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Serminuxia: The Marukhati Sermons

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Serminuxia
The Marukhati Sermons
 
By Brian S
 
 

Illustrated and Edited by Astion

 
 
Serminux Ehnn

 
Um Lýbis Subigrangehl
Love Through The Subgradient
 
 
Open your eyes to this, the ultimate of the magic worlds. We tread upon this the heart of all unearthly love, and blessed is the path. Open your eyes to the divination of the past, a whole slew of generations unscathed, and whole generations unpaved by hatred.
 
The bestowment upon us is the throne of our power: that we are not the Elven lie, ancestors, or the Mannish lie, children, but are the lesser forms of the Gods, one in between the aforementioned mediums. Thus their potential, of ANU and his one-in-the-same, has been passed down to us in the forms of magic and myth and love.
 
Herein lies our blessing, that the world is ours; the world is yours; the world is but a pit filled with staves. It is mine and your duty to climb up and about, to inherit the disc-rim that is the universe.
 
You can change the world with your love, and in the teachings of Aless lies the key. We are this key, heed the words of the Serminuxia as the truth of the world.  
 
Such is the mission of the misguided: becoming gods from the image that is thrown. Such is also the mission of the Void, do not forget this.
 
Such is the mission of the misguided: becoming gods from the streams of the being and the memories of their love. Such is also the mission of the Ineffable Light, do not forget this.
 
Such is the mission of the careless: subgradientation into mundaneness. Such is also the mission of whores.
 
Unity is the mission of the universe, that together is power aloof. I say to you, citizens of the last Empire: your gods have grown weak by division and, for lack of a better word, malnutrition.  
 
We, the Second Right of the Alessian Order, graced by the universal holiness, tell you of our and your love. We welcome you to grace yourselves as well. Unbridled is our creed, the love of the One. All the divinities of the Aurbis are bound by myth and might and inter-represent the spirits. Under the One can one truly be free, as so is it preached.
 
Without doctrine, without hegemony, without oppression, we bring nothing to Tamriel but our faith and our empathy.
 
You can change the world with love.
 
Vika Hrö Thpaolahl Sidn!
How You Are All So Holy!

 

 Serminux Thüý 

 
 
Hrill Heýrotnguk Gvægglahl: Saralo Alsýtatht
He Who Conquers All Shall Sit Alone Forever.
 
As is expected, a trivial clearing up of matters is needed between the modern Alessian Cult and the Predecessors (holy be their ancient star-splendored names). We aim to succeed where the hegemony and its respective ilk have failed.
 
Despite the preached word of freedom, the hand by which it was blessed was a fist upon the earth, without doubt. I speak of the Alessian Reform, which burns like a single candle in a prison cell in the backs of Cyrodiilic minds. Fear not, people of the end of the Septim Age, for the hegemony - the lies, the filth - they are but historical specks, ashes upon our eyelids. Love, children.
 
Some may see our re-arrival as a message from Mother Cyrodiil that the vacuum left with the death of Martin was meant to be filled with our uprising. In the Temple of the One nonetheless! A holy vessel of mythic change, that Temple, consecrated by none other than Marukh Incarnate (holy be his ancient star-splendored name).
 
As Marukh himself said: “He who conquers all shall sit alone forever.” By this, the world is a splendour due unto all at once, without consequence.
 
Consequence. Fabled horde of babbling fool-words. An undue suppression led to the previous folly. With a heart full of empathy we re-emerge. In a world full of oneself, which is so desirable, can there ever be a room for another?
 
The answer is that there must be, for a world of one with such a population is an undue hell, as is noted by the Frame-Maker in his very breath. Our divinity will be made up of stacks of thousands, a sensual entanglement of souls which make one.
 
Nirn! Glorious Nirn, that together we make One.
 
To crush them is to un-birth them, anon Void dwelling.  
 
So says the One, one amongst all, unbridled by doctrine.
 
I AM ARE ALL WE.
All amongst us the One.



 

 
Serminux Tuh.
 
Vith Rimoninra Kimmtaolohl: Um Lýbis Kimm.
We Feed The Royalty-Truth: Love Through Royalty.
 
