The Tears of Rheemis


  In the eleventh year of reign of Elaith Aecaryn, when Khiiral Magwynn ruled the sky, the oracle Wyrran Sarleth left the city of Kha Aethel to seek the wisdom of the Holy Ternion and find peace for their mind and their heart. Strife ravaged the land of Caemer, and the light of truth dimmed to that of a small candle in the breeze.   In the darkness of The Mirrored Hollows, Wyrran Sarleth called out to the Holy Ternion for wisdom, begging them to give them a vision to save their people. Exhausted from weeping, Wyrran Sarleth sat and focused their mind through deep meditation.   He sat like a mountain still and unmoving, reciting the names of the Holy Ones and focusing on his breath.   After a time, the cave filled with light. Wyrran Sarleth would not be moved. The golden light hued pinkish red through his eyelids. Peace stilled his heart and his mind calmed like a glass smooth pond.   "Sweet seeker of truth," the melodious voice of the maiden of light surrounded him, "It is true that the light of truth has dimmed in the world, but it isn't like the like of a candle that consumes its wax until it burns out."   Sorrow filled her voice as she continued, "Truth is like a secret light that can be called from a crystal by those who know the way. To those who practice and seek it out, they recognize the light when they see it, but to those who don't, they are easily fooled by the reflection of the sun or a candle in the stone, believing it to be the true light. These blind themselves to the world and all that truly is."   The light in the room dimmed to a pale blue. "Even those who see the true often caste their own shadow over it. They believe the glimmer in their eye to ever and always be the light of truth. Their darkness is deeper than the shade of the lightless void, for they know the way and wander from to delight their own hearts."   Violet light filled the cave. "Do not be like these who path their faith in the certitude and righteousness, and who belie their very nature in their ever thought, word, and deed.   "Truth is a path, not fetter. It is a guide, not a master. It is a wordless word that cannot be spoken. No one can proclaim the truth, since it cannot be said. It requires no defense, because no hand can touch it. All that is known it the light's shadow and not the light itself.   "If I answer your prayer, you must remember, the words I speak are the ones your ears can hear. If I were to answer you in Aucani or Tevaric, with study you can learn those languages and understand the words in time, but you would be no closer to knowing the truth than you were before.   "Understand that these words are shadows of the path that will guide you to the truth, but do not delude yourself into thinking that you understand the only path, for the path you find is only for you. Everyone who hears the words will find their own path back to the light that gives you life.   "I am Krithys, the maiden of light, who stands before the Ternion with my fellows, but can find no words to express that which ever beyond words to say."  


  Before the world was, there was only the dream. What was in the dream is hard to say because, like all dreams it escapes the mind upon waking. It stretched out into eternity on all sides like a vast ocean of possibility. There was no wind to disturb the face of the waters. Nothing swam through it. There was only the dream.   Even after the sleepers woke, the dream remained. It might be said that they are but characters within the dream or they are the dreamers of the great dream. To say which came first is to speak a lie, for the dreamers slept beneath the placid waters of the dream before they woke, and we can say nothing about what happened before they awoke, We can say even less than what we can about what came after.   The dream did not end when the sleepers awoke.It is there to this day, and all things float within it. When you close your eyes and still your mind, you touch its surface and may sink into its depth in your profound meditations.   Peace fills the dream and flows in many currents, if move is the right word for this coming and going. It moves like heat from one place to another, ever seeking balance among itself.   The Ternion named these currents, but they did not create them. They flowed while the sleepers dreamed in the endless dream even unto this day.   First is the depth, beyond even the feeble words that stretch out to point at the truth, which lives in the deep darkness beyond the sight of even the most holy to seize even the vaguest sense of what it there.   Now, the first that words can point towards is called wisdom, because it strengthens our connection to the truth beyond words through the seeds of verity we encounter through our actions and interactions with the world and others.   The third is understanding. Unlike wisdom that lives in our actions, understanding is a serenity born in the mind as we accustom ourselves to the light of truth.   Compassion is the fourth power . It is one of the homes of the Divine, singing with joy with the success of its fellows, with an equanimity of mind and loving kindness for all.   The fifth current is hard to name in words accessible to the mind. It is justice because it is guided by truth, holding wisdom in mind, and a fairness in action, but because it like compassion takes action on the dream, it could also be called judgement.   Easiest to misunderstand is the sixth current, called beauty, but this is more than simply being pleasing or satisfying. It is the balance and harmony of the dream.   The seventh is nearest to the living though it feels most elusive. It is called eternity, the enduring, or by some who understand the subtitles of truth, victory. This is not the victory of a battle or a struggle, but the enduring of ebb and flow, the rise and run of the waters surrounding it.   Surrender is the eighth, and in it is sincerity, the pale shadow of truth. To those who have learned the power of this current, it is celebrated as splendor, for it is as close as most will get to the heart of the truth while living.   In the ninth current too many are lost forever. It is righteousness, but it never buffs out its chest, or boasts of its deeds. It cannot revel in the knowledge of its own purity, for this is a sin that taints all things and defiles the one who does it. Righteousness is meek and humble and stands in awe of the truth knowing that it is not the one to embody it.   The tenth is called the presence, for it covers the surface of the sea of dreams. It is true humility that knows there is a time and place for all things. All things have their season, and nothing should be forced from its place. Humility should never be confused for subservience, for they are not the same. The humble truly knows its capacity, not the confines imposed upon it by others. A slave cannot be humble, for another determines the life it must live. Humility is freedom and the breaker of chains.   These ten currents ever flow through the dream and thus through the world. It cannot be known whether they flow from the Ternion or if the Ternion rises from them. It is enough to know they are there.  


