Psychopomp
The Center of the World

At the center of the world lies the Ethereal Eye

The gateway upon an island at the center of a surreal lake

Shielded by impassable mountains

Crowned with impermeable clouds

Open only to a river hostile to all but the divine and the dead

Guiding them through a chasm congested by blinding mist

Through here the Gods, known to mortals as Ichorians, entered this world

And through here they desperately fled, never to return

In the thousand years since, countless dead have followed them upon the waters of the

Stygian River

Body after body after body

Turned to ash and entrusted to the currents

Laden with heartfelt prayers and solemn farewells

Sent in the hope that Deliverance upon the Stygian

Will lead the dead to sanctuary on the other side

For a thousand years, many millions have fought and perished for the sacred city along the river

Byzantium

Built and blessed by the Ichorians themselves

For the Holy Land that surrounds it

For hundreds of years since the Reclamation, many millions endure the unforgiving journey here

They endeavor to lay mortal eyes upon lands crafted by the Ichorians and their children

Lands imbued with the ethereal by their purest touch

They endeavor to call it home

To best ensure that upon their death

The vessels through which they endured life

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For Omnus Mora

All die

Every birth is a condemnation to an end

Yet in the passing years

The time between each breath shortens

Peace bears the stains of blood

Not all who die make it to the river

Not every death is peacefully wrought

Not every soul and shell is saved.

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