Kimm. A beautiful word in its own right, taught to the Imga by the Velothi moving through Valenwood in an ancient, incalculable age. The True understand its power: how it resounds over the stars, over the pocket realms, over the flow of existence and the ball of love we reside upon.
 
Remember your path in it thusly, as Marukh (holy be his ancient star-splendored name) and his clergy have said:
 
“Tam! Rugh! Open your gates, unblessed children of the naught-world. By naught I mean knots, with which the earth was consecrated by. When the new land was hot and dry, conjoined by mountains and myth, there was a great gathering in the northern tower, which itself is consecrated by Sermons and Fireflies, which is to say a Stone of incalculable draw. So was born the cynosure of giving-life, and so was born us the messengers of peace.”
 
I tell the final words of this story to you:
 
“And so the Frame-Maker bore witness to his flesh, crumpling and heavy, like his own crystalline tears which are now anon snow. Alone where his motives which are listed thusly and lastly: that of which the aspect of the Red Skins saw, a system of birth based entirely on death. How ironic, albeit the Ark of Ei did not even believe. He had seen that which is aforementioned (in Serminuxia nonetheless!) that the waves of Aka-Tosh run thin by the time potential is drained from existence, and intermingling is impossible under these circumstances.”
 
So lucky was this third age, that near its end was this born.
 
“And so do I preach that these were the purposes spoken by the Frame-Maker. He saw that which is our love and we love him thusly, part of the One largest and brightest. By the levels of existence can magicka and potential be transferred, Death can be avoided by imagination and thusly were we born, a mighty tower extending above all creation giving wombs for penetrating and breasts for feeding. With minds aloof is this tower powered, and thusly can it be reached.
 
“Oh, how the men with morphing skin have taught us these ways, and of the omniroyal purpose of our feet, trodden on soil unmarked. Like stacks of hay in a distant field, the dying old men look on us, by dying old men I mean infinite lovers with moons ajar. He sees his death, but is content in a sickened fashion unknown to us. We hold not the other end, ends of the reigns of mythopoetry and mythofolding and mythocynosure and other big words. They do, and by their word their deaths are marked by birth unholy. By unholy I mean from our mouths, which are the true vaginal passages of slimy god-babies. So is the tower our male organ, as is obvious. Through time and metal and hate can we climb to its apex, as a beckoning cynosure for all, that the Aurbis is for none to claim but I, the name of Secrets-Not-Yet-Queried and by that I mean GOD. As such perhaps the blessing of aurbic-omniroyalty is a curse to its predecessors. I think not, as I am not wholly them, emphasis wholly. As such can all I say be summarized:
 
“Iffao neýthinti thpao vekka, hrulahl tugar funr, brü gher tuga theglahl.”  



 

 
Serminux Vetht
 
Armuntekintak
Universal Emptiness (or An Empty Universe)
 

And in the first days did the day-maker engulf everything as before. The drum had ceased to beat and its thick spread skin was balled up, appearing as mirrors to unstable children.
 
The sound of heartbeats resonated through the Aurbis and everyone was silent as the dragon stood atop his pedestal, bleeding from his anus onto the world. With confidence he drew from his womb a ball of soul. He rolled it out like dough, so that it was flat and shaped like a wheel. He held it before the Nirni divinity and said, “So is the model of existence on highest and lowest levels: that of the universe and that of the mental world, a disc with spires. See you not you face inside it; as a coin is flat, so is the world!
 
As is further unknown, the dragon took this coin and made it a secret to those who can’t love. To this we say “thank you!” but sometimes “you bastard!” For a fortnight the sleeping persisted, an eyelid closed over all realms, and the dragon took this coin and broke off a piece, so that it was no longer of the shape of the universe and spate from it.
 
From this soul he made a hairy baby, and named him Marukh.
 
