You are the Mappriest, servant of the sacred Scroll that illuminates heaven and earth. The entire telepresence of your tribe depends on you to interpret its mysteries and guide their every move,

Your authority is unquestioned, and the power of life and death rests in your hands.

You are treated more with pity than respect, however, because everyone can see how your sacred duties wears on you. You are not the first Mappriest, and you will not be the last. You are a sacrifice to the unknowable divine, for the sake of all viewers.

The migranes are growing worse. Just opening the Scroll starts the cascade, and lately you’ve been experiencing hallucinations as well.

When you hear that the tribe must move again, you moan. You still ache from your last consultation with the holiest of the tribe’s relics, but you must do this,

With trembling hands hands, you unfurl the Scroll, and you can feel it, inside your head, a disruptive presence, but not a random one. It has it’s own harmony, but it’s rythem is alien, harmful to mortal minds.

The sacred scroll sings to you…

I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the maaap.


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