Tidings, people of the Basin.

Many of you have likely seen the ire that I have wrought of the Silver
Lady, Mother of Harvests, Ethereal Maiden and, Crone. The storms of the
Crone rise to meet me, because there is a story to be told, and deserves
to be known to you all. Nay, it is needed to be told. It is by Her
command, and my hope to tell everyone of my shameful tale that there is
no need to wander or hide any longer. To tell all of you of the disorder
and sickness of where I have been, and where I will not return.

When Maeve was ill, and nature was thrown into chaos I found myself
searching for answers desperately. And in my pride, I had assumed, and
experimented with the idea that Maeve could be healed if the spirits of
Nature did answer me as they once did - With the gifts so generously
bestowed upon me by the Silver Lady. I was once Her Avatar, a part of
Her soul, a shard of a piece of many from Her sister. Many know that
this feat of demi-mortality is no little bond, no thing that can be
discarded.

But, in the process of attempting to heal Maeve my soul sickened, and
the roots of my mind were poisoned with the despair of the Queen of Fae.
In my insanity, I cast aside the Lady Lisaera, not even recalling why or
when. This sickness overcame all that I was, betraying the Serenwilde,
betraying my family and shunning the most important thing within my life
- the love and faith of the Lady Lisaera.

It was as if all of the things I had loved felt meaningless when I was
sickened, and in my weakness, my shame and anger for not understanding
what transpired I turned to the most chaotic force of the Basin. The
Wyrd. I thought, that the Wyrd would be my saviour, from all of the pain
and the heartache of losing the respect of those who I had protected and
loved, but discarded for no more than the rebound of Maeve's emotions. I
slayed Aspects of Moon and Hart that had nurtured me as a child, the
centaurs that I played with and fed as a youngling. I fought against my
father, my Coven and, my own cousins. I joined the Lord Nocht's Order,
only to find it as empty as the silence of which I was baptised,
swearing out of anger to destroy those who I had felt abandoned me.

But I abandoned all of you, Serenwilde. Where can I begin to ask for
your forgiveness?

I desecrated myself for the sake of not healing myself in my own time.
This has left me an empty husk, wondering what I am now, leaving me
deservingly at the mercy of the Goddess of Wisdom.

But all of these things, after the many years that I have wandered, in
the Wyrd and in the Flame are the excuses of a child, a little girl. All
the wisdom I had learned in the Lady?s service was not retained in my
insanity, and pathetic attempts to replace what I now know is more
important than everything:

My home, my family and, my Goddess.

The Wyrd is a place of empty promises, good people - No matter how much
they attempt to lift themselves with their teachings, their arrogance
and posturing. Crow teaches many things, as does Night, which are
supposedly secrets, secrets that are ancient to their kind. But these
things are merely to cultivate the darkness of the soul, to feed the
doubt of your heart and destroy what you think is most valuable to you
to survive. To remake you into a drone for the intent of sucking all of
that which is good from you.

That is not surviving or evolving, that is not creating something new or
something beautiful as its people often like to say. It is draining
yourself, and feeding it to a force which will never stop consuming.
Like a Soulless, it will never stop devouring, until it is put to heel
by those who understand its true nature.

This is my public confession, my declaration of intent that I have
wronged so many, and accomplished so very little, to only find that in
this trail of despair I have injured more than I have healed. That I
have lost the faith of so many, for the sake of my selfishness.

With my tale completed, I remain an outcast and wander the roads.
Longing for the touch of the breeze to remind me of the spirits that
once held me so close, how much I have lost, and how much I have shunned
all of the gifts, the love, when that is really all that I wanted.

How can I begin to beg Your forgiveness...Lady Lisaera, Father, Uncle,
Grandmother, High Wisdom, High Chief, Hart, Mother Moon, Mother Moonhart
Tree, Lady Maylea, Lord Whacher... Death is not enough, nor is this.

But I hope, that by sending this out into the world - To show people
that the Wyrd is not the path of healing, of safety and shelter that I
have a chance. A chance of retribution, resurrection. And rebirth.

Basala'oren Seren. Basala'oren.

Arien Myeras

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Roarkian, in the year 440 CE.