Kent's Call

We know the creators' work.

Upon their land we found the House.

We know the heroes work.

From their bones we build the House.

We cherish the progenitors.

With their flesh we fill the House.

We love the lost ones.

With their skin we bind the whole.

The land to support.

The skeleton to order.

The flesh to live.

The skin to hold life.

Each time we tell these stories we lie to ourselves. There are no heroes. There was no ship-of-ships. Each of our clans has a proud history, which we trace, not to some agglomeration of vessels, but to our ancestors. They are the "progenitors" who discovered the treasures of life hidden in the mists of creation. Our parents lied to us, telling us these stories, as did their parents them. Each generation misleads the next, hides the truth a little deeper. But our parents are the last to tell these lies. We have reached our collective maturity. We can put aside myth in favour of knowledge.

Understand that the flesh of the progenitors is none other than our lore. It is the name of every clan. It is the blood of every family. It is experience, and intuition, our children's schools, our arts, our tools, our emotions, and our dreams. It is not a mystic metaphor, to be raved in the dead of night. It is a living metaphor into which we must breathe life.

Understand that the bones of the heroes are none other than their plan for our unification. For in the lies there is the grain of truth. These pillars are the bones, the structure, the organiser of the great, living mass of theory we shall create. Our ancestors, whom we name heroes, conspired together, dreaming that we might someday understand all the lore of our lives, all that which pertains to creation. They gave us these tools, linking them into a single tool, as are bones linked to each other, that we might find a place within them for all the flesh of the progenitors that is our history, our culture, our life. These tools are a system of understanding, ripped from the bedrock of the earth, and formed by our ancestor's craft into shapes that will support all of our knowledge, everything we know, and our children will know, about creation.

Understand that the land was once foreign, that in coming here, our ancestors extracted from it what they deemed fit for their purpose, and raised that to the heavens, leaving the rest to be trod underfoot. The land, you see, is not some mythic creation, but the culture of this land's first inhabitants, which our ancestors, in conquering, adopted to some degree, and discarded to some degree. We can only guess at the nature of those natives, but from their works, we know that they were dedicated to knowledge of knowledge and for knowledge, to systemic and abstract thought, to much, but not to creation.

We must stop believing the stories if we are to achieve the glory of which they tell. Our glory is not the creation of a living creature, but a living theory, a unified theory, a theory embracing all, and leading us to deeds about which true stories may be told.