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For the Engine! by Terakh

Merit for May 2008

"For the Engine!"

Four works for the glory of Magnagora and its Patrons
By Terakh Feyranti

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A Prayer to Lord Fain, of the Red Masque

Great Lord of the Red Masque,
Please look well on this lowly maggot
Though I certainly do not deserve Your approval

Great Lord, He Who is All,
May my pitiful endeavors glorify You
Even if only by the inkling of which I am able

May Your Hate empower me
That it will overflow and choke all that I see
To purify it all in Taint, or damn it to its end
For all is odious without Your sanction
And I shall see it destroyed

May my Greed drive me
What small worth I have comes only by Your Grace
In Your Name, I will hoard all that I do not destroy
For all is nothing until it is Yours
And I and mine are in Your hand

May the Conflict recreate me
For only by Conflict can there truly be change
The fight can never end, the struggle never cease
For all is unworthy of You forever
And I will never be enough

Great Lord Fain
I will sing Your name forever,
I will slaughter all I see,
I will sow dissent throughout,
I will amass vast wealth,
I will rise to ever-greater power,
I will do it all in Your name,
I will never rest,
For my glory is Yours,
And Your glory is All.

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March of the Ur'Guard

We are Pain! We will not suffer!
We are Hate! We will not hold back!
We are Hunger! We will not rest!
We are Death! We will not succumb!

Wretched unbelievers, make way for the Taint!
We bring transgressions' reprimand
And lay waste to all, without restraint
By our wrathful Gods' demand.
Around us fire, above us smoke,
Beneath our feet, cracking bones
We eat of flesh and drink of hope
Inhale deeply, dying groans
And when the bereft children cry,
We grin and crush them with delight.
Tremble. Flee. Grovel. Die.
The ur'Guard feast tonight!

We are Pain; we will not suffer
We are Hate; we will not hold back
We are Hunger; we will not rest
We are Death; we will not succumb

Where we march our legions, the Sun itself will hide
Eclipsed behind the Truth we bring
All light must someday fade, Dark cannot be denied
Inevitability forgets nothing
We know only victory, our Chalice overflows
From it pours unending blood
Our enemies' futility, our Malice for our foes
Cleanse us, bathe us, in a flood
Pressing ever forward, fearless and relentless
Our fallen only rise again
Stronger, braver, painless, deathless,
One cannot defeat what cannot be slain!

We are Pain
We will not suffer
We are Hate
We will not hold back
We are Hunger
We will not rest
We are Death
We will not succumb
We are the Ur'Guard
We will prevail!

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A Prayer to Morgfyre, the Legion

Life brings Hunger
Hunger brings Purpose
Purpose brings Impetus
Impetus brings Life

And so the circle continues
Without beginning or end

And so the clock turns
Without reprieve or reserve

And so the Ouroboros consumes
Without diminution or satiation

Grant me Hunger
To devour myself
Leaving only Your Will in my stead

Grant me Purpose
That I may be Your Fire
Leaving only ashes in my wake

Grant me Impetus
To shatter the Present
Leaving only Your Dominion

Take my Life
Without beginning or end
Without reprieve or reserve
That I may never diminish
That I may never be satiated

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Dreams of Crimson and Truth

Blossoming forth from my mind, a landscape unfurls before me
From my feet lead many paths, branching out into worlds unnumbered

I see a young man, headstrong and naïve, clad in shiny, shoddy armor
Marching forward, along a path to the left, corpses piling in his wake
Rats at his feet, then finks, then dogs, then lions, and finally men
And at every step, a faceless commander leads the soldier forward
Kindly, patiently, protectively, generously, wisely, steadily, strongly
The young man's shoulders broaden, his sword shines, his armor thickens
And yet he grows ever weary, and the blood cannot satiate his soul

I see a young man, thirsty for knowledge, clad in robes and holding a tome
Walking measuredly, along the next path to the right, scrolls cast beside him
Scraps at his feet, then books, then stacks of tomes, and finally his own works
And at every step, a faceless scholar carries a candle beside him
Expounding explanations, pointing at passages, patiently sharing himself
The young man's face wrinkles, his eyes recede, and wisdom creeps into his gaze
And yet the books all crumble to dust, and his knowledge cannot save his soul

I see a young man, eyes wide, hand raised in the air as he shouts to the sky
Walking confidently, along another path, crowds gathering behind him
First beggars creep from the shadows, then merchants, but eventually elders
And at every step, a faceless confidant whispers inspiration into his ear
The young man's smile sharpens, and his tongue turns to silver and gold
And yet the crowds never touch him, and his tongue cannot ease his soul

I watch a thousand young men turn old, down paths unnumbered
They are all me, not different but one, divergent and without purpose or end
As they move forward, they become ever further from each other,
I feel myself grow thinner, weaker; pulled apart; and gasp for breath
The selves march on, yet I am still here, the weight of so many pulling me down
Until I am knelt, staring to the sky, needing to ascend, to escape the ground

When my desperation for purpose reaches a boil, a scream wells up within me
As it fills me and then leaves me, I feel the strength of hatred fill my soul
The growth of conflict fills my soul; the purpose of greed fills my soul
And the sky to which I scream and hold out my arms turns crimson
As though hearing my plea and speaking its response to me with a simple color

The crimson bleeds into me, and from me, soaking the ground with blood
A dark, almost black blood that covers all I see, darkening my gaze
As I lower my head to grovel obediently on the ground, I see quickly behind me
A thousand paths converge upon the place where I now kneel, not yet stained
Only one path reaches forward from where I now press my forehead

And as I raise my head to follow humbly this new ground, I see spread before me
A corpse, lying on its face, with a dagger in its back in a puddle of blood
I realize that I haven't fallen by weight, but that I have always been kneeling
To this body, a corpse, and it looks suddenly more familiar to me than my own
Still knelt, I reach compulsively and slowly to turn its face towards me
I see that my hands are covered with blood as I tenderly grasp the body's chin
And look into its vacant eyes with horrific satisfaction, cold realization:
It is the commander who defended me, the scholar who taught me, my confidant
It is my friends, my family, all whom I have loved: those that led me here

I raise my bloodied right hand to my face to wipe away the tears
I feel no warmth, no wetness; only the raised velvet of an inseparable mask
With a reassured smirk creeping up one half of my face, hidden behind the mask
I rise from the ground, wresting my dagger and sheathing it again, standing
Ready to take this crimson path before me, unified and true
And as I walk I see corpses piling, books stacking, crowds assembling
I feel that they have purpose now; I can feel my own feet carrying me onward

But they do not fill me, and though I am one, I am still bound to the ground
As I walk, I again feel the gravity slowly winning, pulling me
I see the the corpses dry out, the books crumble away, the crowds age and die
Again I fall to my knees and look to the sky I desperately wish to join
This time not by compulsion, but through humility, and the wear of experience

Drawing deep into my mind, the landscape folds around me
My heartbeat slowly builds to a scream, and my mind twists, reforming painfully

My hatred, my greed, my conflict, they have not freed me from my shackles
Yet.
As I lower my head to grovel obediently on the ground, I see quickly behind me
Nothing.
And as I raise my head to deny this old ground, I see spread before me
A body.
A corpse, lying on its face, with a dagger in its back in a puddle of blood
Unsheathed.
Blood on my hands again and I recognize this one, perfectly familiar,
Mine.
It is the soldier, the scholar, the politician, the son, the brother, the ego,
The ground.
As I look again to the sky, a cackling laughter, rising, booming, fills the air
My Lord!
My gaze lowers once more, but there is no ground, no legs, no corpse, nothing
Ascension.

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