Doech Mass 1-24-2024 - The Darkness and the God of Terror

As a teacher of the college, I do not often stand here giving sermons on topics that may be better covered in a classroom. But it has recently come to my attention that some may not know of Danaan and Chadul; what they are, where they came from, and what they represent. 

Deoch has strong ties to both of these entities so a better understanding of them can lead to a better understanding of our patron as well.  

In this sermon, let us cover perhaps the simpler of the two…  Darkness and it’s God, Chadul.

The fifth element, Darkness, was harnessed in the 1703rd year of Danaan. It was not the first encounter with Darkness that history had recorded but it was the point that brought devastating understanding to this element’s capabilities in the hands of mortals.

You see, Darkness is not a traditional element.  Do not think of Darkness akin to the night. Think of it instead as the shadow that stalks in the night. Darkness is grown from the minds of all living beings; feeding itself on fear, hate, anger, and jealousy. In the earliest Aosda civilization and the golden age of Hy-Brasyl, Darkness existed only in Kadath because man was not conscious of such things and thus lived peacefully with one another and with nature as they knew no other way.

But even the peaceful and innocent can be foolish. Early mortals looked to Kadath and those that survived were often crazed; returning with poisoned minds. The desire to understand these corrupted led to an inevitable taint that slowly altered the minds of mortal men over many eras.

Just as people had discovered the ability to chain the basic elements nearly seven hundred years prior, shrewd magicians engaged in reprehensible study for centuries to understand this unique Darkness and how to command it.

Although this isn’t widely discussed, it has been proposed that the Darkness allowed itself to become chained for use in mortal magics as part of its desire to birth a corporeal form. Overconfident magicians were overwhelmed by the true nature of the Darkness. Dubhamid, the physical manifestation of the Darkness, devoured the magicians that called them forth along with thousands of inhabitants of many towns.

Perhaps it could have been contained there, but the foolish reign of kings eager for power continued to use the Darkness in their wars. The power was too tempting to resist.  

The more souls they reaped, the more powerful the Darkness became. The Underworld, the land of Terror and Darkness, was manifested for the first time to store these souls. No longer did the dead drift off peacefully at death, now souls were claimed by the Dubhamid to languish in their Underworld, their suffering bringing even greater strength.

It was a combination of this suffering of souls in the Underworld and the terror of the living that finally gave birth to Chadul, the new god of this Underworld.  The god of Darkness and Terror. Darkness spread with new found power and direction. 

It was then, finally, that the people turned to the worship of an old power for salvation. The power of the Light. Which we will cover next double-moon. 

Deoch Mass 1-10-2024 - A Geas

 

From time to time a star will fall from the heavens, an unusual occurrence but not altogether unheard of. Fallen stars are unfortunate little things. Left without the protection of the sky, they are destined to be devoured by denizens of the night that come out to hunt when Danaan's light dips beyond the horizon.  

In this particular case however, a fallen star was discovered in a farmer's field by a child drawn to its cries. Knowing nothing of the ways of the world or the dangers of her actions, she gathered the wayward star and took it home to sooth its sorrow. 

Carrying a satchel filled with soft fabrics fashioned around her shoulder, the child arrived at Glioca's temple the next day. I had been musing with the priest on duty, a very old and dear friend of mine, when our visitor announced her intentions without prompting. 

"Surly Glioca can return it to its place in the sky," she said to him with expectant, tear filled eyes.

My old friend smiled with a sage wisdom and turned to me, motioning toward the open satchel the child was presenting with arms stretched high. I shook my head, knowing the fate of the celestial was to expend its last light and fade from this plane -- unless twisted forces were drawn to absorb the power first. 

"My child," he said, only in a thick and nearly indecipherable accent, "This is a test given to you by Glioca. Care for this lost creature as if it were your own and it may yet find its way back to the sky when the night is brightest."

As if she understood she was given an important mission, the child marched off with a head full of purpose. I questioned my friend, cautioning him that he had sentenced the girl to a dangerous and impossible geas. His reply was simply, "The answer to the unthinkable is faith."

