I still have no idea what's going on here
Feb. 25th, 2013 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowThe sky was barely lightening when he set out from his home, wearing the traditional mage garb of a flowing robe with a thick shawl -- his outside was silver with green trims and designs. His staff was solid titanium with delicate glass vines trailing across it. He did his best not to call to his gods to help him. It was bad luck to pray against the angels.
It was easy to find the judgement ground. As he walked up the gentle slope, he could already see the ten foot angels standing out against the brightening morning. At the first glimpse of dawn, they had already become the statues that his people had first mistaken them -- arms outstretched, wings dull without a glimmer, and eyes dead and staring blindly out across the horizon. He could see the movement of the next order of angels, sluggish but still conscious.
And as he crossed the last of the grasses toward the dirt ground, he could see the order that had gone to him. At seven feet tall or so, they were the smallest of the angels, and they stayed active until the noon sun. Yet as the moon lost its luster, so did they become like golems -- their wing feathers were too thick and short, more stone than anything living, and their robes did not move as they walked. The only things that had not changed about them were their burning eyes and the bright white bandages on hands and feet. As the dawn woke, however, he could see specks of red appearing under the cloths.
As one the order turned to stare at him. The angels above them -- active until mid-morning, and thus already with bandages stained completely blood-red -- also looked at him, their wings slowly spreading out. Soon, every angel that could still move was watching him approach, and he swore he could feel the gaze of even the still highest order.
"Well met, mage." Their voices reverberated throughout the air, keeping him from knowing who spoke. "Are you ready for your Trial by Light?"
It was easy to find the judgement ground. As he walked up the gentle slope, he could already see the ten foot angels standing out against the brightening morning. At the first glimpse of dawn, they had already become the statues that his people had first mistaken them -- arms outstretched, wings dull without a glimmer, and eyes dead and staring blindly out across the horizon. He could see the movement of the next order of angels, sluggish but still conscious.
And as he crossed the last of the grasses toward the dirt ground, he could see the order that had gone to him. At seven feet tall or so, they were the smallest of the angels, and they stayed active until the noon sun. Yet as the moon lost its luster, so did they become like golems -- their wing feathers were too thick and short, more stone than anything living, and their robes did not move as they walked. The only things that had not changed about them were their burning eyes and the bright white bandages on hands and feet. As the dawn woke, however, he could see specks of red appearing under the cloths.
As one the order turned to stare at him. The angels above them -- active until mid-morning, and thus already with bandages stained completely blood-red -- also looked at him, their wings slowly spreading out. Soon, every angel that could still move was watching him approach, and he swore he could feel the gaze of even the still highest order.
"Well met, mage." Their voices reverberated throughout the air, keeping him from knowing who spoke. "Are you ready for your Trial by Light?"
