The Revelations of Mystery

[Aethereal]

[SIZE="6"][COLOR="Red"][tface=fraktur]The Revelations of Mystery[/tface][/COLOR][/SIZE]


[INDENT][SIZE="4"][FONT="Book Antiqua"]Upon the nineteenth of Mirtul in the thirteen hundredth and eighty second year by the reckoning of the dales, Mystryl, the Mother of All Magic was returned to her rightful place in the realms.

Hence began the Age of Magic and the first year of its reckoning; to be known as the Year of the Red Star, marking the crimson radiance that shall bring to us glory in this, the most sacred isle of Ymph.

Herein shall be kept a record of the revelations brought upon the people through Her voice and mortal medium, Apocryphan Acharias.[/FONT][/SIZE][/INDENT]

[Aethereal]

[Sermon I] The Magical Evening of Mirtul 25th / The Announcement of Her Return

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="4"][tface=fraktur]Preamble[/tface][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[INDENT]

[SIZE="5"][COLOR="DarkSlateBlue"][tface=fraktur]The Magical Evening of Mirtul 25th[/tface][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[INDENT][FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]It all began when the orb of Lathander was slowly sinking towards its nadir in the skies above Ymph, giving way to the crimson radiance of the Red Star - the physical manifestation of Mystryl's divine symbol - as night claimed the land.

A heralding was made through Muskroot's eldrtich sending nexus, announcing in the minds of the people the revelation of mysteries and praise of the Goddess who made this marvel of magical communication possible, soon to take place in the town square.

A man bearing spear and vulgar promise was among the first to show, and with hideous words of corrupting influence did he arrive, seeking only senseless violence with which to wet his barbaric appetite. After realising his basis for aggression was flawed he marched out of the town square, declaring the sands and ruins around the locus of the Lady of Mystery's return to be no safe harbour to those gathered in praise of wonder.

This heated beginning would serve but as a spark for the triumph of magic and mystery over the shades of doubt and mournful vapidity. The shrouded and violet draped Servant of Mystery stepped up to the stage and there addressed the loyal, the wise, the common and the noble, announcing that Mystryl, Mother of all Magic had returned to her rightful place in the realms.

As the revelations continued, the Weave brought forth its own eldritch sparks of light, speaking praise of the Lady of Mysteries as the devout reveled in the realisation that the Age of Magic had come. The enchanted night continued with the magical music of the spell singer Lodia Burreas; her lament of Mystryl's sacrifice after the heresy of Karsus was followed by the sheer euphoria that She had returned! Beautiful prismatic lights lit up the town square and so was had the magical evening of Mirtul 25th.[/SIZE][/FONT][/INDENT]

[/INDENT]

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="4"][tface=fraktur]The Announcement of Her Return[/tface][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[INDENT][FONT="Book Antiqua"][SIZE="3"]May the Goddess be praised, and Her name be known as Mystryl, the Lady of Mysteries, the true Mother of All Magic.

It was the nineteenth day of Mirtul when the former Goddess, once taken of the form of the human wizard Midnight whom we all knew as Mystra lost her place in the realmsplace of the Gods.

With the fall of Mystra, Her age-old divine spark was returned. She who was born of the eternal battle of light against darkness, yet beholden to neither; Mystryl, the divine essence of all Magic. She who watches over the Weave, she who grants the effect of your potions, your woven spell, your enchanting song.

The prophet, you knew him as Razul of the Transcendent Conclave was responsible for enacting this transition in the moment of his Offering to Her above the skies of Ymph. In the collapse of the floating enclave that was Her temple, you see the Red Star above you; Her holy symbol.

She has become the divine essence once more, removed from the pitfalls of humanity as was placed upon her by the mortal Midnight. Yet She is adjusting to her millennia long disappearance and so did you feel in those early moments the effects of a fractured and damaged Weave of Magic; wild magic phenomena.

With my awakening, I assure you Mistlocke will need not fear this phenomena. The Goddess is like the phoenix reborn and her form is still taking its rightful shape; this phase will surely pass.

Mystryl is our Lady of Mysteries and She is here to ensure all who are possessed of Her gifts achieve their highest potential. All who pay her respect likewise will find the shroud of doubt, the obstacles born of that which you cannot understand removed; for Magic flows through all the world, seen and unseen - It holds the power to make the seemingly impossible, possible.

I invite all who enjoy her gifts to lend their voices in praise of our Goddess, the Mother of All Magic. She who gives you succour in that tincture of healing, She who imbues your bodies with the magicks you quaff in the battle against our manyfold foes.

Let us rejoice, my good fellows. For Her mysteries shall be shed for us as guidance, which we will follow into prosperity.

