Late was the hour, yet still, the acolytes filled the Temple courtyard. Here would their prayers be answered. Here would their Lord, the Shining One himself, come, and grant them the power to survive the darkness that was chasing the Land. The right sacred incense burned. The right number and colour of candles cast their fitful light over the Great Seal and the Altar. The very stones thrummed with all the massed power of the High Ancients, the oldest of their priests, channelling their strength into a great work, to summon the presence of their God into the temple, to grant their chosen one the ability to stand against the abyss.
The candidate already stood, bare to the chest, his weapons gleaming in his hands, already to assume the mantle of what his elders had assured him would be the greatest glory the world could bestow. He was a warrior, he was ready. He briefly checked his reflection in the blade of one mighty sword. Yes,truly time for the hero to stand forth, for now was most dire. For now was the last time in this age of the world that they would be able to bring their god across the barrier between the divine realms and the mortal. It had to be here,it had to be now.
The chanting rose to a crescendo, the flow of power became a torrent, a gale. Chanting in that nameless tongue, they priests bent the energies to their will, opening the way. A blinding flash stunned the crowd into silence, air sucked into a hole where once there was space. Out of it stepped the form they knew so well from statue, from graven image. tall, bronze, the pinnacle of perfection, the god stood before them, space flowing back to hold his passage. All present fell down to their knees in obeisance at their divine lord made flesh. he turned, and studied them with a look that spoke of profound thoughts, of someone who would consider well before speaking, whose every word was wisdom. He looked around them, and then he spoke thusly:
"Hmm? What? There's a formula for this isn't there? Ah yes. Oh ye mortals, I have returned to my chosen people. Let..." He stopped, as if waiting for an invisible prompter like an actor on the amphitheatre. "Let my chosen servants speak, that I may hear, and grant my people strength in their need." He looked around, beaming at his audience. A few of the younger priests openly gawped, the older end looked like they were hastily trying to rewrite their mental scripts. "Well, get on with it. Don't have all day you know. Places to see, wonders to do, things like that."
At this point, the high priest, recovering a measure of his usual aplomb, approached the shining figure of his god. "Oh, ye, high lord. We, your chosen people beseech you. Great is our need, dark is the time. Our foes beset our land, and would destroy it from within and without. We seek your aid to.. "
"Get on with it will you?" the god yawned.
"... err, yes divinity. We seek your aid to create the means to drive the foes from the land, to create a force for good in the world. We seek you to imbue the ancient powers spoke of in legend, to enable our champion to stand steadfast against any foe, to embody within him the cosmological principles, the elements in the flux, and all the stars in their..." he trailed off. His own lord, wisest of the wise, was quietly muttering to himself, rolling some of the words back around to fit them into some sort of structure. Every so often he would look up, half raise a hand as comprehension dawned, then would sink into that same thought. This was not part of the plan. A God was supposed to be wise, brave, intelligent, all powerful. finally, the god smiled, a happy smile of a man solving a riddle.
"Oh, you want me to grant you the Savage Angel, right? Well, why didn't you say so before. Could have done it without all that tedious waffle." He absently waved a hand, and the entire temple shook. From somewhere out in the courtyards, there was a cry as a falling pot hit some poor unfortunate on the head. Every priest felt that power surge. The god has spoken. "There, it's done."
The hero, who didn't really feel any different, looked round, at all the people looking between him and the god. He shrugged. Maybe this was some kind of slow effect. maybe his infusion would come slowly. He watched as his god sauntered off towards the rift. The High Priest caught up to the wandering god. "Oh, lord most high... err, do you think you can see your way clear to telling what we need to do..and how long our hero will take to come into his power?" the god turned to look at him, the gaze of the beautiful, the brave, the bold... and the unutterably thick. "Oh, I'm sure your champion will happen along very soon. These things take care of themselves after all."
With this said, he stepped back through his rift, which closed behind him. The rest of the congregation stared in shock at the sudden empty, silent room. To one side, the hero strode out to the main courtyard, where he went to proclaim his power, and was greeted by the sight of a bunch of people helping a poor young acolyte who had been hit over the head by a falling pot. Graciously, as befit his true stature, he extended a hand to help the young man. The young man, still disorientated, pulled perhaps a little too hard. The hero of civilisation, saviour of the people, was unceremoniously thrown across the courtyard by the half delirious young man.
The priests all looked at each other. Secretly, each was wondering whether he could make it to his emergency bolt-hole before the crowd got wind of it.
Clearly, the whole thing was a farce.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Posted
I get the feeling this is going to be fun.
Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.
