In the town of Beregost, upon the boards carrying notices and public announcements, one more is added to the depth.
[parchment]On the Ruin of the World
Though it is true, and I do so believe
Your Providence to be, Lord of Flames
Forever boundless (nor could I believe its opposite, because experience proves it)
At times it does seem colder still than snow
When I behold the world turned on its head,
And lifeless on the ground, like a spent pyre,
Lies every virtue, every custom of balance.
I find no brillant light, or guiding flicker flame,
Or even someone freed from sin through your blessing of purification,
For still...some men deny you, others say you care not for salvation.
But, Lord Most High, I think you linger still
Because of your great purity without fault,
Or, else it is you wait, because you know that a day
Is drawing near when a challenge shall test the value of all.
Your Mercy will not always turn towards us:
The enemies of the Eternal Flame are here revealed;
Now the waters drown the beggar;
The soil has come into pirate hands;
The skies are laid low;
Here lustfulness and every prey abounds,
And opposite them your faithful seek that higher state.
Do you not see that the people have gone quite mad,
How full of pride they are, yet a font of vices
That makes my heart consume itself with scorn?
Oh! Look at that debauched effeminate,
That panderer in merchant dress, a clown
The rabble follow and the blind world loves!
Are you not moved to scorn, yet watching...
When you see how those lustful swine delight,
And never earning your highest praises of the Flame
With sycophants and parasites taking it, then...
All the while your faithful are expelled from land to land?
Now those who live from spiritual theft are all content,
And those who feed the most on others' blood,
Who rob from the widows and from swaddling babes,
And those who rush to ruin the fire with fat
A pure and most special soul is one
Who now with eternal flame about him,
Beyond books and papers replete with swindlers,
And those who best are skilled in unpure deeds.
The Sword Coast is so oppressed by every vice
The never by itself it will unload,
And the Head, its head, is crawling on the ground,
And never will return to its great office.
How you must wish to temper all into the pure state
With pain, the gain of avoiding further ruin!
Words are not enough...
But here all men and women,
Each one does what he can to do to purify.
Those past times, once chaste and pious, long past, shall return.
The Pure Vision, spread like wings of flame
The rabble and the wicked hordes cry out underneath;
Be it faith or philosophy.
All men now turn their backs on doing good;
No-one is on the straight path any more.
And for what good does good no longer do!
So now the small flame I carry grows,
But wanting for not
Shall envelope, completely, all before it
For I know in the time of the cleansing
It will be clear to all which soul was true
And who did raise his weapon against ambition.
Oh Tyrant, tis not the way to be careful
Not to lean against weak, helping hand...
Burn out the palaces and loggias
Accept these offernigs in your Name,
And share your gifts to just a little few,
For you will be the change, harsh and measured, to all the world.[/parchment]