Hello there. Long time reader, first time poster. I love what you’re doing here and would really like to contribute somehow. I tried to write a more sober presentation of this topic, but didn't know how to formulate it in an interesting manner. By stroke of luck(?) I found this thing by the Throat of the World during a remote-viewing session. With some patience it could perhaps shed some light on the nature of the Dragon Cult and the Atmoran exodus, on the other hand it might just be a dilettantish forgery. It would be great to hear your opinions on the suggested scenario. I’m not nearly as well read on the lore as many you fine people are, so I might have mistranscribed this thing grossly, but you never know.

The Saddest Thing: A Song in Silence

It grieves me beyond words to carve here the sorrow of sacred most Bromjunaar. Our great choir there has been torn and scattered by the dissonant lies and stolen words that have spread through the voices of men. Although it will anger you, benevolent mother-fathers, I swear my flight was not by cause of treachery. I was hoping to reach the eastern sanctuaries and sing you this mournful song in my own voice, but I fear that the heretics soon are upon me. You know all too well that we who would take these last few strides of this long journey are mere shadows of you who embarked on it and that we who walk, we stumble and fall.

Know, oh glorious teachers, that though men no longer cry with her-who-weep and no longer bleed with he-who-died-but-never-died, we are forever indebted to you who taught us these songs. You made the tears of our mother flow through our hearts and learned our voices to cry with hers. As one voice rising from our choir, the great voice of Ysmir, we claimed this severed land from the Elder Things, claimed it in the name of the Wandering Ones. But the voice of men grow cold here, it tires, hardens and falls apart in the idolatrous and abstract shapes of Elder Things and other gods: gods of order, gods of gold, of treachery, of the next day and of all things hereafter. Even great Ysmir becomes a silent and twisted thing in these foul and abstract shapes I carve, for carving men no longer seem to sing. Without a voice Ysmir nothing more than a mere word. It is as if these false abstractions of the Elder Things were created to hollow out the world itself, to be carved into it until nothing else remains. Know though, that these words, these silent words I carve for you, these words I also sing. Although my song merely whirl around me now like mists in the cold air, I can see its truth rise into the sky that gave it to me.

We were summoned to this severed land, called to the summit of this great throat to make it bleed, to make it sing and to make it cry. Together we sung with one voice in her celestial choir, as you above, we below. Know that I am grateful to finally die here, to bleed, sing and cry at the foot of this great rock. Although I have only whispers left, my song will tear through the heretical horde as they drag me to the hereafter. By this mountain I will shed my blood and cry until my voice will cry no more. These words are dead, but the voice will live!

Aarloovas Nahlotaan