Within the Morag Tong

Post » Tue Aug 27, 2013 3:38 pm

The delicate hums of the instrument's string sing through the halls of this sanctuary as they do in my heart. They too, I love but also the parts between each sound. Much to our detractor's dismay the Morag Tong is not simply a hide out for paid killers, but before all things a house, a home, a family, a society, an ideal, Veloth distilled to its most pure essence without losing any of the detail and delicacy. Our prophet Veloth, I love for the meaning he shown forth not as one who bows heads but rather one who holds hands, hands to pull others forth from a most improper fate of the existing.

There are these times that I find myself in almost divine contemplation of those whom I love and upon you I wish to impart all corners of myself confessing my lovers dreams. Yet who is to find themselves in such a soulful grasp as to be called loved? Does not the word "lover" invoke the most red of passions? Many give thought to the word but less to its meaning. The fools of this world consider the meaning only in one way, but listen to what I have to say and you may yet begin to understand. Parted lips press forward the warm shisha smoke stirring and accenting every letter whispered and for this I love it not just for its flavor but for the thoughtful gifts it brings forth. It tells the truth through lies yet you may think this as evil. But is it not worse to tell lies through truth? Vehk, who's city is host to these contemplation, did just that, or perhaps both if not the other. But I do not hate him for how can you hate what you see truly?

Someone wise once told me “The beauty and mystery of this world only emerges through affection, attention, interest and compassion... open your eyes wide and actually see this world by attending to its colors, details and irony.” And with this I strive to live each moment between deaths, for what are deaths but deep contemplations of the living? Perhaps one must be dead in order to fully grasp the meaning of life in the same way one must be asleep to appreciate their waking moment. Such is another detail and irony of the world. Would it be better any other way? Indeed many times I have come to realize myself and my potential only when I have come to truly believe myself as dead in the most dark and hopeless way, without an ounce of hope of salvation and it is in these moments that the light will flicker and bring forth a squall of fire.

And yet with who do we find ourselves most capable of speaking with on such matters but ourselves alone? Alone him and her, they do consider how many foot steps are left in their wake. But with such concerns is it possible that there would be an abundance? For this reason they should dwell on their thoughts only of each other so that their foot steps are narrow and alone, him and her. They too, I love most adoringly, fruit of my mind. Are you surprised to hear such things from an "assassin?" We who keep this killing peace between the Great Houses? Yet even that is loved. Prayer and adoration upon this divine act of threading needles for any needle can pierce fabric but without a thread to follow, what does it matter? I strive not to be the assassin but its meaning, a compass of intent formed from will. It is through the five stepping phases and twelve spirits that I have learned to cultivate the form of my will. And these too, I love even if prodigal in my study.

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Teghan Harris
 
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