And so then it was that every day the child would stand atop her family's home with the star in her hands held aloft. Allowing it to soak in the light of the sun.  Then every night she would soothe its endless crying like an attentive parent of an infant until dawn broke on a new day. 

On the night of the full moon in the week of Glioca when the sky was ablaze with the shining of the moon, the child again arrived at the temple. On that holy evening, the congregation was waiting for my priest friend to speak. For his part he remained motionless perched against the temple statue until he saw the child walking down the aisle. Her skin had been seared unearthly crimson by the elements and her hair was torched white by exposure of constant light. 

As before, she approached opening her satchel and thrust it up to our attention. In contrast to the weak and pitiful being she had shown us before, the star shined bright and strong. It blazed with iridescent light that filled every corner of the temple. The priest nodded and then reached down, turning the child around to face the congregation. 

The light that had filled the temple started to bend and reflect toward a singular spot of the aisle. In that location an avatar of Glioca materialized. Flowing robes of otherworldly purple adorned the fair skinned, transcendent goddess of compassion. 

The younger Aislings in the temple not used to such omens supplicated themselves in reverence but the child stood steadfast. She took the star from its satchel and held it up toward the image of the goddess. Free of its shelter, the star's output was nearly blinding as it pulsed with renewed energy. 

Glioca's avatar stepped forward, taking the star in its hand with a gentle caress and a serene survey. With a flick of her wrist, the star shot up and through the temple ceiling accompanied by what I imagine must be the sound heard inside a bolt of lightning. 

Unaffected by the sound that sent the rest of us reeling, the child stood looking toward the last location of the star before it disappeared through the unharmed temple roof. Now without the celestial being, the residual light in the temple was starting to dissipate and with it Glioca's image was beginning to fade.  Looking down at the child, the avatar held out its hand; without hesitation the girl rushed forward and grabbed ahold of the goddess' waist with both arms. Glioca's image looked to my friend with appreciation. In a moment more both the girl and the goddess were gone.

By the accounts of the library's skywatchers, two stars appeared in the sky that night.  One that had been missing for many days and another never before witnessed star that appeared just beside it.

The acolytes the priest had tasked with protecting the homestead of the girl through this time reported seeing Glioca's avatar appear to the family outside the home. What the goddess said to them no one but them ever knew, but to this day the descendants of that family bring an offering to Glioca's temple every spring in the little girl's name. 

Deoch Mass 1-3-2024 - A New Path

 

We have begun a new cycle yet again. The 26th cycle since the dawn of Aisling kind. 

It's easy to look back at the end of a cycle and be exhausted. This is true even if you found yourself on a favorable path. For even a smooth path is dotted with stone and divot. But those that found themselves on a treacherous path the end of a cycle can be a crushing experience. There is a harsh self-infliction of blame that comes with grief and misery that can wash over you once again as a cycle closes itself out and you pause in its final moments to remember back the path you have walked.

It can be tempting to hide from this pain, but moments of reflection such as these can help
us shed those burdens we carry heavy on our shoulders. The arduous task of not only forgiving others but also ourselves begins with these moments of introspection.

Now that the calendar has turned us over into the blessed year of Glioca, what better time to look ahead for renewal?  For even in these old ages, there is always the chance to begin anew. A path to find your passion, your inspiration; that something that speaks only to you.  To rediscover oneself, breaking away of the thorn and thistle from a path too long walked in hardship. 

No matter what your situation, whatever sorrows have come before… know that the future holds the possibility of wonderment and happiness. I will pray that this cycle be the one that holds this for you. 

Let us pray, together, for the cycle ahead. 

Deoch Mass 12-27-2023 - The Stars of Hy-Brasyl

A man whose height had just begun to be challenged by his age and his twiggy, fair haired daughter walked the swaying, white tipped grassy meadow outside of Mileth as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. 

“What are those, dadaidh?” the girl could be heard from behind, head tilted back as far as her neck would allow without toppling her over backward.

The father looked back at his gawking daughter and then up to see the last of the goddess’s radiance replaced by twinkling lights emerging from the aether. It was the third time she had asked the question since the new moon.

