Hymns of Morachellis
I sing, and beseech the choir of saints to sing, of Kynareth, sharp and pure, progenitor of the winged things and the wild things, she who is clear and pure as is the good air. The peaks of high mountains tremble at her might, tangled woods echo and the untamed sea rejoices, birthing white-crested storms in her honor.
Furious Kynareth, first of mourners, bring upon us not your horned son’s tempestuous wrath, but let bright rains fall upon the fields and the houses of man. Kynareth, whose blessing ever stands above the wanderer, above the traveler, above him who is far from home and hearth. Hail, seething maiden, hail, gentle breath, may you ever abjure the prodigia.
O, well-founded Mara, she who teaches us to care for the child and bring forth the bountiful fruits of the earth, she, with soft and clear oil ever dripping from her locks. Mara, who feeds all creatures of the world, through whom mortals are blessed with fair children and good harvests, she who gives the means of life, and takes them away.
Ample Mara, come to this holy house which is a refuge of mortal man and hallowed ground of the gods, and bless every corner. You, who are of one mind with gentle Dibella and furious Kynareth, draw near, o come to this house and bestow upon me comfort and peace. Bountiful spirit, hail mother-goddess, hail, spouse of eternity.
Sing, o choir of saints, of Zenithar, famed for honorable labor and clever activities. He came to mortal man, and taught them the glory of the gift of the world. And men, who lived as wild beasts in the jungle and the fields, learned crafts and the value of work; the value of their hands, and through this they lived lives of ease, in thick-walled houses, to their delight.
Among the spheres your plane is great and mighty, as it blazes its path through the heavens, a sign to all who are righteous and bold. Mover of the earth, master of man in labor and war, drive away cowardice and sloth from my soul. Zenithar, grant me my prosperity!
I sing, and alone I sing of Dibella, crowned in flowers and vines, whispering spirit, splendid and glorious. Goddess oft hymned, she who dwells in pleasant arbors, in sacred baths and in the sweet-smelling bedchamber of youth which is wreathed in lilies.
She, who stirs sweet passions in the hearts of man and even in the hearts of the Gods, mother of pomegranate and thorny brush, inspirator, you who is the tongue of poets and the deft finger of the artist and the artisan. Only through you there are lyres and song. Hail, Dibella, Goddess of abundant elation! We rejoice in thee.
Three-angled Julianos, who speaks in whispers and incantations, he who recites the numbers, o teacher, teach us! Show us the lessons of man, for us to see that all the world that is your creation is merely a single song we are yet to comprehend.
Famed for wisdom and invention, clear-eyed Julianos, o dark cypher, if I only understood your single mystery, the secrets of the world entire would be revealed to me. By you I would watch the fundamentals, peer beyond the furthest border, and nothing that was hidden would remain veiled to me.
To Stendarr I sing, wise judge and brave master, iron-sceptered and gold-helmed, savior of spearmen. Let your hammer strike the prodigia, but let your fair and kind-hearted justice alight on the people, both the wretched and the saintly. Stern magistrate, you who presides over the fate of the disobedient, yet provides for meek and lowly sorts.
Great Stendarr, may you bring keen fury to my heart when called upon for bloody strife, yet may you also temper my soul to abide the laws of peace when it is found foremost in this world, and our enemies, fiends of death, have been dealt the bitter blows of a great hammer. Stendarr! Judge and protect me!
Of Arkay I sing, soul-bearer, arranger of the highest dwelling and most diverse heavens, where deathless gods and virtuous men wander. Glorious is your portion, as is your sombre work in the deep catacombs and in the wells of the earth.
Weaver, instructor of moths, without the bitter part that is yours there can be no sweeter part of life, without your grim evening there may be no bright morning, so let us feast, and invite your presence to the banquet, where we pledge sweet wine in memory of those most dear to us. Hail, Arkay, guide me on my path amidst the spheres!
I chant, now, of Akatosh, greatest among the Gods, all-seeing, lord of time, fulfiller of covenants, wielder of many shining scales and swirling teeth that are as shields which protect the world entire from its enemies.
Far-shining, many-scaled God of eternity, twin-headed ruler, king of Gods, whose gaze pierces all, whose fangs devour the unworthy in the great and seething churn of time, you, who rests upon the highest perch. O Akatosh! Ever will I sing of you!
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These are intended as flavor stuff for the Lute of Morachellis present in Anvil. Morachellis is mentioned in some vanilla source somewhere as a notable poet of the Empire. I'm not sure if this should be broken up in separate scrolls or kept together. Open to suggestion and criticism.