The Keepers Journal: A meeting of Gods

The Keepers chronicles I have known many beings in this world, and I have seen their struggles and their quests and I've been recording them. The legends of the gods and the way they move about the world and their doings. Each one just as interesting as the last. They have sapient qualities by which I am enamored and I revel in the appearances of them before me. It may have taken me time to find out what it is that I am, but ion doing so I know my duties, I know my secrets, and I know what I possess. I am knowledge. I am the keeper of all things and histories of our world. The entombing embodiement of everything that has happened and will happen. No I can not see, I can only record as it is presented to me. A tomb here, a palace there. My life has taken me places I had not known I could go, my powers being what they are I have become the epitome of what some call the Keeper. I keep knowledge and wisdom in one, and that is all I am. I will continue to do my duties, and record, and advise those who come to me when the time calls. FOr I do not show myself, I am naturally drawn, as they are to me. All will be well in the end as we all need help finding ourselves and who we are. 1: A tale of time. I knew once a set of triplets born from the life energy of a single mother. By this I mean she enacted upon herself the very foundation of what could be considered time, and birthed it. Each with a different sight, each with a different persepctive. The three came to me seperately which astounded me. Triplets born, each with the identifiable eyes, each clean, each known as who they are. Past Present Future The three that are in and out of time, they who know, they who will know, and they who've known. When they came to me each struggling with their own facet of dilemma I was most certainly surprised as I had not known then, that I would be the guiding voice of the Gods, or those considered Gods. I am a legend that is told in futility, is what they had said to me each in their own way. It was then that I knew that their own uncertainty is what brought them to me and in my unending quest I gave them what each of them sought. To the future I gave the balance of understanding that it will change. That the wills of those who consider themselves below us will inevitabley change.That they can without prescription bring the multitudeness of their visions to bear. All of them were equally viable. To the past I was strait. We shared the same, her and I and it became as such that she would be the one who visited the most. A gerneral seeker of knowledge and the want to understand her gift. It was then that I realized she came to me to better my understanding of the events of the past, and with years upon years that laid before my birth she was the tool designated to helping me understand my own path as well. With her we kept many things, not least of all our love, for both the knowledge and truth that was the past held us together. She would see, and I would record. Our bond was immense. The present I gave uncertainty, the omiceisne that he shared with the others only spanned a few hours, the bridging gap of the now. He was the connector, the one who saw what came to pass and the one who saw the past both at the same time. It was a detriment to him, and his unbidden life was one of many froughts and worries. For the past said one thing, but the future said another. I couldn't truly guide him for I was embedded in the past myself but the wisdom came to me. For upon a time there is the now, and this is what and where we live. Although he could see wherever was happening at present, he could also live in that present. So I gave to him, freedom. To see the curse in him a gift of love, and nurturance. One that could be used to solidify his brothers visions and lead his sister into her new state of being. Together the three become one being, one vision. The Vision of the world, and the people called them the All Seer. 2: The Unifier Dagonir was a man of men within a time of men. War. He would not be the God of war though his life was livened by it, though he reveled in it and sought it out, he was the one who had, for a time, brought conflict before solving conflict. A man of many Verallian traits, his phsyique outwieghed the others, he brought to me a psyche of dismatled self. He was a man of shattered pride and no worth of self. Hidden behind false claims of his love for battle and blood and fighting. To me, when he visited I was simply afraid but soon he sought the truth in wisdom. Something I was not ready to give. He was the first. When he appeared upon my doorstep I thought at first it was death that came to me, but it was purpose in the guise of a being so far removed from his senses. I brought him back from bloodlusting madness, and I spoke words of love and life into him. I remeber the light in his eyes shimmering with the twilight of the setting sun, a purple foundation of smothered stars twinkling into existence from behind fading light. It was then that we both knew who we were. Though it was my job to find out what we were, and in doing so I found the thing that would later be described in scrolls and texts that had details far beyond what I had even thought. The people henceforth called us Gods. And in his revelation of hating of blood and battle, his madness ended he continued his life as something else that was far beyond what I could expect of him. He alone brought the Verallian tribes together. He alone created the foundation of the world in which I see today. Dagonir the brave, Dagonir the unspiteful, Dagonir the unifier. Under his name, a new religion was born and I witnessed from my place within my space of unimaginable distartions the birth of something new in this world. A belief that would be passed down from life to life to life. It was sadness when he came to me the last time, wishing to no longer be, and it was sadness when I found the means in which to end his bountiful beautiful reign. Dagonir was a friend, one that had been with me since the start of my own longevity and one I will cherish within my books and scrolls of old. 3: Death The poor boy of circumstance who founded his way through the world by convening with the dead. A sorcrer unlike any other I have met, and one who is so bent on discovering self that he wallows in it even whilst performing his duties. Tedius, loyal, a man who is dedicated to his protection of the world unlike any other I have seen to date. What is it about him the drives him. What is it about him that allows him to push himself forward to the brink of never ending torment to cleanse our world. I've asked him and it seems even he does not know. A shame in a shame. The one who controls the stream of life and can see the endless and bountiful harvest of our world is only ashamed of his lack of knowledge of what drives him. It hurts me when he visits. For his visions are monstrous, although necessary. I hate myself for driving him