No Title yet, but here we are
Mar. 16th, 2013 08:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadowWritten for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
darkfantasybingo, prompt angels.
The angels came to him in the night, the moonlight making their wings shine even through the curtains covering the windows. Their eyes were even brighter, without pupils, an endless white fire that made him back up against the bed, wrapping his arms around his legs, whimpering. Their hands and feet were wrapped in white cloth, with only their long, bony fingers sticking out as they all raised their left hand toward him. He could feel the air slowly chilling, a breeze coming from no where, and he shook his head frantically.
"Why did you not answer your summonings, mage?" The voice was an eerie monotone that echoed off of the walls of his room.
"I had to." He looked over at the angel who spoke, though really they all looked the same in the weird light. "I was not competent."
"It is not you who decides competency." He had no idea which one had spoken, and they all lowered their hands, staring right into his soul. "You have failed the Lords."
"No." He shook his head again. "No, I beg you. Give me a Trial by Light."
They were all silent, staring at him, the air becoming as still as ice. Then they all nodded. "Very well. Trial by Light at the next sunrise. Be there or be disgraced."
And then they all vanished, leaving only a faint twinkle in the air behind.
~~~
The 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?"
"Yes." In reality he was not, as no one ever was. But seeing as no one had ever asked for more time, no one knew what may occur if they did.
They stared at him for a while longer, though, and he could feel something crawling down his spine; he repressed a shudder. There was no evidence that the angels could read minds. But there had been no evidence that these beings even existed at all. Religion decried it was a sign from their gods, and that these were guardians and soldiers to bring the world right again. Scientists theorized they were created by an ancient civilization, powered by the moonlight through a mechanism they could not yet understand.
He thought it was some mixture between the two, with a nice dash of hell to finish it off.
"Then may the gods forgive you."
One angel stepped forward, picked seemingly out of random. It moved out of the shadows of its companions, and as the sun spilled into it unabated, red seeped throughout the bandages and began to drip down its long fingers. The grey stone began to whiten, cracks spreading throughout it, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm as the angel slowly, painfully rotated to fully face the sun.
Its body continued to bleach out, cracks spreading across the entire statue, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he lifted his staff and pointed it at the angel, moments from crumbling. "Gods above, be my witness. If my words and heart be true, save your guardian from its suffering. If I be foul, then shatter us both into dust!"
He felt the surge of magic then, singing in his veins and leaving him lightheaded and yet hopeful. No one knew what it felt like when the judgement or spell or whatever it was failed, since all that remained was ash. But they all knew what it felt like when it worked.
Light spilled from his staff, seeming shrouded in a fog, and enveloped the area, until finally one could see what the source was -- an image of the moon in a curved crescent hung around the body of his staff, spilling protective light over the entire field. Fog spilled out and further blocked the sun's rays from them. The bleached angel stepped back, eyes bright, wings wrapping around itself.
And all of the others were awake, staring at him. That was the hardest part -- no one had yet been killed anyway after passing judgement, but there was a first time for everything.
"Very well." The voice of one of the tallest angel's boomed across the grasses like thunder. "The gods have forgiven you. Do not grow complacent with such kindness, mage."
The giant angel strode forward, steps making the earth shake. Once it reached the damaged angel, it spread its wings around it, until the angel was covered. Then one of the other guardians lifted its left hand, and with an eerie hiss he felt the magic knocked out of his staff, and the moonlight and fog disappeared, and all that was left moving were the smallest of the angels -- all but the one wrapped in the wings of its guardian.
And after that, there was nothing left but to go home and begin his morning prayers.
darkfantasybingo, prompt angels.The angels came to him in the night, the moonlight making their wings shine even through the curtains covering the windows. Their eyes were even brighter, without pupils, an endless white fire that made him back up against the bed, wrapping his arms around his legs, whimpering. Their hands and feet were wrapped in white cloth, with only their long, bony fingers sticking out as they all raised their left hand toward him. He could feel the air slowly chilling, a breeze coming from no where, and he shook his head frantically.
"Why did you not answer your summonings, mage?" The voice was an eerie monotone that echoed off of the walls of his room.
"I had to." He looked over at the angel who spoke, though really they all looked the same in the weird light. "I was not competent."
"It is not you who decides competency." He had no idea which one had spoken, and they all lowered their hands, staring right into his soul. "You have failed the Lords."
"No." He shook his head again. "No, I beg you. Give me a Trial by Light."
They were all silent, staring at him, the air becoming as still as ice. Then they all nodded. "Very well. Trial by Light at the next sunrise. Be there or be disgraced."
And then they all vanished, leaving only a faint twinkle in the air behind.
~~~
The 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?"
"Yes." In reality he was not, as no one ever was. But seeing as no one had ever asked for more time, no one knew what may occur if they did.
They stared at him for a while longer, though, and he could feel something crawling down his spine; he repressed a shudder. There was no evidence that the angels could read minds. But there had been no evidence that these beings even existed at all. Religion decried it was a sign from their gods, and that these were guardians and soldiers to bring the world right again. Scientists theorized they were created by an ancient civilization, powered by the moonlight through a mechanism they could not yet understand.
He thought it was some mixture between the two, with a nice dash of hell to finish it off.
"Then may the gods forgive you."
One angel stepped forward, picked seemingly out of random. It moved out of the shadows of its companions, and as the sun spilled into it unabated, red seeped throughout the bandages and began to drip down its long fingers. The grey stone began to whiten, cracks spreading throughout it, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm as the angel slowly, painfully rotated to fully face the sun.
Its body continued to bleach out, cracks spreading across the entire statue, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he lifted his staff and pointed it at the angel, moments from crumbling. "Gods above, be my witness. If my words and heart be true, save your guardian from its suffering. If I be foul, then shatter us both into dust!"
He felt the surge of magic then, singing in his veins and leaving him lightheaded and yet hopeful. No one knew what it felt like when the judgement or spell or whatever it was failed, since all that remained was ash. But they all knew what it felt like when it worked.
Light spilled from his staff, seeming shrouded in a fog, and enveloped the area, until finally one could see what the source was -- an image of the moon in a curved crescent hung around the body of his staff, spilling protective light over the entire field. Fog spilled out and further blocked the sun's rays from them. The bleached angel stepped back, eyes bright, wings wrapping around itself.
And all of the others were awake, staring at him. That was the hardest part -- no one had yet been killed anyway after passing judgement, but there was a first time for everything.
"Very well." The voice of one of the tallest angel's boomed across the grasses like thunder. "The gods have forgiven you. Do not grow complacent with such kindness, mage."
The giant angel strode forward, steps making the earth shake. Once it reached the damaged angel, it spread its wings around it, until the angel was covered. Then one of the other guardians lifted its left hand, and with an eerie hiss he felt the magic knocked out of his staff, and the moonlight and fog disappeared, and all that was left moving were the smallest of the angels -- all but the one wrapped in the wings of its guardian.
And after that, there was nothing left but to go home and begin his morning prayers.