He kept him in his pocket for an eternity until the mountain-ears were overthrown in the grounds of cynosure. After this, he took the babe from his pocket, and carefully whispered into his ear so no one would hear but him:
 
“With you is the secret of ascension, with you is the secret of the whole inside the hole. I speak of its design, for with you is the final syllable to complete the echo, and so have I blessed you. Go, tiny monkey, dance and be merry and ring the chimes of the world. I tell you to do this because I am not entirely me, for the sound of the heartbeat and the drum are beginning to become one in the same. Give me four eras, and thus shall the chimes sound anew, a singing bell for all times. By this I mean me. “
 
So is our holy prophet Marukh father beyond Veloth, who was a blaspheme because he stole the syllable of Marukh’s soul before the dragon was dead. So are his people cursed by their own nihilism, they were void of hope in the approach of the Tower.
 
Marukh is the father of Ascension! He is future come by intermittent means. He is rampart amongst the junction of souls, a void-to-be-killed in a golden reflection, anon the one and one who make one.  
 
The whole in the hole is the hole in the whole.



 

 
Serminux Frý
 
Kotng Armuntog Lýbis
Promise Love to the Aurbis
 
Ajar is the door of the universe. So as the island broke into sandbars in an eternal ocean, so as a dragon and a serpent intertwine, so must you in the skin of many.
 
This is told by the strongest of men, for who is but the strongest but the heir-filled living tomb! He is a blanket of all children under him, for all are mythopoeic bombs upon their wet slap on the floor.
 
So it was said unto the first tenants of Marukh:
 
“Ajar is the door of the secret tower, and in sexual embrace, the steps to the zenith are crying, squirming, wet with hellish orgy. As back and forth are the tides from the first ones, so are the sounds and pulses of [holy!] debauchery.
 
“Remember in the future-time, the foreign star king who drives his sword into the earth, and from a hillock is born hope. So was this sex anon dirt shoveling. Eons before the dragon had taken his spear, and on the Bal Fal Ria did he impregnate baby NIRN  with the reality of star-heaven. In the battle that ensued, the serpent did strike back with his spear MOR I DUN ON and so it impregnated the Sons of Alcharyai, as well as the birth of the star-wound and its respective penis.
 
“What is seen as the birth of love in the eyes of none but not Dibbellites is its birth-essence, for seen from its side is this act its motive. As an animal chases its prey round trees, do men chase a harlot round the streets. So is the motive of wedlock and reign.
 
“The secret of subgradient is forgotten even in love, that we are animals in all but one situation, said situation is obviously a realization I am not to speak of at current moment. As such, the world is made of magnets, and there is one in all of your wombs. They amass and out comes another. To withhold yourselves from the rape of one, is to withhold yourself from the rape of God.
 
“Surely one must know of the purpose of the Aurbic Soul, anon Mundus, for its purpose is in the protonymic. It is the spoke of the cycle unrecognizable; as the body is dead the soul is freed, swimming in the Arkayic waters and separated of Mundic pleasures, which is to say freedom and individuality caused by, again, protonymic. Release is in the birth, as soul is recycled by the giving-love of sexuality.  
 
“Thus it is simple, what could be more holy then the ignition of said cycle upon epic scales?
 
“So I say unto my tenants, so I say unto all, whether harlot or bride or groom or sleeping child, impregnate them and lust unto them with fury, with might, with my blessing and so shall all be saved, so shall our cycle be progressed! Do not be hindered by will, false morality, by any force unnatural. To make love is to free oneself, and this should not be forgotten. Before the Aurbis Soul the world was dry and with our sensual blessing it has become wet.
 
“So I say in all denominations: make love, have sex, and be merry with your whole self without fear. This is unforgivable in absence. I am your supple grain, a slice of a branch unconquerable. Hail to Marukh and you my tenants!”
 
So it was said unto the First Tenants of Marukh, and so it is said unto you the second. Should a man brandish a sword before you and say “Wherein lies your power?” you are to say back:
 
“I never tell the truth, yet I am never far from it.”
 
Should a man brandish a sword before you and say “Wherein lies your power?” you are to say back:
 
“There is but a one letter difference between a whole and a hole. I know this is because they are the same.”



 

 
Serminux Senx 
 

So is the first serial tale entitled “The Monkey Born From Noon”
Anon: “Badkla Umük Nyectlæd Appapohl”
 
As the Monkey Prophet in his semi-infant chrysalis strode through the harlot/fruit markets and beggar allies of the Old Woods [which is to say, the Forest Un-Reigned] he looked unto the merchants to observe the wares, and make a decision on what to purchase for his morning-feast-rape.
 
