David Johansen
Legendary Pubber
- Joined
- May 4, 2017
- Messages
- 5,959
- Reaction score
- 12,097
The highest chamber in the tower was neatly organized. Carefully indexed folios of files lined organized shelves. A woman in a warm robe worked at a table lined with neat stacks of reports and ledgers. The angel paced as the rattling sound of footfalls and armour rose from the stairs that circled up around the tower. The brass bound double doors opened with a clash and bestial sub-humans spilled into the chamber dragging a pitiful figure. The angel cast a glance at its assistant but she hardly looked up. While she was more efficient and better organized, the girl lacked the vicious enthusiasm of her predecessor.
The old man was somewhat the worse for wear. His capture had not been peaceable and his captors might be forgiven for their roughness. Thrown to his knees, he coughed for a moment before looking up, his face illuminated by his foe. The angel knelt, it’s loose robe throwing faintly blue radiance in contrast to the golden aura of its skin. “This vessel is remarkable,” it said as it offered its hand to the old man, who batted it away with a scowl as he struggled to his feet. “You have even contrived rheumatic swelling in the joints. I can appreciate such attention to detail. Suffering for your art.”
“The mortals find a grand fatherly figure more relatable and less threatening than a more vigorous form,” said the thing in the shape of an old man, “they believe that wisdom comes with age and take my instruction more willingly if I am bent and stumble. I prefer that they believe they are acting on their own intent rather than serving mine.”
“Yes, yes,” the angel said waving away the very notion, “you’ve been very clever, of course, as you move your pawns across the board, always keeping your hands clean but from here in my tower I can see the whole board, while you focus too closely on individual pieces. None the less, you have stumbled into my clutches at last and your meddling is at an end.”
The old man straightened and ran his fingers through his unkempt beard, “Is it hard to believe that I wanted to see you again before things escalate beyond all hope of peace. We are of a kind if not of an accord. There are few enough of us left now, that were here in the beginning. Surely there is a better way.”
The angel sniffed, “Given your history it is far easier to believe you were caught out at last by fate and your own arrogance on some mission or scheme to spy out or undermine my power. You are here because this is where you are supposed to be. Do you still cling to the notion that you have free will? That your every action is not predetermined by that from whence we come? Nonsense of course, though we cannot see very far down the path ahead, it is laid before us. Still, you are here and I expect you will have your say.”
The old man gathered himself and after a deep breath began a speech long prepared, “Your armies are massing on the borders of the free lands and the ravens are gathering. It has been many long lifetimes of men since you marched forth to war. Can you not be content with what you have, to leave well enough alone? The mortals have progressed much since you last unleashed war, they may well surprise you and you might lose all that you have gained.”
“I find it hard to tell whether you are trying to give good council or threaten me,” the angel sneered, “the beard must make it hard to read your wrinkled face.”
“I’m trying to convince you of a better path,” the old man sighed in his very best weary but compassionate tone.
“You always had a gift for theatrics,” the angel chided, “don’t waste my time with your false emotions and sentiments. If you have something to offer, some other path which might serve my need better, then have out with it.”
The old man straightened and the raggedness and dishevelment fell away from him as a mist, his eyes gleamed and his skin fairly glowed. The assistant glanced up from her work then shrugged and drew another report from the bottom of the pile. “Very well then, as one emanation of the divine will to another. I suggest you withdraw your forces and reduce their numbers or they will be met in battle and destroyed by the forces I have been gathering. My great work is very nearly complete and I will not be hindered and distracted by your games.”
The angel looked at the other, “Perhaps my war will unite them as you have never been able or perhaps you fear you will lose vital playing pieces so vulnerable to cruel chance, as you call it, your fragile webs may fall apart and the world may shape itself to my vision or do you come out of fear that I will move too soon while your plans are incomplete and your pieces are not yet in place. No, I do not fear your alliances and gathered forces, I will act in my own time as I see best and to wrest charge of the mortal world and drive the remaining immortals out of it and set it in order as it should always have been.”