  Whether for the first time or for this time in which we live, the selfborn rose from the great sea of dreams. They were the first, but not the last. They are they three that are, were, and ever shall be.   The Wildborn was the first of the sleepers to awake from the endless dream. They knew themselves and the dream from which they rose. A great smile broke across their face. This was Aenar, the one who is called Truesoul, for in them the soul of everything was born.   They raised their right hand to the level of their heart and with their left, they touched the face of the endless dream. In that moment, the world turned into motion.   Wildborn sang to the dreaming, as sweet song of sorrow and joy, for in the endless sleep before waking, they lived many lives and knew the sweetness and the bitterness of life. They knew safety and fear, pain and release, pleasure and loss. Each of these they sang into their song.   Many have tried to bring this song to mortal ears, but none have touched its beauty. They hear the music in their dreams and rest in its splendorous melody as they dance to the sacred rhythms of the drums.   Truesoul sings the song of truth because the selfborn know the truth. It flows through them like blood, sustaining them and guiding their every action.   To Wildborn, the truth is the song and the dance, the rhythm and the melody. It is found in the words and the things unspoken between them.   From the moment they woke onto all eternity, they dance and sing and live the truth all the night and day.  


  Everborn woke next from the endless dream who is called Endheart. This is Shotia the ever-greening heart of all that is, was, and ever shall be. Everborn and ever birthing new life into the words and into the dreaming. They heard Wildborn's song and smiled. They watched Truesoul dance, and their heart warmed.   Sitting on the surface of the dream, Shotia waved their hands over the sea, drawing up great vines of dreaming. They followed their course out of the sea, weaved their shape in the air and returned to depth of the dreaming.   They reveled in the course and current of the vines. These currents, unlike the ones in the dreaming have beginning and end. Many call these currents the lifestream for the rise from the endless dream and trace their path in time before returning to the source from which they rose.   These vines of life run through The Reverie and give it existence. In these vines and branches, all life is born.    To some who do not understand the life of the forest and the field, they call Everborn the great weaver. It is true that Endheart weaves the vines and tends them in their growth, but they are alive and greening of their accord.   Everborn is the gardener and the gardener, and all is evergreen.  


  Into this evergreen field with endless song of Wildborn echoing through it, Starkborn awoke. White as the moonlight as contemplative as a mountain, they are also called Ghostheart for they feel the rhythm of life and death. In the songs of the ancients, they oftened name Rheemis.   Their countenance is not grim or sullen, but plump and full like that as a child, for like the life force itself, they are ageless.   The youngest of the three, they played at the edge of the endless sea of dreams and joyed in the tangled vines of the Reverie. Ever young Ghostheart enjoyed the time before all that is.   One day, they splashed their hand in the sea of dreams and many droplets hung in the air. These are the stars, the sun and the moon, and one of them is the very world we live on.   Starkborn laughed as the worlds were born. They watched the turning of droplets and the live struggling to be born within them.   Hope rose in Ghostheart, and three great tears welled up in their eyes. They let them fall in and among the other droplets.   Endheart lent them green power and Truesoul breathed life into them and they came to life to guide this world through its trials and tribulations.   These were me, Krithys, the maiden of light; Sarthuun, the shepherd of souls; and Vunorun, The Sanguine Oracle. Together we called the gods from the dreaming and shaped this world for you to live in.  


  Wyrran Sarleth opened his eyes and beheld the glory of the maiden of light with his own eyes. "Forgive me, my lady, but how does this revelation help me? How does this help me to end the strife among my people? How does this help me to bring truth into the world?"   "Were you not listening?" Krythys asked. "Which of the selfborn forced truth into the world? Which of them ordered the world and forced it to follow their will?"   "None of them," Wyrran Sarleth said.   "So who are you to have force your will on others. All you can do is sing the songs, dance the dance, and tend to the green and wild wisdom that is in the world. It is for each to chose the wise path or to cut themselves from the greening. Play in the world and do not control it, for it will only struggle against you and tear down what it never chose to be."


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