The Scrawled Drafts of Mari Blacke

[Mari]

Those who offer whispered scorn and disrespect to the patron of the Stele in its presence should not be surprised at the dissatisfaction of the divine. Offer Gellema your prayers and your praise that misfortunes be collected and cast outward. Know that Her smile might be courted. Her gaze averted. Seek me in word or in writing. Learn how you might show Her your adoration.

Ever must we endevour to court the favour of our Lady! Ever shall we ask Her gaze cast onto our enemies! She is inspiration! She is ambition! And we, the Well, her faithful children will seek to repay and please in prayer and offering in kind. To this end- the creation of a temple in the name of Gellema. I call upon those faithful, those who would ensure the protections of the Well seek me to make tithe and pledge funds to the effort.

We will show our sincere faith. We will empty a space for our Lady Between the Stars in our hearts. The vessel we empty She will fill. The chalice, upturned, becomes Her temple. The Cup by which this dying deam, this dying land, might be restored.

[Mari]

Does the thirsty man curse B'aara?

Not if he is wise.

Does the armsman on the field curse the Warrior when his shot goes astray?

Not if he is wise.

Those who spit upon the Wanderer will lose their way. Those who levy spite on Kula ought tend no flowers.

So, too, my Lady. She is fortune and misfortune and one turns to the other with a smile turned away. A fashionable impiety for some, yes, but under the gaze of night, under the horns of the revel, not without consequence. 

To each spoke of the Wheel it's due.

To Gellema, Her due.

[Mari]

My Lady Between the Stars. Revelation and Obscurity.

The Ecstatic One. He who is the Horns of the Revel.

The Darkness Between, They that Take. They that Forget.

Muse. Ambition. Fortune and Misfortune as the sides of a coin. The space between the stars is vast and holds multitudes. Each facet in turn, revealed to the faithful to receive Gellema. All-encompassing, I can be no less. There is no regret in the present. Action and reaction. I mark well the chaos of the Now. Even those misguided who rail against our Lady- what passions they pour into it- some of that courage is Hers.

[Mari]

Fretful, frightened children, starting at loud noises, stubbed toes, the dark.

The fears of a dog.

Blind to the blessings you provide. Principles cast aside, disrespect of the Wheel. That they could see you.

That I could make them all see you as I do, my Lady.

Tireless, I work to realize the desires of my heart.

Though I do not burn, I am your torch.

[Mari]

Aswirl in the glory of the stars and the space between, a knight of the night sky.

To shred the uncertainty and strife of the dream. To forge a life, simply. To live.

Secrecy, Knowledge, Innovation. Craft and Invention. A voice- Engineered.

Practicality in all things. Transact, strive and perhaps even protect.

Sisterhood and stillness. To fill oneself in the empty places. To seek solitude and connection both.

~~~

Between the stars, keep their dreams. Let your darkness yawn wide and swallow them.

[Mari]

                                                                                                            . .  .     
                                                                                                  o
                                                                                              g

                                 
                                                                                     u
                                                                                 o
                                                                               y
                                                             higher                                               .
                                                 the
                            thinner
                   is
the air                                                                                                                   ..

[Mari]

The Warrior. The Mother. The Wanderer. Prayers are raised in victory over the Thousand Clans. And, in whispers, Gellema.

Plan as you will, prepare as you like. March in ordered rows with command chains lovingly detailed. When battle is joined there is only one master amidst chaos and blood. Discord and disorder.

A swirl of misfortune rages over every battlefield. And as storms rage by Her grace one might stand at the eye of them. Hidden from the falling arrow. The gaps in armor obscured from seeking blades. The works of your enemies crumbling in the tide of war. Mark how those who live and those who die are determined by fortune's turns, and mark well that My Lady is set over this. The fog and confusion, bent by gaze and smile.

Cast Her aside at peril, campaigner. Seek your moment on the battlefield. Seek Her.

[Mari]

One is given to reflect on the fit fate for the unrepentant adherent to the Sun.

They have rejected the divinity of the Wheel for vain asceticism. Cast aside Gellema. Cast aside the Wheel. Mercies declined.The path back to the faith spurned.

Should they be granted an honor unearned? The final blaze of glory offered the voiced? No. While I respect and mark the indulgent desire of the Magistrate to feed a man to her namesake, I can in the same beat of the heart disapprove. No glory to the heretic. No last hurrah to inspire. They ought be drowned in the tears of the Mother they have in their folly rejected- no punishment more terrible to their sentiments- but failing that they ought die in fear and repentant terror before the might of the Wheel.

And so he did.

Decry the lack of a 'show' if you will in short sight for want of entertainment. Know the death of a heretic as it ought to be- ignominious and pathetic.

[Mari]

Victory. Snatched from certain death by unbreakable resolve and the grace of my Lady. Mercy, but at a cost.

To wash away a father's blood and be worthy of the now. To know one's heart and swallow it.

To take torch in hand and walk the unlit paths away from schism. To seek the Wheel anew.

To be cloaked from all sight, untouched and untrammeled. To seek the hidden things, collect the old secrets.

Indulgence and importance. The glimmering golden lure. To yawn wide, encompass.

~~~

Between the stars, keep their dreams. Let your darkness yawn wide and swallow them.

[Mari]

[the dried crimson smears and drips suggest this page was written with bloodied hands]

the blood for you
the heart for you
the flesh for you

for you
for you
for you


under the Horns of the Revel- the celebrant bled!
under the Dark Between the Stars- devotion given!

the heart of Ephia's Well empties for you, Gellema!

Fear, devotion, adoration, respect, exultation-

for you

always for you

[Mari]

The darkness between the stars yawns wide, and it smiles!

and it shrieks!
and it howls!
and it hunts!

Scatter, heretics! Scatter, cowards!
Wreak terror! Wrack havoc!
How well can you hide from you own mind?
How far can you run from your own heart?

Fear has a shape

a shape to grasp
a shape to mold
a shape to yoke
a shape to direct

and it is so beautiful

[Mari]

[a scrawled  draft of a eulogy is here]

I am Mari Blacke. High Priestess of my Lady Between the Stars: Gellema. My Lady dwells in absence, and it is this night we mark a new one.

Apothar Lojir Trajaros, I am given to understand, is no more. His faith and his brilliance intertwined and, too, his ambition. His drive. His courage. What strength he found within himself some of it, too, was Hers. For even as the Moon casts no ray we, Her faithful, reflect Her glory.

Obscurity and Revelation, the hidden truths between the stars. Were you triumphant in your final fate, I wonder. Though we shepherd and conduct, it is not given to us to take those final steps with our charges.

May Gellema smile on you Lojir, dreamer. May you find your way between the stars, hidden forever from the Dream.

[Mari]

[a poem scrawled out in languid script]

A rare vintage spilt-
              and fit to share
One could get drunk-
              on headier fare

[Mari]

[this page is spotted with dried blood. the scrawl languid]

I muse we both bested a lion tonight Velan,

and then found that lions are, by nature, sore losers.

[Mari]

To be a the beacon, the aspiration, to become a legend, dissolve into it. Sublimate into your own glorious tale.

Desperate revel, beyond endurance and reason. A vessel emptied and filled from unexpected quarters.

To stalk with gentle steps into the Dream. Probing, eager, seeking. To find footing on strange sands.

To see blood and smile echo in dreams. To be reached again, touched again. The instinctive yearning.

The vessel that realizes its emptiness. To hold the world's cup once more. To pour it out.

~~~

Between the stars, keep their dreams. Let your darkness yawn wide and swallow them.