As strolling proceeded he came across a new booth where a hooded man stood, his table covered in peculiar trinkets of varying size and feasible value.
 
So did Marukh inquire, “Who be you, and what shall you sell, outlander?”
 
“I am, the rebel on the second seed twice. My name is magical; I hate to have a name. Fuel is my wish. I am the world's soul; all my people and my one, all people could die. Cycle is born from the noon, we Arkay you, the Ape Prophet. I am The Tea Party Man. Tea sets, I shall sell you. Buy you, yes?”  
 
Marukh wondered on the peculiar way of speech of the hooded man. “Why are your tea cups as so?”
 
“They have no handle at all to grasp it. So they are in perfect shape, all existence is a mockery. They spin and spin, do not stop, which is the soul of the way. This is what must be the world Marukh.”
 
“Why are your spoons as so?”
 
“Spoons they are special. They are all missing? They are all somewhere broken. They are all from human kind ever designed. Chip need to fix, fix by you who are piece. So it said Dragon, who is my brother. They are more slender than usual spoon. This is a very harmony with the sleeves may be dreaming. This is what must be the world, Marukh.”
 
“Why are your trays so?”
 
“Tray made from the rocks and water. They are, some place between nothing. The interaction of the cup lived. Other needs one. I will tell you a secret; all my products are all the same. There's no difference. Everything is the same; everything with each other within one. I was all useful for me. This is what must be the world, Marukh.”
 
“What do you speak of? Am I a prophet then, who must fix the spoons so they shall ascend? Is so how the world must be?”
 
“Monkey you are this correct. I come with you to the World Over Land. There shall I elaborate.”
 
So they set off for the Isle of Start, where the Teaching Teacher anon Tea Party Man would unfold the bones of the earth before the Monkey Prophet and make music from the Jaw Harps of dead dogs; so is the tune played by dancing.
 
It takes many names; Tonal Architecture, The-All-You-Can-Eat-Trumpet, or the Tavan Defiance. They sang songs and made the world a slimy babe, and they used it to make everyone as was dragon-told.
 
Love of the dance is not yet told, and the Love of Marukh for all was not formed, he has yet to spew the fix. Language is beyond the point, and here lies the truth.  
 
The Whole is the Hole, Marukh is One.

 

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Goddammit, Brian! I posted the first writing of the new forum, and then you have to go and put me to shame! Could I not have at least had a full 24 hours of greatness?!?!

 

(just kidding love ya, babe)

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Serminux Svæ
Ansktru
Lineage
 
After the hot world was born there was the multiple separation at the hands of the Elder War, which re-shaped the continents in shapes memorable, and also shapes reflective.
 
As the earth was torn, so were the first monkey clans, who were but one clan of the Original Worlds. As the Histites took roots in the Black Marsh, and as the Alcharyai [both varieties] took root in all forms based on respective religiomoral polarity, the Monkey Clans were driven to separation by the only other Original Clan, the slug-kin who later took the forms of Sload and Dreugh.
 
At the climactic battle of Artæyama Island, those Monkeys who fled settled in the far east and forged a kingdom from the islands and swamps. Those who remained were led by King Jriklaab, and his kin took root in the southwestern forests of Tamriel. Jriklaab was ruler over the unified Valen Imga, until the invasion of the Nedes in the Year Incalculable.
 
Jriklaab bore two sons, who were named Hryga and Jridson. As the Nedes encroached on Valen Imga kingdoms, the unification shattered, and the two sons subsequently fought for their reign as separate warlords, and this period was known as the Fecal Turbulence. It is called so because during this time the Imgan practice of throwing one’s feces upon an enemy was quite widespread, often being used as a mechanism of shame more than of combat [though a rare suicidal sect would eat poisonous berries to taint their feces and thus aim for the eyes of their enemies.]
 
At the battle of Dsogo [now named Diss] the forces of Hryga overcame Jridson and his mercenary-army, which was celebrated with much fornication.
 
Hryga himself bore three illegitimate sons, whose names are not remembered, save for Ikk Vrujj, who usurped his father’s throne of Valen Imga Emperor by assassination, disguised as a prostitute.  
 
