Silence 1
The Choir of Silence Is Corrupted
First among the Old Gods was Silence.
His least whisper could end wars or topple Archons.
A single word could turn recrimination into glory.
The sacred fires of his temple burned
Rare incense, and the trees of Arlathan, and lapped at the bones of slaves
While his altars dripped with the blood of sacrifices that never dried.
The High Priest, Conductor of the Choir of Silence, ruled
Above all the Dreamers of the Imperium. Wisest
And most powerful of the Magisters Sidereal.
In his dreams, he alone heard the voice of Silence.
"Open the gates.
To my Golden City you must sojourn.
At the foot of my throne, I shall anoint you,
Most favored of my disciples,
And I shall raise you up to godhood
That all mortals shall know your glory."
The call of the Old God filled the High Priest's heart,
Consuming all his waking hours and turning his dreams
To ash and bones.Every priest and acolyte of Silence
To the Great Choir assembled, and the High Priest
Shared with them the words of Silence.
Every priest and acolyte of the Choir
Turned their hearts and minds as one to
Their god's command. For the Word of Silence
Could not be ignored, and the fire burning
In the heart of the High Priest consumed them
As a wildfire consumes plains.
The Priests Formulate A Plan
All knew the Golden Heart of dreams' kingdom
Shone like a star, forever out of reach.
No mortal foot could tread those halls,
No hand knocked upon the gate.
Secrets beyond measure were the keys
The Choir of Silence would need, and they had few.
And so the First Acolyte spoke to the High Priest
And said: "We are the masters of secrets,
But our god demands more. Let us to the Builders
Whisper, and they who construct monuments to the glory
of the gods shall build us a road to the Golden City,
Where your promise shall be fulfilled."
And the Great Conductor of the Choir heard him.
The Priests of Beauty Are Corrupted
The High Priest of Beauty, Architect of the Works of Beauty, designed
Every work and wonder of the Imperium according to the plans of his god.
To him, the Conductor went in secret, armed
With the whisper of Silence.
But the High Priest of Beauty was sorely troubled,
For he served only the Great Plans
And would in no wise raise a servant of Silence
Above himself or his god.
And yet, the fire in the Conductor's heart ignited
Within the Architect a terrible flame.
And so he turned all the lesser priests and acolytes from the Temple of Beauty
To beseech counsel from his god.
And to him, Beauty revealed a grand plan:
"Open the gates.
And when you stand before me,
I shall give you designs
That shall rival the greatness of heaven.
I will make you the First among the new gods,
And you will build a paradise on earth."
So the High Priest of Beauty returned to the Conductor of Silence
And promised all the skill of Beauty's designs
In reaching the Golden City.
The Remainder Of The Priesthoods Are Recruited
But the designs of Beauty's High Priest demanded more.
No small sacrifice would open the gate.
And so the High Priest of Silence went forth again.
To the Watchman of Night, and the Forgewright of Fire,
To the Appraiser of Slavery, and the Augur of Mystery,
And last of all to the Madman of Chaos.
The words of Silence were revealed.
Jealousy and torment consumed them all, for no dreamer
Wished to aid the others in the least measure,
Yet none could bear that rivals might walk in the Light
Of their gods, when they did not.
So each retired to their temples and sought wisdom
From the voice of their own god. And each god
Gave the same commandment:
The unreachable gate must open.
And each was promised
Power and glory beyond all reckoning
If they would only come to the feet of the gods and ask.
And so they joined in secret, telling none
Who were not of the temples of their designs.
And in Minrathous, in the heart of the Archon a sliver of fear grew,
Stabbing like a wound. Though he knew not why.
Silence 2
The Seven High Priests Prepare
The Imperium slept. In the lofty palaces
Mages dreamed of the Maker's Palace, golden and shining,
And though they knew not why, the dream turned their blood to ice.
Soldiers stood their watches, and servants hurried on errands,
Unaware of what the dawn would bring.
In the Great Choir of Silence, the High Priests gathered.
A hundred chosen acolytes brought lyrium
Enough to drown a city in chiming silver
And slaves beyond counting to the temple
In accordance with the designs of their gods.
Someone Speaks Out Against The Plan
As he looked upon the waiting sacrifices,
One acolyte felt the first prickling pangs
Of dread. And he turned to his fellow priests,
Saying: "Should glory come at such a price?
What reward can be worth this? If mortals
Were meant to stand among the gods,
Would the gods not open their gates to us?
Rather than demand we build a tower,
Blood, bone, and metal, to the heavens?"
The Ritual Begins
But the gathered acolytes turned from him,
For there was nothing but ambition
Where hearts once beat within them.
And ninety-nine knives gleamed in the firelight
As the sacrifices began.
The Doubting Acolyte Flees
The one who had spoken
Into shadow crept and made himself away.
North, to the road, Minrathous bound.
Fear grasping at his every breath
That none might stop his brethren
Save the Archon himself.
