Sermon 10
And Ayem journeyed far, and crested the red crown at the centre. Here, she looked over the world. It lay in disarray, and she marvelled at its unravelling. Yet there were those who sought to define it, stamp it, limit it.
Ayem frowned, for the world was born of chaos, and who could stand against it?
From the space between worlds stepped the Sharmat. He bowed to Ayem, and his voice was the hum of a million locust wings.
"What do you do here, on the Tower?" he asked.
And Ayem said, "I am here to remember."
The Sharmat said, "There is no heaven and hell, God is only an illusion."
Ayem pondered this for a span, replying, "Then eat the dreamer."
The Sharmat's laughter was black-thorned and biting. He spread his amber-twined arms, embraced Ayem.
They stood like this, at the centre, for a length of time too brief to give a name. Empires rose, and joined the dust. The land sunk, flooded, dried. Strange-eyed men walked on the face of Vvanderfell. The wolves of the north came down to reclaim themselves, and made of the shattered crown their den.
And when even the sun dimmed, washing the world in red, Ayem withdrew from the Sharmat. He'd pierced her flesh a thousand times, and from these stigmata seeped life everlasting.
"In you is the seed of malady," said the Sharmat.
And he stretched out his tongue, licking up the blood.
"What will you do with this gift?" said Ayem.
And the Sharmat smiled. "Make of it a reminder. The blood of martyrs nurtures the seed of belief."
Ayem nodded. "For you are the scourge which awakens the dead."
The Sharmat rubbed his swollen belly, stretched with maladies unborn.
"I shall unleash this plague upon Vvanderfell when faith wanes."
And Ayem understood. "Thus I must cherish my people, to ensure they never forget love."
And the Sharmat bowed to the five directions, sealing this fate.
"Go now," he said. "And meet the sun before it sets."
With these final words the earth split wide, enwombing him. Ayem peered into the chasm, and was overcome with the humid heat of carnal desire.
"How unfortunate I am unique in the middle world," she said.
And deep below the Sharmat danced in spirals, round and round the beating heart. Ayem smiled at this, for the devil was God's truest believer.
"Come, carry me away," she said.
And she spread her golden wings and took flight, soaring between the stars. From this height, the world was a petty thing, and Ayem wept for its arrogance. Her tears fell to earth as gems. Any who looked at them would know the madness of waiting. Even today, the pious scour the Forsaken Lands for these treasures. This is a foolish path, as the tears are metaphors. But then Ayem knows well the desperate grasp for faith made flesh.
The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.