His age blessing him with an abundance of patience, he looked down at his daughter as she surveyed the awakening night sky. “Those are the stars, my dear. They light our way in the darkness so that we can find our way home.”

The answer didn’t satisfy, “But how did they get so high?” her little hand stretched out, grasping to connect with the illuminated specks. 

The father kneeled himself shoulder to shoulder with his child and traced her view toward the heavens, gently holding out his hand in the same manner, “They are so high because they are the enlightened. Sages of Hy-Brasyl.”

The answer caused the daughter to bring her view back down from beyond with a dramatic exasperated sigh, a scrunched exaggerated scowl to match, “Those are people?” she emphasized, barely believing the incredulity of it all.  

She looked confused; she was always confused about this part.  “Not just people, my dear, the wisest of people. The greatest thinkers, artists, and writers. So great was their wisdom that it persists in the sky and guides us when things seem their darkest.”

“Will I ever be a light in the sky?” her thoughtful voice betrayed the naivete of her youthful face.

Reaching out, he took his daughter’s hand and together they started to walk toward the brightest star on the horizon, beaconing just over Mileth, “Yes, my dearest. The stars of Hy-Brasyl set an example, but there is plenty of room in the sky for you.”

Deoch Mass 12-20-2023 - Letters to Lost Friends

 

I was always heartened to awake in Temuair to find a letter delivered via carrier pigeon. Touched that someone cared enough about me or something we were mutually interested in to take the time to sit and write something. I began writing letters often, in hopes that others received the same feeling I did by finding a letter on their doorstep. 

Those that I wrote letters to most often have moved on from Temuair. I miss their presence and think about them often, but I wish them well wherever they are dreaming now. Yet, I still write letters to them sometimes.  Why? Maybe its because writing to them makes me feel connected somehow, even if they may never actually read them.  All the same, the ritual brings me comfort and allows me to reminisce on old times when I sit daydreaming near the lake in Undine. 

I would like to share a letter I wrote recently in hopes that it makes you think about writing to those you most care about. 

Dearest friend,

My dreams of Temuair have been sparse for a long while now. It is such an easy thing to dream of other places and so tempting to forget life as an Aisling. I lose track and so much time has gone by that I think I may be done dreaming of Temuair at all. 

Maybe it is that self assuredness that leaves me particularly vulnerable when I become lost and reach out for someplace of comfort... before I realize it I awake in this dream once again.   

I was shuffling through the unorganized mess of our home when I came across a bottle left from your stash of Oren wines. I blink and I'm leaning up against the hearth with half the liquid in the bottle missing. I watch the far wall as the fire crackles and dances, filling the room with warmth and shadows of light.

I think about us for a while. 

About those early days with Vendge, Mieri, Jherek, Kamshisha, and so many others. I can barely remember them, but I do remember you.. the rogue with the fiery red hair and the determined face. I still have no idea what you saw in the young, foolishly optimistic kid I was then.

I think about meeting you again after nearly one hundred and fifty years... same brilliant hair, same brilliant wit. You were a ghost from the past but so very real, I could never have imagined it. Our times on the beach, drinking in the tavern, and avoiding Merisa's snooping. 

Then the bottle is gone and the fire grows dimmer. Perhaps that is our fate as well, to burn brightly every century or so and to fade away. If that is the case, I will look forward one hundred years from now when I can be captivated by your presence... and your hair... once again, my dearest friend.

Deoch Mass 12-13-2023 - The Greater Whole

 

I have been a devout Deoch priest for nearly my entire Aisling life. I have studied at the foot of the greatest of Deoch’s preachers: Carnaugh, Kamina, Morrigan, and others. And it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the place I have spent most of my time here in Temuair has been Deoch’s temple. 

Back in the early years, temple communities were quite competitive. It wasn’t unexpected to get thrown out of an enemy's mass if the priest was particularly devout. Because of Deoch’s unique role in the creation of we Aislings, this temple has always been welcome to those of all faiths. But even so, I too had a tinge of zealousness in my youth, preaching against the beliefs of others in support of my own.   