Ikk Vrujj consorted with Chimeri wizards who moved through Valenwood during their migration (the ones who would later become the Telvanni), and as such extended his life by arcane means, and the people revered him as being near godlike. Religious fanatics feared an outright apotheosis and a resulting overthrow of currently worshipped deities. Ironically, he was subsequently assassinated, and all thought the line of Jriklaab was broken, and the passage of blessed blood had stopped to flow.
 
But none knew of Ikk Vrujj’s daughter, anon Symynha. She had been stolen at birth which caused Ikk Vrujj great distress, no doubt affecting the objectivity of his reign. She, as legend and the [text lost] of Marukh tells, received a vision from a half-dragon-half-ape who told her of her blessed blood, that she must “continue the holy lineage and save the earth, for the sake of my brother which is to say, the sake of the world.” And so did she bear five sons in a hurried attempt to fulfil his command.
 
The sons are named thusly: Gerukh, Lahnnukh, Bsiitukh, Kalalukh, and Hreldukh.  
 
However, the Monkey Dragon found none of these sons suitable, as all had received dreamsleeve errors from miscalculated and inappropriate injection of creatial material. None fit the hole to repair it, and so the Dragon took Symynha and impregnated her.
 
For a decade she was pregnant, until legend dictates she became the size of a boulder and exploded, giving birth to a small Monkey Dragon, who screamed out his name: MAR.
 
And MAR held the soul needed to fix the soul-coin of dragon-gift. His blood was megapure. He sundered himself to the dead body of Symynha, and a baby boy was born, his name was Marukh.
 
The rest of the tale is inconsequential in its absence, all know it by one form or another.



 
Serminux Okatt
 

(Untitled)
 
For what shall we be born of but the heavy, dripping masculinity of which the stars and suns of the god’s mandible bathe us in? Behind a veil of nothingness do the mandibles play, and beyond that the stars dance and cavort in a perfect supposition of their own freedom. But little is it known the fragility of their reach, and how the curtain draped daintily over their eyes is pocked full of meaningless holes, by that I mean to say they shall inject them with nothingness, as hollowed wood is filled with termites, and will eat it from the inside out. For the universe was made to eat itself not once and not thrice, but five times for it to breathe. And it does, as a maddened hound will swallow its tail, swallow itself whole. Yet during this time-demon-phase, the light shines heavier than the dark, and the something would overpower the nothing were it not for the hub, which is but a spear to the groin of the universe, who is here-but-missing. Know well, sisters and brothers, that the fourth-waking song begins to burn its ambience into the etched forehead of the Armunt. For what shall consume the weak is a snake in the sky, bleeding its death madly and profusely onto us all. The beast has his teeth covered in Daedric ivory, the sensual poison of sepulture. The world was not born of ambivalence but of heavy, dripping violence. Forget the eventual aurbic outcome; it is not a world but an imagination. To tell of the thrice serpentine teeth is death, and becoming it, for this is the number of the world, mother and father and hermaphrodite. The first tooth was the first born from the sight of the dreams of the gods. For the Second House of Veloth ruptured the lying mouth of the last knight of the seconds, and when this happened came the demon of hatred from its respective ass, who spun to the heavens and united his speech with the serpent of the veil, and bore his teeth to the suns and the stars and even their moons and spoke his salty sermon to the world once more, for he shone onto them instead of vice versa. Yet simple it was not. That few were blinded is well known, and the serpent made more teeth. Why this is so is known by Seven People, one number from divinity in their fraternity. The second tooth was born from soot and achieved his love through tampering of the beetles, and this is not to be confused with the knights and boars of the star wound, for I speak of the silver knight who was born when the freedom ruptured, and from it was a new fool birthed, the fool of the world and subsequent mouth of the divine dreams. These dreams of course have feet. These dreams of course have beards. Beards are forbidden in the second knight’s domain, for so was he before the cladding within un-silver. Fear died within his grasp along with the omniscience of the sons of Aha Nnu. The name of the third is obfuscated and precociously confused in oftenest. From the bleeding of the heart became repentance by viewing and sundered divinity to his chest through the golden breastplate, which is false. Falsity was his dream, and through dreaming is love awakened, name one monkey which knows this not. I challenge so because this is impossible. But of impossibility is the Godhead loved, and so will one find acceptance from and yet at once without oneself. As the ticking tome of the end of Everything is barrelling upon our demon-minds, the Aurbipsycha will again fold as ages past to accommodate for separate divinity which will kill everyone. No one will survive the future because no one will survive themselves when the second coming of the Prophet who is Ape relives his broken piece to overfill our coin-souls with love. Like a harlot, he will dangle the carrot in front of our wet noses and thus will all turn to dust without his love. Rape the monkey prophet and thus will the carotene of the Aurbipsych turn you a dry shade of orange rather than asunder nothingness. The deepest poison of the mind is that no one can see beyond themselves.