I get the feeling this is going to be fun.
The Deep Past.
Late was the hour, yet still, the acolytes filled the Temple courtyard. Here would their prayers be answered. Here would their Lord, the Shining One himself, come, and grant them the power to survive the darkness that was chasing the Land. The right sacred incense burned. The right number and colour of candles cast their fitful light over the Great Seal and the Altar. The very stones thrummed with all the massed power of the High Ancients, the oldest of their priests, channelling their strength into a great work, to summon the presence of their God into the temple, to grant their chosen one the ability to stand against the abyss.
The candidate already stood, bare to the chest, his weapons gleaming in his hands, already to assume the mantle of what his elders had assured him would be the greatest glory the world could bestow. He was a warrior, he was ready. He briefly checked his reflection in the blade of one mighty sword. Yes,truly time for the hero to stand forth, for now was most dire. For now was the last time in this age of the world that they would be able to bring their god across the barrier between the divine realms and the mortal. It had to be here,it had to be now.
The chanting rose to a crescendo, the flow of power became a torrent, a gale. Chanting in that nameless tongue, they priests bent the energies to their will, opening the way. A blinding flash stunned the crowd into silence, air sucked into a hole where once there was space. Out of it stepped the form they knew so well from statue, from graven image. tall, bronze, the pinnacle of perfection, the god stood before them, space flowing back to hold his passage. All present fell down to their knees in obeisance at their divine lord made flesh. he turned, and studied them with a look that spoke of profound thoughts, of someone who would consider well before speaking, whose every word was wisdom. He looked around them, and then he spoke thusly:
"Hmm? What? There's a formula for this isn't there? Ah yes. Oh ye mortals, I have returned to my chosen people. Let..." He stopped, as if waiting for an invisible prompter like an actor on the amphitheatre. "Let my chosen servants speak, that I may hear, and grant my people strength in their need." He looked around, beaming at his audience. A few of the younger priests openly gawped, the older end looked like they were hastily trying to rewrite their mental scripts. "Well, get on with it. Don't have all day you know. Places to see, wonders to do, things like that."
At this point, the high priest, recovering a measure of his usual aplomb, approached the shining figure of his god. "Oh, ye, high lord. We, your chosen people beseech you. Great is our need, dark is the time. Our foes beset our land, and would destroy it from within and without. We seek your aid to.. "
"Get on with it will you?" the god yawned.
"... err, yes divinity. We seek your aid to create the means to drive the foes from the land, to create a force for good in the world. We seek you to imbue the ancient powers spoke of in legend, to enable our champion to stand steadfast against any foe, to embody within him the cosmological principles, the elements in the flux, and all the stars in their..." he trailed off. His own lord, wisest of the wise, was quietly muttering to himself, rolling some of the words back around to fit them into some sort of structure. Every so often he would look up, half raise a hand as comprehension dawned, then would sink into that same thought. This was not part of the plan. A God was supposed to be wise, brave, intelligent, all powerful. finally, the god smiled, a happy smile of a man solving a riddle.
"Oh, you want me to grant you the Savage Angel, right? Well, why didn't you say so before. Could have done it without all that tedious waffle." He absently waved a hand, and the entire temple shook. From somewhere out in the courtyards, there was a cry as a falling pot hit some poor unfortunate on the head. Every priest felt that power surge. The god has spoken. "There, it's done."
The hero, who didn't really feel any different, looked round, at all the people looking between him and the god. He shrugged. Maybe this was some kind of slow effect. maybe his infusion would come slowly. He watched as his god sauntered off towards the rift. The High Priest caught up to the wandering god. "Oh, lord most high... err, do you think you can see your way clear to telling what we need to do..and how long our hero will take to come into his power?" the god turned to look at him, the gaze of the beautiful, the brave, the bold... and the unutterably thick. "Oh, I'm sure your champion will happen along very soon. These things take care of themselves after all."
With this said, he stepped back through his rift, which closed behind him. The rest of the congregation stared in shock at the sudden empty, silent room. To one side, the hero strode out to the main courtyard, where he went to proclaim his power, and was greeted by the sight of a bunch of people helping a poor young acolyte who had been hit over the head by a falling pot. Graciously, as befit his true stature, he extended a hand to help the young man. The young man, still disorientated, pulled perhaps a little too hard. The hero of civilisation, saviour of the people, was unceremoniously thrown across the courtyard by the half delirious young man.
The priests all looked at each other. Secretly, each was wondering whether he could make it to his emergency bolt-hole before the crowd got wind of it.
Clearly, the whole thing was a farce.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.