My First Mass

Damiel, Glioca Priest of Mileth

A few Glioca worshippers who missed the mass asked me to relay the sermon I gave.

Here it is, as it was given. As there were many people there before the official beginning, most of it is introduction and foreword. The official beginning is the body.

  1. Introduction
  2. Foreword
  3. Body
  4. Afterword


I became a priest of Glioca for reasons that are not all natural. Each of us is born with a gift, even if it is upon the Chrysalis that we realize it. Mine was, loosely, a kind of empathy. Whenever someone fell into Sgrios' cold clutch, I screamed with as much terror as the victim.

So it was that I clung to Glioca to prevent the suffering. Since then I've hoped to become a worthy servant. That was about three dozen Deochs ago.

I never have, but now as my seventy-fifth Deoch approaches since my mundane birth, I'm not sure what else I could do with the limited breaths Danaan has blessed me with to become fit. So, while these bones can still make the rocky road to Mileth, I hope to do my best, to aspire. Maybe someday I'll gain true insight into the practice and service of Glioca.

It's a joy to see many old friends among you, and to meet many anew. And in such fine fashion, too.

I can remember the old memories with you. It's like a flowing stream. The first time a Conix fragment seared my hand, and my mind, I could scarcely forget. Nor the first time we set foot into this shrine. Or the first tales of the Tulsi Brew.

It is great to see each of you here. The Chapters of my mind are filled with the luckiest pages. Each one has divine characters of depth and affectionate relations.


I suppose, though, I've only shared half of my reason for holding a Mass. The other half is related, but I would rather be clear. The darkness at the borders, not just at the borders of Temuair, its Aislings, its wars, its people, but at the corners of our hearts, the lifesprings of our Chrysalis are not static or passive.

And while I have less answers or solutions than care and concern, I feel I cannot do anything less than my all to keep the dubhaimid at bay, and even, if possible, to recall the Hy-brasyl we have touched in dreams.


Now, I suppose it is time to begin. I wish to say just a few words in sermon and praise for just a few minutes, after which I hope to bless the halls of this holy temple in Her light. Many things of Glioca have a meaning to me that may not be common, nor is there any reason for its diffusion.

To me, Glioca IS the moon. She is the goddess that shines from the black sea. She lights the world and all its inhabitants. Below, we catch reflections on waves that are you and me. In this deep blue sea of fellowship, we scarcely comprehend the breadth and crown of light. To me, She reflects the tenderness of Danaan.

As the moon does for the sun. And during the night we see Her the most. During the night we ... or I ... need Her light the most. It is too easy for me to believe in Her light in daylight, when the dubhaimid are only myth and mystery. It is too hard for me to have courage and compassion when faced with the dark presence that is so palpable as to freeze the heart and frost the spirit.

And yet, that is the test. Perhaps that is what faith is. When the corners of your comfort are torn asunder, and the pleasantries of your polity are frayed. When the darkness of your own mind reflect in the mirror, whom you thought was your enemy.

If the veil may be lifted, and the violet moonlit face be seen under the hood of the stranger, the heretic, and the vagabond, then I believe She is present. If it may be, let us now see.

So mote it be.


It is all because and for you.

Deoch 37
((Friday, May 30, 8 p.m. PST))

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