Kemis
The Vigilant Kemis
One of the eldest Divines of Arcanorum, Kemis the Vigilant has been revered by noble and common folk alike since before the rise of the western nations of Solum.
Though their common name has not changed in recorded history, the titles borne by Kemis have shifted as the needs of the people have. Once simply known as The Vigilant, then later as the Grove Tender, and in the distant past (and still so in remote uncivilized places) as They That Shepherd The Lost, Kemis has proven and unwavering ally and steward of the mortal peoples of Arcanorum for millennia.
Indeed, while some deities have had periods of relative seclusion or obscurity, the faiths of Kemis have shown unwavering dedication, with sects of the primary faiths having unbroken histories dating back to the Old Empires.
Notably, The Guardians, one of the more pre-eminent faiths that count Kemis among their most worshipped, predates the colonization of Solum, and ruins of the faiths temples in Summum are conspicuously ravaged by time and monstrous effort.
Nastil, one of Kemis' longest and most dedicated opponents, remains a constant thorn in the side of pretty much every civilized nation. The faith of The Sentinel revolves around this seemingly never-ending conflict, and the adherents tend to favor more practical, and often tactical, opposition to the Scythe-Heart's destructive tendencies.
- The Vigilant
- Grove Tender
- They That Shepard The Lost
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas