Sgrios Mass: Feast & Famine

Heavens, how long has it been since I last gave mass in this hall? The desk at which I sit to write, worn and splintered, is the same as ever. The hallways of this temple, which I could navigate blindfolded if need be, are eternally etched into the ancient stone of this grim castle. The only thing that seems to have changed is the population. My congregation appears to be greatly diminished, as does the population as a whole.

Since all aisling sparks pass through the realm of our dark lord, I figured there was some aspect of decay in practice, but the connections were hazy. My quest for understanding brought me to an herbalist in the village of Piet. Dressed in a rough-spun blouse, I found her gathering roots along the rocky banks of the river. Her face, marked by pox, did nothing to diminish the beauty of her smile as I approached -- I could tell by her bare-feet and the manner in which she welcomed me with a warm embrace that she was a disciple of Cail.

“You work amongst the common folk, healer -- where, then, is the population,” I inquired, curious what had come to pass. With the glisten of remorse welling in her eyes, she explained to me the sweeping plague that consumed the population. Typical faire: sores giving way to weeping skin, dark fluids expelled from any willing pore in the body and, ultimately, death. A grim illness, and a painful way to die. My heart weeps for the sparks lost, but, so it goes. Life is, ultimately, death.

The herbalist continued, to my amazement:

“How could we have befallen in such a way? We were blessed by abundance! Cail walked the trodden paths of the woods and blessed the land with harvests unseen in recent history. Our fields were overflowing with crops, the oaks in the woods dropped acorns as if they were clouds dropping rain. Never before had our pantries been so well stocked -- then, from a time of prosperity we knew only tragedy.”

It was but a subtle hint, perhaps just a moment of weakness in her loving facade, when she glimpsed the symbol of Sgrios on my staff and a flash of hatred crossed her lips. It passed before it could take root in her subconscious, but it was there. Resentment. A twitch that said it all. This is Sgrios fault. Who could blame her for drawing this conclusion? A poll of the remaining population would more than likely arrive at the same thought… A plague rips through Temuair, claiming the lives of countless mundanes and the sparks of many fine aislings. Who but Sgrios could be responsible? Perhaps the answer lies in the bounty of Cail.

As we have discussed at length in this hall, death is a cycle that draws from Sgrios and Cail in equal parts. What begins with death feeds new life, and thus the two are caught in a waltz eternal. The actions of one, directly impact what the other does. Thus, this great rotation moved from abundance to pestilence; a hand forced by the weight of its counterpart. In this case, it was feast which lead to famine. When Cail tipped the scales to make the land plentiful, he fed, not just the aisling, but the rats as well. Rats, themselves, feed all manners of dark critters: Ticks, fleas and other vectors of disease. In boom times, all prosper. When the pendulum swings the other direction, the loss is that much more evident.

In these trying times of loss, it is unsurprising that the frightened masses would cast the blame on the realm of decay for their perceived tragedy, but we, as disciples of darkness, must understand the world in deeper ways. The cycles that command our lives are elastic, but every movement is felt by the entirety of the loop. Let us give thanks, then, that we have a compassionate lord to usher our lost ones into the afterlife even as he shoulders the blames for a prouder god’s folly.