Sgrios Mass: Dead but not Dying

 

The other Aislings; they look at us and see shadows. They see the black robes, the scent of sacred rot, the silent prayers to the Lord of the End, and they think we too must have already crossed the threshold. They think that to worship Sgrios is to surrender to the grave. To be weak. Sickly. Meek.

How little they understand!

Look at your hands! Do they not bleed when cut? Does your heart not thunder in your chest when you face the Creants in the dark?

We worship the God of Death, yes! We are the shepherds of the inevitable, the keepers of the ticking clock. But do not mistake our devotion for having the fortitude of a creature found in House Macabre. We do not seek the grave; we master it!

We are Aislings! We are the spark that Deoch ignited and Sgrios shall one day reclaim. But that "one day" does not have to be today!

To know death is to truly know life. The Cail acolytes pray for growth, but they fear the harvest. The Gramailians pray for order, so long as that order lands them with favor. We? We embrace the silence, and in doing so, we are louder than any choir in Suomi!

We walk the crypts not as ghosts, but as masters. We face the Cthonic Ruins not as victims, but as witnesses to the ultimate truth. 

Let Loures tremble in their gilded halls. They fear the end. They cling to their titles and their white stone walls as if they could stop the rot. We celebrate it, for we know that every moment we breathe is a tiny victory over the void. We are the living edge of the scythe!

We are not dead. We are the most alive among you, for we look Sgrios in the eye every morning and say: "Not yet, Lord. I have more rot to spread. I have more glory to carve from this world before I become your nourishment."

Stand tall, my brothers and sisters! Let the world see the fire in the eyes of the Sgrians. We serve the End, but we are the Beginning of the nightmare for those who would dare call us weak!

We worship the God of Death, but by His grace, we are more alive than they could ever dream!

For Sgrios! For the living!

Mass is cast. *downs his Hemloch and Wine*