 
Serminux Hnav
 
So is the second serial tale entitled: “The End of the World Party”
Anon: “Armuntagyan’feturrohl”
 
In the waning days of the high-tide-Aldmeria, which were monstrous, Marukh and the Tea Party Man sat upon a stadium-rim, as such is the custom of the Northmen, who the Monkey Prophet would previously have labeled heartless. He had not yet tasted the glory of blood sport.  
 
The Tea Party Man had let the gates open and said to Marukh, “This is the arena with which you shall gain your purpose, and inside is the love of many dead. I bear before you a sword. Take it, and cut free yourself from the world and find your purpose, to set free the hub denizens and set your golden organs into the body of men, and mer, and beast, and snake. The world-coin is chipped. Here shall you see your atonement.”
 
And the Man became a flood and water filled the arena. The sword had the words MARUKH AE KNONA CHIM etched on it, and Marukh licked the blade. His blood mixed with the flood water turning it a delightful pink. He was engulfed in memory’s sexual kindness, and his eyes lulled into nothing within seconds.  
 
“My father was a dragon. My mother was a demon. The demon is gone but the fire remains. All are coins, currency of the stars. I am as the thieves were before the eruption. I am as the Grey was before the World. The coins are chipped, for they do not how the demon has failed, I am their prophet, who will save the world from the knights and the bites of the Serpent’s mouth, I bring from behind my teeth the sermons of song, and the notes will burn into their eyes the sliver within the spire of the world, that the mind of the world is one within all. This I shall tell. Of this I am immune.“

The Tea Party Man had returned and this time he had eight legs as a beetle does, as one may find and Marukh had found in the ashlands of the far-far where monkeys do not go. And Marukh knew that this demon was of his kin and he embraced him and said, “I go unto this world as an atlas of the never-see.”
 
And Tea Party Man gave him his heart so safeguard it from the jungles of the what-a-bleeders who feed the fleas of dead priests. And he said to his son and to the Monkey simultaneously, “You are beautiful because no one has seen you and they are unaware of the credibility.”
 
“Gher hnalda thpao.”
 
“Gher hnadla thpao oc.”



Serminux Dekt
 
Serminux Ehntinn
 
Drumagvegg
A Dream World

 

She was born to a flowered prison which was blooming with the beckoning cries of deeds long dead and friends past-made. Horned were the walls, each a trap. Upon the ceiling was singularity splayed, a broken beacon to the vassal masters of her youth, who make whips from dead and musty pubic hairs with which to enslave only their second souls, the soul beneath the breath.  
 
And as she had after many years stood atop the greatest mockery of all time and space, she conjured forth a demon of incalculable weight, causing the ground to bleed and flood all the Nedehamlets and the antechambers of their foresworn fathers.
 
The world cried for a fortnight, and it shall be written so again, twice.
 
By a string she plucked forth the beast of the world and sang his name until the ‘kreathmen and the Alik’rers and even the goblin-raped catmen who dig graves in wet sand had heard the decree: the dragon was born with new wings.
 
And the clouds unfurled over the land and it was so until the days of the Hill-born. This day was set as Dragon Weather, and is marked by fanciful draconian tattooing.  
 