The Magisters Ascend
The Great Choir of Silence shook
As the earth trembled in holy terror.
A wordless scream is if from
The legions of dead slaves rose
To the zenith of the black sky.
Before the might of the seven Magisters Sidereal,
The Veil shattered like the flimsiest glass.
Dream and waking lay before their feet,
Two paths diverging.
Into the dream they strode, dauntless,
For nothing in the realm of gods or man
Could keep them from their promised prize.
The Magisters Enter The Golden City
The minds of all lay bare before the Seven,
But no mere machinations against the sleeping
Had brought them hence.
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
Swept aside by nothing. Fearful to touch them.
And none saw the black mark
Spreading like a sore upon the shining gate
Where mortal hand had lain.
Silence 3
The Magisters Face Judgment
Surrounded by glory, the Seven stood,
In the hall of apotheosis, heedless
Of what festered in the shadows the cast there,
Of what stained and corroded footprints they left.
But upon the throne of heaven they found
No dragons bearing promised rewards
But the Maker of the World in all His radiance,
And the Seven cried out in shock and rage, for nothing
They had seen in vision or imagined in their most
Avaricious dreams had prepared them to see
His Light with mortal eyes.
Like moths who reach a bonfire, the Seven burned.
But the Maker kept them from death,
And He held the priests before His throne
And looked upon them, His long-awaited children
At last returned to Him. And He saw
Only hunger and envy in their hearts,
Only pride and desire in their eyes,
And He knew that they knew Him not.
Then the Maker heard the distant cries
Of the sacrificed. A chorus of voices beyond counting
Calling out for justice. And all that they had done
Was known to Him.
The Maker of All spoke to the Seven then, saying:
"Into My house you walk uninvited, demanding rewards
You have not earned. On wings of death
And suffering are you borne hence.
The darkness planted by your betrayers in your hearts I see.
Did you not know, when you chose to revere them over Me?
"The Old Gods will call to you,
From their ancient prisons they will sing.
Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,
On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,
The first of My children, lost to night.
"You have chosen, and spilled the blood
Of innocence for power. I pity your folly,
But still more do I pity those whose lives you have taken
In pursuit of selfish goals.
No more will you bear the Light.
To darkness flee, and be gone from My sight!"
And the Veil ripped beneath their feet,
And the Seven fell. And the gates of the city slammed
Shut. And the wicked corruption they had carried
Covered it. And it opened no more.
And the Maker in sorrow turned His gaze
And no longer hoped for His children to return.
The Alarm Is Raised In Minrathous
The great city of Minrathous
The faithful acolyte had through desperate measures reached.
His heart like ice, certain that none
Save the Archon alone could hold back
Those wheels the high priests and their lackeys
Had set in motion.
No more did the Old Gods whisper in his ear.
No more did he hear any voice in his dreams
But his own, and the mutterings of jealous spirits,
And he knew that this silence boded ill.
No mere acolyte could approach
The throne of the Ferryman.
Stave and spear blocked his path
And the faithful acolyte feared that all was lost.
But guided by wisdom and portent both,
The Archon bade his guard stand aside,
And the lowly priest brought before him,
That he might know the meaning
Behind the holy dread which shadowed his every step.
The design of the priests was laid bare,
And the Archon turned with steel resolve
To his appointed task.
For only divine wrath could follow
Where the traitorous Seven had gone.
The Magisters Fall
The Seven fell from the Wellspring of Creation,
No longer creatures of the Maker's Light.
From the height of heaven they plunged,
And Tevinter saw them burn across the sky like falling stars.
Where they touched the earth,
Twisted darkness grew, poisoned by their hate.
And the clouds covered them and wept.
Like a sickness, evil grew within them.
Their pride refused al measure of blame.
Not they, but their masters had brought them low.
They cried out in rage to gods
Who did not answer.
And they would have vengeance upon
The gods of broken promises.
And through them, vengeance
On the Maker and His world.
The Archon Scatters The Magisters
The Archon followed the path of fire
Writ large across the sky of Tevinter,
And upon the plain where once great
Barindur had stood he arrived,
Girded in lyrium and silverite,
Bearing in his left hand
A staff of gold and emeralds, wreathed in lightning,
And upon his right
The ring of the Ferryman, symbol of Darinius
And the Might of the Imperium itself.
The Seven struck against the Archon
With all their twisted magic,
But no pestilent hate could turn aside
Tevinter's Ferryman.
Across the plain, the Archon saw,
Where the defilers stood, corruption,
Blackness all consuming,
Threatened to engulf his land and all his people.
With fire and lightning he strove
To cleanse the spreading poison from the earth,
To no avail. Magic could not undo
What evil had done.
So the Archon called upon the spirits of the Fade,
And adding their strength to his own,
Scattered them to the winds and the corners of the earth
And with a heavy heart
Returned to unassailable Minrathous
To prepare his people for the doom to come.
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