to do what he must, but if he will not then Terras Mana has no savior, nothing to keep it from becoming a world of grim monsters, and empty tales of strife. I push him, as his body pushes him though he knows not why but what I give him I know it is a means and a tool to drive the boy into what he needs, what he wants, what he wills. A tool to save the world, for I too can see the dark corners, and I too know the illness that is beginning to infect the world in which we live. 4: Hope What was it about her that was so memorable. Perhaps the oceanic depths of her eyes? Or the way that she overflowed with the spirits of life and left her mark upon me? A mark so swelling in its glamour that I was awestruck at her one and only visit. What was it about her I ask myself what I remember her standing on my hearth, her slender thin shoulders a soft paleness in the sun, like rivers flowers blooming admist the dark blue of the forging rivers. Her hair akin to the aquiatic shallows of the ocean surface. How she simply smiled, and the warm breath of life was breathed into me in a time of dark desparing tomfoolery. Her life has only met mine once. And in that life the woman worshipped as Hope had touched me in a way that none on this whole earth could. She filled me with an essense of living so powerful that I could only see the sky for the blue sheltering light of which it is. The ground for the soft bed of warmth of which it gives, and the Air for the sweet breath of life for which it instills. A woman of color, a woman of feeling, a woman who embodied what it means to be alive and well and in tune with oneself. She was what the faithful wanted to be, and what the humble could not be. I still to this day see how she changed me and my visions of the world or dark tribulations began to brighten and in my histories I searched for answers within the confines of our rules. We were immortal, and even immortals had falacy, but she was as akin to perfection as I wished perfection to be. She granted me solace, but where she gave me peace her turmoil dredged itself from the depths, and my arbitrary hope had dispersed in almost that instance. No, she wasn't dying, it was that she herself was the catalyst to destroy the very hope that she gave to the world, and her showing in front of me in her divinity, was the only forseeable conclusion for in my keeping of histories I saw the answer. An answer of hope that would beg forth the continuation of her, and her lineage. So unto the being that granted the blessing of optimistic fortitude I gave the same blessing, a way to keep her from being the next eclipse that would cover the sun. With that, she left, but my feelings of life long preserved in the state of blessed singsong did not. I was in love with her love of the world and I knew this was what she brought to the others that saw themselves as beneath her. Those who begged her in their faith, and the hope that she would always bring them their desires in the times of stretching shadows. 5: Of knowledge Wisdom differs in the way that Intellect is removing the rock from the cut off river for free flowing while the former is knowing that doings so will flood the land below. Who was it that said that they were one and the same but did not understand why they are wrong. Yes I remember her. The arrogance and the vestitude of self rightousness and the chest swelling pride that thrummed within her breast as she spoke herself to me in a way that also revealed herself. She was the gatherer of intellect, the searcher for knowledge, to know all things, all language, all magic, all life. There are those that see her as the epitome of the way, the foundation of logic and understanding and the search of mental preparedness to face the world. But they would be wrong, at least would have if she had not found her way to me. I am arrogant enough to say that for her, the woman of nurturing genius I bestowed wisdom. The way of thinking. In her long stay she would argue and rreprimand and tussle, until at last she knew where she was wrong. She was the foundation of knowledge and in being so needed to have one thing quite clearly brought to her attention. That she was not without fallacy. Although she thought she knew, she did not know and with her self guiding tourism of intellect was made into something that was beyond what she had been before. A simple seeker of truth and knowledge. To her I gave the gift of thinking, the advice and the patience to see her whims as fallacy and to question herself at all possible angles before cementing herself to what she though was truth. To her, this would be the catalyst of her undying preistess' gathering of all things paper and pen. Of all things that were mapped and the ancients that were lost.The knowledge that knowledge itself is valuable in its way because it is able to be questioned. She would be inspired then, and from there she brought her own understanding of the forms of thinking to the people that sought out logic. Logic for logics sake was blasphemy, but she gave it meaning and purpose and those that saw her saw the way that she had given it life and held onto it. For she was the searcher of knowledge and truth, and they were disciples of the knowledge. 6.The Keeper The Keeper is me. The recorder, the Truth seer. The one who knows, the one who records, and the one who knows teh secrets of the world but will never tell. I know the past, I know the present. And I know possible futures. I see what needs to be done and what has yet to be accomplished and I will be the one to write the histories of the world. I know still there are those that have yet to come to me, those that will show themselves to me once, and those who will visit many times. There are things in my books, secrets and lives and stories upon stories. I write them, I record them and they in a sense are mine, but they are not mine. I have searched the foundations of the world and I uncover truth upon truth and I give to them these truths. It is up to them to take the truths, it is up to them to see the truths for what they are and not find the fallacy of my own recordings. Whether the works I bestow breeds knowledge, faith, or ignorance is far removed from the purpose of why I record. It is simply for the truth of the past. Those that follow me, those that have seen me, who have visited, who find themselves upon my doorstep are all seekers of the histories, are all those who wish to keep its truths, and hold true to its word. I do not turn these people away, but instead give them the tools they need in order to begin their work. They are devoted, they are in love, they are those who have wished the world to know the past, and seek to better themselves and those around them by teaching, to not forget, to not repeat, to understand and carve a path forward. For only by the truth of the past can they move to a place in which they are free from the violence and the foundations of the vilest men. They are my wards, and I am their teacher.