Sgrios Mass: Spring and Decay

I spend so many of my waking hours here in these ruins that it often feels, by the time I emerge, I have completely forgotten what it feels like to walk in the light of the day. Days, sometimes entire weeks pass in this candle-lit chamber as I sit at my humble desk troubling my eyes with some document or another. On the occasions that I have to leave the safety of the temple -- usually to fetch some dusty tome from the capital -- I'm often surprised to find that time has pressed it's influence on the world without regards to those of us who toil in the darkness.

 

So imagine my surprise, then, to find when I stepped out of this castle that the world has exploded with vibrant life and color. The barren arms of the old elms, looking as forlorn as the skeletal condemning arms of a corpse are now green harbors for the small, innocent critters of the woods. Where the grey hopeless skies of winter once reigned overhead is now a vast blue frontier of possibility. Pollen and seeds rain down on the cobblestone paths of the estate in lieu of the oppressive snows. My friends, at some point during my hibernation it has become spring!

 

Much like an old boot, I had thought that I would never shake the smell of stagnant water and still air; the penetrating scent of mildew and rot that is the earthy signature of our temple, here. As I wandered the ancient paths of the Isle of Man I was assaulted by an army of fragrances -- the blossoms of the lilac, the rosemary which has renewed it's will to live, the smell of dirt so carelessly tilled by the saplings pushing their way out into the sun from below. It was a magical potpourri, and one I took pains to catalog in the library of my mind, to revisit on those days where my inner darkness renders me all but paralyzed.

 

Still, as I tread deeper into these forsaken woods I started to notice smells more subtle. An earthly aroma, something familiar. Pushing past the flowering shrubs upon which the fae dance, I took note of something laying in the dirt. Yes, below the glory of Cail's domain was a fallen oak. The mightiest soldier in the silent kingdom of the forest. It was here, in the corpse of that rotting tree, that I found true life. Crawling from the natural coffin were all manners of beetles; handfuls of thick black worms wriggled about in the fresh filth. From their dens in the moist soil below, salamanders darted about on their slippery bellies.

 

As I continued my wandering with a renewed interest in the hidden realms of nature, my wonderment swelled further. While it is undeniably dreamy to meditate beneath the iridescent green lattice of budding leaves, we must remember that today's growth is tomorrow's decay. As such, if I overturn a swath of dead leaves, I will find all manner of thriving creatures who make this humble rot their home, much as we who follow the Dark Lord have done here in this castle. Much like the centipede or the ant, we mill about unseen by those with their heads in the clouds.

 

Decay is hardly as glamorous as birth, and yet one could not exist without the other. Our great Lord Sgrios takes the spent and broken castaways that life has abandoned and gives them new purpose. The ancient burial rite of Anam Crann, which was reserved for the brave warriors of Finnach, perfectly marries the harmony between life and decay. Adorned in their finest leathers, the body was buried with a satchel of seeds and nuts which would eventually take root and feed off the fresh dead. It's believed that many of the trees in the east woodlands are the second lives of these ancient defenders.

 

Isn't there something familiar about that..? This sacred ritual is beautifully illustrated in a more common natural occurrence. Scattered among the forest floor; sprouting up from beneath the blanket of damp leaves are the festive caps of the fungi. Here, a colorful and garish toadstool. Yet another, the unusual lattice of the coveted morel. There are hundreds of varieties that span Temuair; from the claustrophobic caverns of the Dwarves to the open fields of Undine. Mushrooms are found in every corner of our continent. The true fruit of decay.

 

The use of the holy fungus is not limited to nourishment. In fact, as much as mushrooms can provide for life, they can easier take it away. Some of the strongest poisons are brewed from vile breeds. Moreover, these deadly fruits are, at times, nearly indistinguishable from the healthy ones. Others, when ingested or brewed into a tea, are known to open the mind to visions. Some report being able to communicate with the Gods themselves. Amongst the flora of our known world, the mushroom is perhaps the most versatile and unusual.

 

While some might look at the mushroom as Sgrios' cynical response to the bounty of nature provided by Cail, our enemy in the octave, I see it more like an intersection of worlds. An attempt at understanding? Though neither Sgrios worshippers and Cail's dedicated followers (should any still exist) would wince to hear me say the words, we have a tenuous co-dependency on nature. Without life, there is no decay and without decay there is no life. The birds perch with grace amongst the leaves in the apple tree, but below it's branches we find the rotten fruit which feeds a community more thriving than that of the scattered Aisling.