And so did the beats speak to her, in a roaring, paternal bray which made virgins out of many within earshot:
 
 “I break open the morphing-rocks to your soul. This is within the will of my brother with the dreaming robe and rebirth upon his creed. Soon there will come upon you a storm of souls upon a path of fate and mangled, macabre “ÆVORA”, and in them will be your own, and with it you will continue what I risked to set aside and break the cycle of death by nullification: to awaken the Monkey Prophet and tell him of his meeting with the man who bears strange drinks and divulges in northern debauchery. The Northmen are in his favor, albeit he and his emulation-kin are thankfully not.”
 
And so the Slave Queen did upon her death at the Disloyal. She was placed into a morpholith casket and sent to the god planet of the Previously Worthless One, for this is what she was to taught to name him by the desert folk.
 
And in this place she learned under her breath so as not to corrupt the secret, a terrible truth. And it was hidden beneath her skin, in the dark reaches of her mind by the lesser of ancestors who mend the dreaming sleeve, and it should be known that these are called the Kaymen. They bound her to the half coin of mystery and sent her to the surface of the world-peel, and within the ground she waited until the proper bone-invocations were performed.
 
And there she injected an ape with peace, and spun him about face and brought his furry feet to a market where he learned to ride the waves of reality, as this is how they come.
 
And by her namesake are we blessed.  



 
Serminux Thüýtinn
 
Lýbis isa Dundünohl
Love is the Weapon
 
And the streets were filled with a thousand dead virgins, and the skyline was black and gruesome, like dead scabs piled on top of each other, for this is how the future was made. And the Monkey Prophet smiled and dead numbers fell from his teeth, and from them he was reborn.
 
A shrill wind blew across the dusty, cracked street. It blew about the dead ash and mutant vines, which hung tentatively from the wooden girders stretching between the buildings. When Maruhk breathed, and then exhaled, a string of mica crystals peppered the air, and they formed letters and symbols that, when translated by the city’s infrastructure, told Maruhk to [complete an impossible act of masturbation].
 
And to this he ruptured the street, blasphemous reminiscence of deep folk metal, and swam inside its underbelly, parting water as hair between his dead fingernails.
 
And he found a doorway submerged therein and it was marked with sundials turned vertically, and their pedals were flattened. And in this womb they spun madly, arousing sleeping uteruses from their underwater hibernation as they ran for the light of birth: dead spirits longing for a hub. And as though they were rays through sun holes they exited the womb and materialized hopelessly in dead liberty roses, meat thusly.  
 
And Maruhk entered this un-portal with his arms contorted as children stuck in a dungeon do. As if a drug he gave up his consciousness and ate his dreams, and he forced himself into paternal synesthesia, and he had himself a thousand acrogenous babies and made his way to the surface thusly.
 
He did not know the world he had inhabited was a vertebra of the broken back of the dragon. And in it, the porous catacombs, where existence brays madly like a cut-in-half baby.
 
 Vehemently he surfaced and found himself in the fourth reincarnation (for this was the most blessed) of the Wall South in the Odai Sector of the New Helseth Dominion and Hegemony.
 
 And everything before him was a crater, glistening wet with the sheen only dead love can provide, radiating at the core so far that it obfuscated the paths of waterfalls and turned breath to fog in an eye-blink, as if painted by gore hawks. Tangled messes of fur assumed to be nix-kin flew about and filled the crater with droppings, and they rang the chimes of a dead kalpa, uproarious and nugatory.
 
Maruhk met a dead man, whose skin peeled off his face as wallpaper does in the Black Marsh in the dew spring morning days. Like a spiderweb did veins criss cross his numbed face. And it was made numb by horrible teenage sex only the Hist approve of, because they are just dumb trees. They are just dumb trees, know this.
 
Maruhk asked what happened because monkeys are curious, so they are, and so they say, “Monkey see, and he will thus do.”
 
The man spoke, and his words were dead as if before a fire on a string.
 
“God became the glass broken by the madden god and his hole in the pane, and transient exuberance killed all love for thieves and their poetic king, and his moon baby died in the sky and so did his ambivalence which he held before us as does a snake to a cow, a steak before a dog, I mean, a dog, a smog… a hog before a river pipe…”
 
To this Maruhk only replied, “Nuts!”
 