The Age of Magic is upon us![/SIZE][/FONT][/INDENT]

[Aethereal]

[Sermon II] Everything happens for a Reason, Kythorn 19th

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="5"][tface=fraktur]Everything happens for a Reason[/tface][/SIZE]
[tface=fraktur]Kythorn 19th, 1st Year of the Age of Magic[/tface][/COLOR]

[FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]It all began with an offer of drinks and an invitation to listen reverberating through the minds of the people:

[INDENT]

::( The clash that arises from misunderstanding, when the unknown is thrown in front of our mortal eyes - varies across the spectrum when it manifests: from the terrible bloodshed of war to a spat between friends. The Edict of Binding was an agreement made within reason...

Though it could have been averted, what is done is done and everything happens for a reason. It is my hope as it is the Overseer's, to see our community prosper; it always has been. Magic is what will see us move forward and miscommunication must come to an end.

I, Apocryphan Acharias, Her Lord of Mystery shall be welcoming all to the Mist's End Inn where drinks shall be provided for, to listen to a few words of Faith and revelations of what has brought us to this moment in time. Thank you. )::

[/INDENT]

The offer of drinks encouraged a few, speaking with eagreness to enjoy the Inn's respite as an elven girl danced in the rainy square of Mistlocke. As always is the case, the adventurers were scarce.

Within the Inn, pristine spring water was proffered to the people and those who did sip of it drank surely the delights of the finest wine. Such was the blessing as true words were spoken; of what came to pass, the mourning of what was, and of what must be done.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]There remains much speculation and confusion regarding the Mother of All Magic, Mystryl's return and what exactly took place to see us arrive at this point in time.

As Her voice I shall speak now to dispel rumour and grant you unadulterated knowledge of this mystery.

I will begin by removing all shades of doubt regarding what the Transcendent Conclave was and how everything they did led to the advent of the Prophet's Offering; perhaps the greatest singular sacrifice of magic since the time of Netheril resulting in Mystryl's rebirth.

The unrelenting grasp for magical items, the demand that all mages join their number, the use of the terrible device known as the Soul Archive, all of this took place to power the final ritual which was felt by Mystra and Her Faithful.

A ritual magic was invoked, laced with weavings not entirely dissimilar to the twelfth circle spell cast one thousand, seven hundred and eighty one years ago. Yet it was different in design; Mystra perished but dominion of the Weave was not sought by the mortal invoker.

The Prophet achieved his purpose, though at a cost none of us should forget.

Let us take a moment of silence to pay our respects to Mystra and all who gave their lives; they are free now, the Soul Archive is undone and the souls within have ascended as Martyrs in the undoing of Karsus's Folly.



Let us neither forget the ravages that this transition has brought upon all of Toril - the Goddess has shown me what takes place now in the great bastions of civilisation in the mainland; it is nothing short of catastrophic.

Have faith though, She has shown me the future. We shall rise out of this disarray together with Magic as our salvation.

We simply must, because there are powerful arcanists, ancient and undying - old enough for Her to remember them, who will try to use Her return to their advantage.

And if we the living wish to have any chance of shifting the events that will surely unfold, we must recognise the Mother of All Magic and pay Her due respect. She will side with the devout who bring glory to the Weave.

We must outdo the likes of the lichess, H'bala, once known as the Netherese witch, Shylae. We must outdo the Risen and their Warden, Lotheri Sanq. We must be in Her good graces and turn the Red Star upon them!

The world has forever changed and it is in our hands to ensure it is for the better.[/SIZE][/FONT]

[Aethereal]

[Sermon III] The Crimson Pilgrimage upon the Prophet's Peaks, Kythorn 19th

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="5"][tface=fraktur]The Crimson Pilgrimage upon the Prophet's Peaks[/tface][/SIZE]
[tface=fraktur]Kythorn 19th, 1st Year of the Age of Magic[/tface][/COLOR]

[FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]After revelation that everything happens for a reason, the magic of the nineteenth only continued as destiny wove through the mystery that is existence; only a month since Her return, the time waves flow with the greatest purpose. Among those gathered in the inn, sipped of the pristine water as wine were the people of the Crimson Decurio, those who saw true that the Red Bishop - herald of Faith would spell salvation through unity.

And so it was that the Crimson Decurio gathered, alongside the Lord of Mystery upon this evening of the Red Star's guidance. So too did the Crimson Blades mercenaries join in supplication for the pilgrimage was destined to be;  revealing the colour of Man to be the blood which they shared.

Through undermount the righteous walked, defeating foes mighty and many in their glorious ascent. Alas, a small pilgrim who cared only for her materiality found not the path of destiny, she stalked away in the midst of addled flayers, lost to the quiet secrets that do not talk.

