Sgrios Shambler

I want to take a moment, first, to welcome all the new Aislings who have sparked during this population boom. I hope you’re appreciating Deoch’s gift and using your inner light to help illuminate the community in which you were born. The wilds of Temuair are, indeed, teeming with monsters and, while it can be gratifying to smite them on occasions, always bear in mind that we, as Aislings, are tasked to share our inspiration, not just our strength. I sincerely hope that you’ll bear that in mind as you grow into the generation which will shape the world of the future. With that said, I also want to welcome you to the Shrine of Sgrios; the god of decay. The devout of our faith are blessed right now to have the leadership of three members of the high clergy, and a dedicated priest that will, in short order, join us - as is His will. Moreover, it is a wonderful time to be a worshiper in Temuair, with masses being held across the eight temples of the octave. I hope you’re taking the time to ...

  Welcome everyone! Our last official (recorded) mass was hosted by none other than our esteemed High Priestess herself, Paramour. Thank you so much for your endless Deochs of service. If you end up reading this that your moments of lucidity always bring our clergy so much joy. Her sermon spoke of how our lands have faded to ruin. Aislings resembled zombies more than companions, and comrade was a long forgotten phrase. It brings me unending joy to witness the the birth of a new generation of sparks. Like a flame without any tinder, Sgrios without new souls hungers for more. My main focus for mass this evening is to encourage you all to seek out the god or goddess within Temuair that speaks to you. While Sgrios has been my calling my whole life, maybe Priestess Nadja could entice you to join the nature-loving Cail? Or if death is a little too much, but war is where your heart truly lies, consider speaking with High Priest Thubub of Ceannlaidir? What an honor to have a High Priest jo...

  I spent nearly five cycles sequestered in the quiet darkness of my chambers. During that time I was lost to the world, trapped in the labyrinth of the mind as I explored the ethereal realm in my meditations. To all, even perhaps to myself, I seemed to have entered a unique stage of death. My bodily functions ceased. I no longer hungered, I no longer ached. My heart stopped circulating blood and, though the things around me continued to decay, my body remained. For Aislings, this is quite common, especially for those who have walked this land for a considerable time, slipping into these extended states of unbeing are expected, and at times even encouraged. When I awoke and realized exactly how many deochs I had lost to this slumber, I was shocked and dismayed, for I knew that once I consulted the Aisling census, the names of those I loved and cherished would more than likely be absent from the waking sparks of today’s Temuair. The few faces I recognized were my anchor to the past ...

I never suspected I'd touch pen to parchment in this hallowed book again. It seemed that my era had come to an end, and I longed for the embrace of our Lord, to leave these lands and stand by his side. So long has my heart been closed to the whispers of Temuair that I feel almost a stranger in a strange land: once more everything seems new and unfamiliar. Perhaps chiefly among those things I struggle to recognize is my own being. Since I entered my slumber over forty-five Deochs have passed, and in that time an entire generation has been supplanted by new names, new faces and new accomplishments - nearly all of them strangers to me, which surely means that my name and my face are at most relics from some distant past, and my congregation has scattered like spores to the wind. During the length of my mediation I have been contacted a number of times - either by those concerned with the lack of leadership in the temple, or forgotten souls passing through their old haunts and seeking...

 Sermon written and delivered by temple acolyte Foucault  I spent some time at the North Island Monastery with the monks there and I wish to re-tell a story that I heard. There was once a monk who lived on the island who was plagued with nightmares, but could not find any reason for them at all. His troubles were so great that they drove him to desperation, and finally he sold all his possessions and set off to seek the wisdom of a famous court of mages. So great was their power that they had retracted from the world into abstractions of their own creations. The monk traveled to this tower, and he told these mages his troubles, but they could find no answer for him, the oldest among them however, spoke up. He told the monk that in the desert to the south there was a temple where the monk might find answers. So again the monk set out, but when he arrived at the temple he was again turned away. The priestess explained, the oracles joined the temple as children, and in t...

My desk, the humble old thing, is expected to house a myriad of thoughts and activities. My aisling spark rarely lets me focus on a single project through completion and, as a result, I have the unrealistic expectation that my desk can house the same infinity of thought that I hold in my mind. Sadly this is not the case and I must, from time to time, purge my space of those ideas that are simply occupying valuable real estate. This time of reflection is a culling of sorts as I unfurl dusty scrolls with half-written masses, frantic scribblings of some thought that seemed to carry weight at the height of some sleepless night or the half dozen ideas for manuscripts I plan to submit to the college. As such, our minds are graveyards of similar dead thoughts. Bygone memories of better days that have come to pass, hopes that have failed to coalesce before their potentiality expired, irredeemable philosophical ponderings that inevitably lead nowhere. In the seemingly infinite plain of our m...