To this the mysterious mystery man licked his own crotch and danced blasphemously, in patterns which mock the Aurbis, and so Maruhk ate his genitals and belched loudly and disrespectfully.  
 
And in the crater he found a cradle and he rocked himself like a baby until it reached absurd speeds where even his ears were blurry with motion and he could not hear but his own dead heart not pulsing. He fell into dense water almost thick as nasal discharge (on a bad day), and he found his door and saw the [they of this time called them “clocks”, which is a silly mocking word. To think that time can be recorded and led as a child!] which surrounded it.
 
And he realized the calling of wet earth, and broke the door with his bare, charred teeth (because eating fire is just plain awesome, you see), and his fingers moved rapidly as if over nipples under a table and he broke time again and made of it a house.
 
In this house he slept until the [JILLEN] fixed him to see correctly and to run on beans. But here he found himself before a winged bull, and the winged bull explained to him that the Tea Party Man was incorrect, for he failed in Maruhk the true tide of Save-The-Aurbis. The bull said that before him and behind him was the resultant destruction without the mad love of the Tea Party Man, and that he should take the Man’s heart and lick it until his tongue bore enough words of potential to build a world on top of itself, because to be a coin in the eternal slot exchange between the vendors of the universe is [incalculable] and, fuck posterity, he told him to save the world.  
 
So in the cradle in the crater he put his hand to the ground and made an earthquake, and made a moon rise from the ground and stretch its berth over the world, stretching from [UR] to [LIBERTY] and back again.  
 
And there he died to save the world, unadulterated from the death-heat and [derogatory-slang-for-nihilism]. He told the world the secret syllables which could save them from the world river when it runs dry, dry as a virgin in winter, and rebuild the world in a reflection of its own image.
 
Its image: that from two there is one, from one there is everything and everyone, but of one sacred ideal.
 
Of hope and dreams and sacred wombs and sexuality and progression and potential and empty hands and love.
 
And love.
 
You can change the world with love.

 
“Kimm isa Lýbis”
 
“Kimm isa Dundünohl”

Lady N's picture
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Joined: 06/26/2010

Heh, I remember this from the Dragon Break.

 

Do you want critique, or are you just putting this out there? 

Brian's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

Just put it up for funsies

also keep in mind i made up the Tea Party Man two years before it carried the political connotation it does now. Goddamn.

Ta-oyb's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

Holy shitbiscuits. I really hope this is going up at T0. Nice bit about Marukh chowing down on mysterious man's junk, recurring Ayleid Fetishism from an earlier era I'm sure.

Reminds me of something I did a few years ago, except I didn't finish it and was rather cruddy in general (was around the time we were working on Thras, of which might be seeing a re-launch depending on the outcome of MK's Poll, and it helps there's a working Sload model now.)

The Librarian's picture
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Joined: 06/02/2010

Incredible work! I don't know what the meaning of the words, but surely this work took a long time to finish.

Brian's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

Thanks. I made up a whole Imga language too. I thinkhope Astion still has it

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Brian wrote:

Thanks. I made up a whole Imga language too. I thinkhope Astion still has it

Through the Trees is still one of the best stories I've read over the internet. Awesome stuff (though this should come as no surprise to anyone).

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Joined: 07/09/2010

Wow.

Fugu23's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

Michael Kirkbride wrote:

Wow.

 

KNOW, right?

Astion's picture
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Joined: 07/10/2010

Nostalgia overload. Man, I miss those times.

And yeah, I still have the Imga Language Guide. I should probably put it up somewhere, along with all the other shit we wrote for the mod.

Also, there are a couple of chapters missing. Are you going to add them later?

Brian's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

what chapters are missing? it's probably just my shoddy split job

 

oh and pretty please post that language guide, I really miss. My only way of saving it was sending it back and forth in myspace messages to myself...

Astion's picture
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Joined: 07/10/2010

I don't see Serminux Dekt - you posted the Serpent Priest image but not the sermon itself.

Sure, I'll get to that when I can. It's on my PC and my PC isn't with me at the moment.

Brian's picture
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Joined: 06/28/2010

Unsinn und Wahnsinn aber auf jeden Fall: Sinn