give praise to the Prophet's name.

What tidings these past days? The Ordained have granted Purgen of the low fortress decks to the guard of the Rur realm. The Lord and a full third measure of guard lie sick unto death with the flux of yellowed skin, but those who stand show the Prophet's judgement to peasants who served heresy. Cages of black-wood hang upon the fortress vault-works at the river-shafts, and all will be filled before Awe is ended. Let jungle vermin feast upon the flesh of heresy rather than the Faithful!

The Brothers touched by Contagion are yet sieged within the mighty bell-spire. Look, and there is their watch-fire upon the deck about the mid-vault. They proclaim a fulsome devotion to the Prophet's words yet, as through flight from Kilemjaro has redeemed their Void-touched souls. Were they true to the Faith, they would have taken the armor and cannon of that great fortress-mountain and brought the Prophet's Fire upon infant heresy - but no, these fallen Brothers consorted with the seeds of Contagion, gave nuture as it grew by their inaction.

The Ordained Karel and his Technist Brethren make ready the war-litanies upon Nayah. That great-cannon has been Hallowed of all taint, bathed in the Prophet's Fire, and brought upon wheel and tread from the broken forgen of Kilemjaro. Mighty is the bell-spire, but its forgen will fall before Nayah, and we will bring the Prophet's judgement upon these heretics!

Hark - Preacher Sebastan speaks yet amongst the restful armors below; his heart is fire and fervor. The Preacher stood upon cannon-sundered forgen beneath the bell-spire this past day, entreating the fallen Brethren to some last redemption before they are given to the Prophet. The armors of the heretics are Holies of the First Order and the Prophet's war-procession, kept safe these centuries in the war-shrines of Afrik. These Holies have fallen from Faith only through the exhortations of heretics; they might yet be Hallowed in Prophet's Fire, just as Nayah, and returned to the Faithful.

Until the next night the heretics have to decide the depth of their Contagion, Brother Palte, and then it shall be as the Prophet wills.

[ Posted by Reason on September 16, 2006 | Permanent Link ]

Holy Pilgrimage of the Glass Char-Desert

It was upon the fifth day of Censen that two Brothers of the Rageless Order came in pilgrimage to the sealed war-shrine of the lowest fortress-vault of Shekegen. Far and far again had they traveled from the great Cathedral of the Prophet's Arm above the clouds, upon poison-river and through the Mereken realm wastes where char meets straggled tree and bush.

The forgen great-portals of Shekegen were frozen over by a rod of ice and snow in Censen of that year, and so nigh through Char. Only the least-shafts were cleared by sheth-fleeced peasants of the portal decks, that middens be cast beyond the fortress-vault and Lord Adrus' guard might take small-cannon to hunt whiterabe betwixt storms and snow. Through soil and stench in the least-shafts came Brother Sarmen and Brother Traves, clad in the fur of starved wolven, the Prophet's seed strong within their chests, and of countenance as though this were but the first step upon their holy journey.

Through vault-way, stair and shaft trod the Brothers without pause, not even to seek out the Lord of the fortress-vaults in the name of the Order. Peasants followed from each new deck, the least of the Faithful drawn to these Hands of the Prophet. At the base of the fortress watch-spire, Brother Traves struck the seals placed by the Ordained Amsepehem, and Brother Sarmen set the flesh of Faith against the mighty forgen seal-gate of the war-shrine. Upon its opening, the Brothers gave great praise to the Prophet before the gathered peasants - for within was the holy sign they sought, that they would make pilgrimage to the center of the great char-desert, just as the Anointed Marten in the time of the First Order.

Away from the inland sea of Shekegen there is only the great desert of char and glass, the punishment cast by the Unhallowed upon themselves. The storms of Rue and Awe blow char and glass across a thousand leagues of the deepest desert, fit to carve peasant's forgen and strike the blood and flesh from the bones of the Faithful. Yet it is said there are lost souls deep within the Mereken realm, who toil as peasants upon poison char, drink poison rain, and suffer yet the fate of the Unhallowed.

Into the snow-covered glass and char went the Brothers Sarmen and Traves, upon the frozen tenth day of Char, when whiterabe lay still as death within their burrows and peasants hid from their duties. Went they gladly, these Rageless Brothers, for the Prophet's eyes were upon them, His will made plain.

[ Posted by Reason on September 23, 2006 | Permanent Link ]