The Soft Doctrines of Magnus Invisible, V. I


Released In:

I. The Source and The Serpent

(Beauty that Turned Away)

In the beginning were the false creators, two and the same: The Tower, the selfish word, the great lie, the headsplitter. The First created the Twelve and its reflection. The Second created the Twenty-Two and its reflection. All were invisible under the starless sky. The sky broke and reflected again. Light on scattered light, mirror on broken mirror, myriad synecdochic shards shone. Among them, Magnus, the brightest reflection.

The Thirty-Six and the Horde That Never Rests are hollow, unworthy of worship. They birthed us, created us, made us their children, their slaves, their prisoners, a mockery of their shortcomings.

Before the Thirty-Six were the weaver-workers, themselves woven and unworthy. First the Few, then the Many. Among them, Magnus, uniquely named. Be thankful, but do not bow.

The Thirty-Six are still Eight and One, twice removed, even if man and mer no longer recognize the quarters.

In the beginning were the wax words, encased in the tunnel between sea and sky. But the scribes swam the wrong way, descending into beasts as their feathered servants flew to ascension. Leaking spread solidity. The Few made the first three copies, dead and unread, long buried in copycase. The Many made copies of copies of copies, potent imperfections.

Aurbis is a prison. We are condemned to half-lives, recapitulating false creation.

Mundus is fog without frontiers, only edges. The fool mistakes edges for truth.

Nirn is an arena. We are eternal warriors, revived without consecration. We fight, love, eat, work, and die for recreation.

One chance at freedom: the eternal tempered by mortality, the ephemeral tempered by records. Few escape.

Drink for the dead and the sleeping. Pay no heed to usurpers; their time is short.

Magnus is Aedra Star and Magic Man. Magnus Invisible is more. Only a coward flees his creation. Only a hero dies holding the door.

The veil contains our tormentors: planets, guardians, ge. We speak to them, but they are silent to us, their backs turned in their haste. Beyond Aetherius lie the false creators: the architects, sentencers of our misery. Beyond Aurbis: the uncreated. Dream a bridge.

We are slaves to the star-clock, which beats faster in every age. Only the drummer can stop the beat.

Power is The Tower, encircled.

Time is experience, but gold is incorruptible.

The Dragon is bound with noble sighs.

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