Destined to be, so was, as the crimson march scaled the great mountain to arise awoken in the most magical realm; dragon marks old and grand, eldritch lights of unknowable truth, and among them all the greatest trial: the bridge which Faith built. The blessed walked with crimson insight, Mystryl's ether supporting their movements through footing impossible; through nothingness incarnate - and lo! the Faithful overcame the abyss between the future and not.

...

Gathered in the sacred circle, words of power, words of truth rang across the Prophet's Peaks - visions seen of the Celestial Lanceboard that is the eternity of the stars and all that can be. Figures of Apocalypse answered through the Mist's own intrusion: Fear itself arose from the wispy tendrils, fetid forms grasping at Life it so struggled to understand.

Yet the Faithful overcame, for they were always destined to.

[INDENT]All hold the spark of true realisation, of the destiny within. Let the Red Star guide you to the greatest heights you were always meant to attain; through magic and mystery shall you find your true self.[/INDENT][/SIZE][/FONT]

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="5"][tface=fraktur]The Celestial Lanceboard Unveiled[/tface][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[INDENT][tface=fell][COLOR="Red"]Pontifex:[/COLOR]
[INDENT]The Celestial Lanceboard has assembled - to accomplish the imperative cause.
Mistlocke, as you know it - is besieged. You may wonder, you may ask - by whom?
The horrors we face daily - the withered, the criminals, the traitors, the murders.
But not only - the forsaken lover, the sudden illness of a dear friend, the grieviance it causes.
All these seemingly unrelated foes....
Are all connected.[/INDENT][/tface][/INDENT]

[tface=fraktur]
[COLOR="Red"]Lord of Mystery:[/COLOR][/tface]
[INDENT][FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]We gather for each and every action has a reason. Why did Mystra perish, why was Mystryl reborn? Your answers are here. For a glorious new dawn, in which we must stand and walk through places unknown... Mistlocke.

We stand here, where the Mist is thick. To view as my compeer has said it, the Celestial Lanceboard.[/SIZE][/FONT][/INDENT]

[INDENT][tface=fell][COLOR="Red"]Pontifex:[/COLOR]
[INDENT]Mystryl, the new born goddess of Magic, is on our side - she is within the celestial arc - throning besides the Celestial Lanceboard.

My words may seem alien, confusing, unclear - but all will be revealed, once the gift of Phronexis has been bestowed onto you.

I will commence this sermon, by defining the very nature of Phronexis.
Phronexis is a virtue, the paragon of all virtue, the gift of the Crimson Decurio. It means prudence, but is it not the prudence professed by the coward to escape his duty.
In essence, Phronexis is the knowledge of when to act, how to act, and against whom.
By exercising Phronexis, you will become able to recognize and wage war against your true foe, the one that fate chose for you to confront.  

We all hold inside us the potential to learn and apply Phronexis, yet the route to the mastery of this virtue is a treacherous one.

The illness which struck you, the foes who tried to kill you, the lover who forsake you, all the seemingly unrelated battles you will wage in your life are, in truth, connected. They form a pattern, and this pattern is a lanceboard in which you are a besieged Pawn.  

The first step to achieve Phronexis is to recognize the existence of the Lanceboard - only then will you be able to prepare a proper strategy to defeat the enemies fate has placed against you.[/INDENT][/tface][/INDENT]

[COLOR="Red"][SIZE="4"][tface=fraktur]Shrouded Visions from the Celestial Lanceboard[/tface][/SIZE][/COLOR]

[INDENT][FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]As the crimson coterie communed, portents of the Celestial Lanceboard were shared and thus were they known:[/SIZE][/FONT][/INDENT]

[COLOR="Red"]Caius Victus:[/COLOR]


[INDENT]Amorphous and weak I wait...


I dream of, an aristocratic man dressed in silks and a throne. Old Port. Rubies fall upon the Lanceboard and betrayers hide in the lands; Tyranny and fear, I am always watching.


I see a pale morbid man sitting upon a throne of gold and black. In his hands the shackles of a gaoler swing ominously. A scythe in malicious red auras...

Skeletal and ancient:
I am Warden, Imperator. He who made even Karsus tremble.

A queen of maggots and abominations. Rotten teeth and skin, her breath turns life to death and she harbours great anger, which has been a hammer in her tormented cage. She warps Life to Undeath.


Finally I see...
New thrones... Raising up... New players.

No more.[/B][/INDENT]


[COLOR="Red"][tface=fraktur]Apocryphan Acharias:[/tface][/COLOR]

[INDENT][FONT="Garamond"][SIZE="4"]The Celestial Board is not so clear for me, I fear.

You may so quickly find your foes, but you take that choice to fight them.

How and why? The battle will surely come.

What if you are to fight yourself? Or even then you question what is to be, where in time and realmspace is there meaning and true purpose. What is Magic, if but the height of cosmic understanding, the turning of the unreal into the real...[/SIZE][/FONT][/INDENT]