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Tirlanolir/D'nemy's Tales of Turgos: The Heroes of Goldfire Glen (UPDATE 7/26)
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<blockquote data-quote="Canaan" data-source="post: 2820219" data-attributes="member: 40239"><p><strong>Tales of Turgos: Introduction</strong></p><p></p><p>As I am not by trade a scribe or poet, the reader shall please forgive the often less than graceful means by which I comment this tale to parchment in an effort to ensure my hopeful message shall not be lost in antiquity within a fortnight of the passing from my mortal coil. </p><p></p><p>My name is Evora Faro and I am a priest of Canaan. Devout, loyal to His Word, but at odds with the inhuman machine which so cynically, fearfully, rigorously and imperiously controls chosen aspects of His Word in implacable and arrogantly feigned service to the masses of His good-willed, hungry and innocent faithful. They, the Curia, the elite, self proclaimed High Priests of Canaan are the true enemies of mankind. No demon lord, no warlock, no succubus, no ravenous, incensed dragon, can burn such a trail of destruction and desolation as that wretched, cloistered vestibule of corrupted vermin. As I write this I wrestle with the horrifying truth that I have become a hero to some, a role and title with which I am not at all comfortable, a beacon, perhaps, to many, and a pariah to those I once revered and trusted. I tremble at the knowledge that I am but a scant few incendiary sermons away from being labeled a heretic and hunted down for my crimes. Shall the eyes of the Curia ever fall on these pages, my fate shall be sealed. </p><p></p><p>So be it. I am not a servant of Man. I have nothing to fear from Man. I am a servant of Canaan, the Father, Lord of Light, Master of Justice, Mercy and Forgiveness, and His estranged consort, Sankari, the Mother, Guardian of Life, Keeper of the Hearth, Mistress of the Seasons, the one known to her devotees as simply The Green. </p><p></p><p>I write this over a rare interval of rest, such as it is. We are at sea, sequestered in a dank, unseemly merchant’s vessel sailing for yet another troubling destination. A bleak isle branded “Demon Claw.” My hands tremble from fear and the chill of the ocean wind that splits through the thin layer of water stained wood that surrounds me. A pitiful defense now that I think of it. A paltry wisp of a shield which keeps that throng of opaque, churning waters at bay. The weather has been most unkind to us for most of this scrap of our trek, but I trust in Canaan’s will and I do not fear. I endure, though my battered stomach bleats for solace. </p><p></p><p>Where shall I begin? I have seen so much. Great heroism. Great foolishness. Great sacrifice. Death that comes of anger. Death that comes of selflessness. Rebirth and renewal. Miracles and wonders bestowed by both Canaan and The Green. Evil most foul and goodness most humbling. In the months I have traveled with this unorthodox congregation of fated brethren, my faith has, in turn, been shook, it has atrophied, it has strengthened and, finally, it has solidified. </p><p></p><p>Turgos is changing and I find myself changing with it. I fear that those who condemn change as anathema are doomed. Thresholds of revelation that were once obscured by pride and fear of those who seek to control them, have been at long last revealed to me and those I call my friends. We have no choice. Our path is not one of victory, of glory and honor. It is a path of healing and we have long since past the point of no return. Our fates are sealed. Our journey has just begun.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Canaan, post: 2820219, member: 40239"] [b]Tales of Turgos: Introduction[/b] As I am not by trade a scribe or poet, the reader shall please forgive the often less than graceful means by which I comment this tale to parchment in an effort to ensure my hopeful message shall not be lost in antiquity within a fortnight of the passing from my mortal coil. My name is Evora Faro and I am a priest of Canaan. Devout, loyal to His Word, but at odds with the inhuman machine which so cynically, fearfully, rigorously and imperiously controls chosen aspects of His Word in implacable and arrogantly feigned service to the masses of His good-willed, hungry and innocent faithful. They, the Curia, the elite, self proclaimed High Priests of Canaan are the true enemies of mankind. No demon lord, no warlock, no succubus, no ravenous, incensed dragon, can burn such a trail of destruction and desolation as that wretched, cloistered vestibule of corrupted vermin. As I write this I wrestle with the horrifying truth that I have become a hero to some, a role and title with which I am not at all comfortable, a beacon, perhaps, to many, and a pariah to those I once revered and trusted. I tremble at the knowledge that I am but a scant few incendiary sermons away from being labeled a heretic and hunted down for my crimes. Shall the eyes of the Curia ever fall on these pages, my fate shall be sealed. So be it. I am not a servant of Man. I have nothing to fear from Man. I am a servant of Canaan, the Father, Lord of Light, Master of Justice, Mercy and Forgiveness, and His estranged consort, Sankari, the Mother, Guardian of Life, Keeper of the Hearth, Mistress of the Seasons, the one known to her devotees as simply The Green. I write this over a rare interval of rest, such as it is. We are at sea, sequestered in a dank, unseemly merchant’s vessel sailing for yet another troubling destination. A bleak isle branded “Demon Claw.” My hands tremble from fear and the chill of the ocean wind that splits through the thin layer of water stained wood that surrounds me. A pitiful defense now that I think of it. A paltry wisp of a shield which keeps that throng of opaque, churning waters at bay. The weather has been most unkind to us for most of this scrap of our trek, but I trust in Canaan’s will and I do not fear. I endure, though my battered stomach bleats for solace. Where shall I begin? I have seen so much. Great heroism. Great foolishness. Great sacrifice. Death that comes of anger. Death that comes of selflessness. Rebirth and renewal. Miracles and wonders bestowed by both Canaan and The Green. Evil most foul and goodness most humbling. In the months I have traveled with this unorthodox congregation of fated brethren, my faith has, in turn, been shook, it has atrophied, it has strengthened and, finally, it has solidified. Turgos is changing and I find myself changing with it. I fear that those who condemn change as anathema are doomed. Thresholds of revelation that were once obscured by pride and fear of those who seek to control them, have been at long last revealed to me and those I call my friends. We have no choice. Our path is not one of victory, of glory and honor. It is a path of healing and we have long since past the point of no return. Our fates are sealed. Our journey has just begun. [/QUOTE]
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