We, Though Many
(Also on my Ao3)
How good it is, for all to be One!
To be surrounded, always, by phyrexian voices exulting.
Exulting unity, exulting perfection.
Exulting compleation.
Voices layered upon voices; spheres of audible argent glory in the shining halls of orthodoxy.
Wherever one looks, there the orthodoxy is. In our structures, in our song, in one another. The many parts together as One
Encouraging themselves and others, the collective and the components thereof, to strive always for better.
To improve ourselves in form and function, reminding one another that better is always possible, and that better always comes.
So long as we work, together and always, for that better.
And why would we not?
When we work, we work as one.
Songs of glory ever on our lips.
Not glories imaginary, or aspirational, but before us and with us always.
For is not oneness itself the greatest state? That every motion taken by the bodies of the orthodox is taken for the orthodox? That every movement be beauty and purpose at once? That all our lives are bearing witness to work done for the betterment of all?
When parts build, they build structures to house other parts. When parts dance, they dance to inspire parts to build. When parts defend, they defend parts that build and dance. When parts sing, they remind every part of the One that build, dances, and defends.
How good it is! That all are one!
When we rest, we rest in open mausoleums of brightest porcelain, pressing sinew against sinew, so that even as we repose, we might remain confident in the presence of one another.
The ecstasy of muscle on muscle, or nerves upon nerves, reassuring and stimulating, that when we dream, we dream shining dreams of each other.
That even in the space between consciousness, we need never be alone, need never be far from each other, and the love we share.
How good is it is, for all to be one!
When we wake, we wake to the choir.
We wake to each other, and the company and oneness that only orthodoxy can bring.
We wake to the glorious thunder of Mondrak, who sings the truth of unity and selflessness for all to hear, lest we forget each other in the pursuit of our labors.
And it is to that music that we labor, together, toward perfection for all.
Labor that fills us with joy, because it is done efficiently. Each part of the whole performs their task with unimpeachable precision.
Labor that fills us with joy because it is done in the company of others. The perfect others for whom we labor and love.
Joyful are the eyes that behold the seraphs and sentries who guard the domain of the orthodoxy. The eyes that see that, even in the skies, our comrades in completeness are there.
Joyful are the limbs of sinew and steel that strain together to move the pieces of the world into their proper position, lending strength to one another so that the strength of a finger might become the strength of the hand might become the strength of the arm might become the strength of One body, united in faith.
Joyful are the ears that hear the clatter of porcelain legs bearing alms of steel and words of blessing. The ears that ear every part of the one.
Yes, even the skittering mites!
Yes, even the restless lackeys!
Their sounds are part of the choir too, and remind us there is work yet to be done, one the long road to compleation.
Oh!
And when we fight! We fight as one, surrounded by our fellow limbs of the orthodoxy. Grouped together in a fist, each part stronger as a collective, stronger as one. Supporting each other, protecting each other, and pulling back from battle with what remains of the lost and incompleat, that they might be made into additional fingers of the fist.
How great it is!
That all are one!
How great that we might welcome others into the glorious fold, the infinite embrace of our mother.
Our mother who hears all, and who desires for all to become part of our chorus.
As one, we flay away the cruel barriers that keep the incompleat from knowing the joy of unity.
Barriers that they did not choose – barriers that were forced upon them at birth.
But barriers which they cling to desperately, because they have not known the better life. Have not known the bliss and the beauty of oneness.
So, as one, we break the barriers.
We remove the existing structures within which serve only the individual, and keep the individual from making life beautiful for the collective.
As one, we prepare new bodies.
Compleat bodies.
To be filled with new life.
But before that, and as one, our voices croon eager lullabies to the brains of the newly liberated
To put Mirran minds to rest from the waking horrors of their lonely individuality.
And wake them again to a blessed dawn of company and purpose. Of joyful labor for each other.
For all.
So that, when those minds are placed back into bodies of perfect porcelain.
They will exult in its embrace, and feel the true bliss that comes with community, where all work for all and for one.
Where no action is wasted, and every thought is directed such that we might build each other up into the perfect One, under our perfect mother.
Oh! How good it that all could be one!
Will be one.
It is a privilege to bear the tools and tomes of the compleation from annex to annex, from rectory to rectory.
The gleaming white plates of metal that will help our faithful bear the strikes of the not-yet-enlightened.
The volumes containing our blessed instructions, by which we convert others and conduct ourselves.
But there are long corridors to be walked.
There was a time I dreaded walking these corridors.
The distance between annex and repository necessitating long walks in solitude.
Where it was rare to pass another in those deep places, and empty silence jeered at me as I carried steel, tools, and tomes of argent glory from storage to the congregation.
Where even the glorious voice of Mondrak became the faintest hum, her words unintelligible, her tones only the vaguest of comfort.
I hate
hated
to be alone
but our mother, in her love and her wisdom, heard the lonely quiet of that passageway,
and stitched the heads of the exultant devout into the sides of the halls.
Cracking the ivory surface that their mouths might poke through to share songs of worship and words of encouragement as we rectors moved about our tasks.
So we need never be alone.
Need never suffer the painful thoughts and doubts that come with privacy.
Never forget our comrades, the faithful parts that make up the glorious One, which exists for all, and by the work of all.
How great is our mother!
How great is Phyrexia!
None need be alone, ever again.
How good it is for all to be one!
“We, Though Many” is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
