Sgrios Mass: Time to Kill

The aisling mind is divinely inspired; a boundless landscape of wonder and possibility. When Deoch lowered his godly finger from the ether-realms and pressed the spark into our mortal bodies, He unlocked an infinity of thought and progress. This is, however, always a blessing and a curse - with advanced capacity for knowledge comes a new sphere of fear and anxiety. Having a greater grasp on the limitations of life itself gives way to a fear of the inevitable death; a fear unique among mortals. There are more complex fears that the Aisling philosophers of Mileth are always keen to prattle on about; vague existential threats that are always looming on the peripheral of reality, somehow never seeming to take action against our realm.

Of all these things that may or may not exist, the one invisible force that seems to direct the realms of man is time. This measure by which we gauge the lengths of days, the passing of a year and the age of everything from stone to stonemason. This unrelenting current pushing us always closer to our deaths. Time wilts Cail’s abundance, time plucks the beauty from a young maiden’s face. Time is the sickle of Sgrios; the ultimate tool with which he harvests from our world and works His wondrous gifts. 

To the gods a day means nothing. To the gods a year passes with the ease in which we experience a moment. To the gods time passes in ages, not hours -- for without the inevitability of death, which is not a promised outcome for the divine beings -- time loses it’s ferocity and making fair use of those sun-dappled afternoons in attempts to pack a lifetime with meaning is a poor motivator, as tomorrow will pass for them as the sands of the hourglass count the briefest seconds in our lives. In essence, no day is special or different from another when a day means nothing.

While immortality might seem the ultimate blessing, it is not without its drawbacks. There were gods mightier than those of our current pantheon; entire tribes of terrifying divinities who shaped the world and its cultures who are long reduced to dust, leaving scarcely a memory of their existence for those who live among their accomplishments. When death ceases to function as a conduit for motivation, it is rather easy to lose the momentum which drives us to achieve greatness. We must, as aislings, cram an eternity of deeds into a short lifespan and hope that, when Sgrios shepherds us into the dark beyond that we have left an enduring record of our lives to speak for us when we no longer exist to do so ourselves.

Friends, do not endeavor to live as the gods; taking for granted every sweet moment in hopes that death will somehow overlook us when Sgrios sends Him to walk the avenues of our world. Give our understanding of the pains of time, let us not ignore that each of us moves closer to Sgrios’ embrace with every passing moment. Nay, we are charged with a grim understanding of our mortality for the express purpose of transfiguring that finite time into something eternal. In our lives we must bring glory to our God, the great Sgrios, as we also build our legends into a record of deeds that generations of aislings to come will share

I give thanks to the wise and generous Sgrios who minds our expiration and waits with his arms outstretched to welcome us to the sweet release of death; for without time to drive us towards His embrace we would know only the coldness of life and the cruelty it encompasses. Join me in praise for He who directs and protects us as we navigate the currents of reality. Swear to Him that our days will be spent in servitude to His great name and in attempts to usher this land into a better state of being, much as Sgrios does for us in our lives. Praise be, and thanks to you, too, who worship with me in this holy place. Go with God, and may shadows shelter you.