The Chant of Light: Writing Prompts
Bitter is sorrow / Ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill.
Heav'n filled with silence, then did I know all / And cross'd my heart with unbearable shame.
Let the blade pass through the flesh, let my blood touch the ground, / Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. / In my arms lies Eternity.
That like the leaves after a long winter, peace too might return to the land.
That peace bore a heavy price which must be paid in blood.
At last, the Light shall shine upon all of creation, / If we are only strong enough to carry it.
Hope abandoned the armies of the faithful / At the sight of their Lady in chains.
From among them voices raised / In threnody for Andraste wreathed in flame.
The heavens wept, and yet no rain could extinguish the flame / Which was now a funeral pyre.
Blessed are they who stand before / The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. / In their blood the Maker's will is written.
The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil / And grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch.
In blackest envy were the demons born.
And those who slept, the ancient ones, awoke, / For their dreams had been devoured / By a demon that prowled the Fade / As a wolf hunts a herd of deer.
A dog might slink back to the hand it has bitten / And be forgiven, but a slave never.
Let us not fall into the jaws of the wolf together.
No mortal foot could tread those halls, / No hand knocked upon the gate.
No small sacrifice would open the gate.
Yet none could bear that rivals might walk in the Light / Of their gods, when they did not.
Ninety-nine knives gleamed in the firelight / As the sacrifices began.
The legions of dead slaves rose / To the zenith of the black sky.
By blood and lyrium were they drawn / Inexorably to the Unreachable City, / The heart of all creation.
At a touch, the gate swung wide, / And the Light parted before them like a curtain.
Then the Maker heard the distant cries / Of the sacrificed. A chorus of voices beyond counting / Calling out for justice.
Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, / On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, / The first of My children, lost to night.
And the Maker in sorrow turned His gaze / And no longer hoped for His children to return.
Their pride refused all measure of blame.
Magic could not undo / What evil had done.
They looked on what pride had wrought, / And despaired.
You have brought Sin to Heaven / And doom upon all the world.
With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. / It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, / She should see fire and go towards Light.
For You are the fire at the heart of the world, / And comfort is only Yours to give.
And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing / Can break me except Your absence.
In the pounding of my heart / I hear the glory of creation.
We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay, / Comforting each other in our art.
I cannot see the path. / Perhaps there is only abyss. / Trembling, I step forward, / In darkness enveloped.
Now her hand is raised / A sword to pierce the sun / With iron shield she defends the faithful / Let chaos be undone
And the stars stood still, the winds did quiet, and all animals of earth and air held their breath.
And the Maker wept for his Beloved, and turned once again from all creation.
Though I walk through the mists on the edge of the void, I shall not fear, for you are with me.
The righteous stand before the darkness and the Maker shall guide their hand.