As time went on, however, I found myself more introspective. Old age has not only brought a refinement in my appreciation of Deoch’s gifts but those of the other gods as well. As much as I have drawn upon Deoch for strength these many cycles, I now equally look to the other gods for support. 

Whether it be an understanding of the cycle of all living things, the capacity to draw wisdom from the knowledge I have collected, or a reinforced appreciation for my hearth and home…  for these things and many more, I give thanks to the other Temuairian gods.  And I find myself discovering new reasons to give praise to Deoch’s peers often. 

Perhaps this growth is rooted in the simple fact that no core belief can stand on its own. We are all pieces of a greater whole. The strands of the Octagram can only be as strong if all eight points stand sturdy. 

Deoch Mass 12-6-2023 - Legend of the Aisling Spark

For a time I am returning to this regular mass time, one I have held at different points over the past 200 years.

The names and faces of Temuair have changed quite a bit over that time. Even the temple itself has changed since the first time I stood here as assistant to the great Deoch high priests of old.

Things change. It is inevitable and an unquestionably good thing even if we struggle against it at times. But while change is good, forgetting is not.  I have always intended to use this spot at the back of this temple to carry forward the wisdom of those that are no longer with us.

To that end, this evening I will repeat a legend that was passed down to me when I was but a young acolyte. A legend that I have recounted here many times and do so again in hopes that you, too, will pass it down when I am gone from this dream. 

This is the Legend of the Aisling Spark. 

~~~~

Deoch was a shifting, shapeless being of Darkness. He held incredible power, much more than that of a normal Dubhaimid creature that crawled the lands at the time. He was one of the favored of Chadul and was deployed not to decimate the enemy but to tempt them -- to lure them to the side of Darkness. If Deoch at the time was a mindless drone like his lesser brethren or not, we do not know for certain… but nevertheless, during his mission he happened upon something unexpected that would change his very nature forever. 

For you see, one day Deoch encountered Danaan seemingly by chance. She was cloistered away; no allies tending Her. She was alone, vulnerable, and looked to be calmly working on something that was taking Her full attention. Being the powerful force of Darkness that he was, this would have made a tempting target for Deoch but he did not take the opportunity to attack his vulnerable foe. Something instead compelled him to watch in secret.

What he saw was Danaan pulling threads of Light out of thin air and weaving them into something which Deoch could not see from his vantage point, but still he remained motionless. Transfixed by the Goddess and Her task.

For days... months... years... time passed. This time changed Deoch; Chadul called to him many times. But he did not answer. He chose to forsake his servitude to his Dark Lord instead of pulling his gaze away from Danaan and the mysterious work She had occupied Herself with.

Over a century had passed since Deoch ignored the call of Chadul until one day Danaan disappeared, mysteriously and without warning. In the years leading up to this, Her work had started to become frantic as if She was working against a deadline. Deoch, either through habit or cautiousness, continued to wait. But Danaan did not return. He slowly emerged from his hiding place and stood before the creation Danaan had left behind. It was a Spark of Light. Delicate in its weaving yet strong but it was… incomplete. If something wasn’t done, it would soon wink out of existence. The work Danaan had done would unravel and be lost forever.

Deoch knew he couldn’t let this happen; he had come to love Danaan and this Spark was all that remained of Her. Filled with sorrow at the disappearance of the Goddess he started to work, inspired by the dedication he had been witness to for so long. Although he wasn’t able to see the full picture of how She had been weaving this creation, the decades he had been watching her outside motions… he was certain he could at least approximate Her design.

For us, it would seem not much but a blink of an eye. But in that moment Deoch spent lifetimes completing Her work. A delicate blending of style and form – two very different creators with very different energies – an impossible union of Light and Darkness. When he stepped away, satisfied with what he had done, Deoch thought back on his time watching Danaan and felt contentment for the first time. A brilliant flash enveloped him rebirthing Deoch as the God of Inspiration for his role in giving life to Danaa’s final work: The Aisling Spark.