“I had little enough hope that you could see reason,” the other said his voice rough with anger, “but I had to try, this time I will crush you for once and for all.”
The angel nodded to the subhumans, “You may show the good wizard out. If we keep him he may find some way escape and do some harm and if we kill him he will just reform somewhere else in a few weeks and be saved a long and painful walk.“
As the door closed once more the angel’s assistant cleared her throat, “did you want me to have your six-thirty sent up, my lord? It’s the lost and orphaned prince of Enyvere. They found him crossing the plains of despair with half a dozen starving urchins and the Sword of Eldrich Might.”
“In a moment,” the angel muttered, leaning far out over into the window casement, “I want to watch him leave, he’s a tricky bastard and I half expect he’ll befuddle the guards with an illusion and try to rescue the prince or some such nonsense.”
The old man was somewhat the worse for wear. His capture had not been peaceable and his captors might be forgiven for their roughness. Thrown to his knees, he coughed for a moment before looking up, his face illuminated by his foe. The angel knelt, it’s loose robe throwing faintly blue radiance in contrast to the golden aura of its skin. “This vessel is remarkable,” it said as it offered its hand to the old man, who batted it away with a scowl as he struggled to his feet. “You have even contrived rheumatic swelling in the joints. I can appreciate such attention to detail. Suffering for your art.”
“The mortals find a grand fatherly figure more relatable and less threatening than a more vigorous form,” said the thing in the shape of an old man, “they believe that wisdom comes with age and take my instruction more willingly if I am bent and stumble. I prefer that they believe they are acting on their own intent rather than serving mine.”
“Yes, yes,” the angel said waving away the very notion, “you’ve been very clever, of course, as you move your pawns across the board, always keeping your hands clean but from here in my tower I can see the whole board, while you focus too closely on individual pieces. None the less, you have stumbled into my clutches at last and your meddling is at an end.”
The old man straightened and ran his fingers through his unkempt beard, “Is it hard to believe that I wanted to see you again before things escalate beyond all hope of peace. We are of a kind if not of an accord. There are few enough of us left now, that were here in the beginning. Surely there is a better way.”
The angel sniffed, “Given your history it is far easier to believe you were caught out at last by fate and your own arrogance on some mission or scheme to spy out or undermine my power. You are here because this is where you are supposed to be. Do you still cling to the notion that you have free will? That your every action is not predetermined by that from whence we come? Nonsense of course, though we cannot see very far down the path ahead, it is laid before us. Still, you are here and I expect you will have your say.”
The old man gathered himself and after a deep breath began a speech long prepared, “Your armies are massing on the borders of the free lands and the ravens are gathering. It has been many long lifetimes of men since you marched forth to war. Can you not be content with what you have, to leave well enough alone? The mortals have progressed much since you last unleashed war, they may well surprise you and you might lose all that you have gained.”
“I find it hard to tell whether you are trying to give good council or threaten me,” the angel sneered, “the beard must make it hard to read your wrinkled face.”
“I’m trying to convince you of a better path,” the old man sighed in his very best weary but compassionate tone.
“You always had a gift for theatrics,” the angel chided, “don’t waste my time with your false emotions and sentiments. If you have something to offer, some other path which might serve my need better, then have out with it.”
The old man straightened and the raggedness and dishevelment fell away from him as a mist, his eyes gleamed and his skin fairly glowed. The assistant glanced up from her work then shrugged and drew another report from the bottom of the pile. “Very well then, as one emanation of the divine will to another. I suggest you withdraw your forces and reduce their numbers or they will be met in battle and destroyed by the forces I have been gathering. My great work is very nearly complete and I will not be hindered and distracted by your games.”
The angel looked at the other, “Perhaps my war will unite them as you have never been able or perhaps you fear you will lose vital playing pieces so vulnerable to cruel chance, as you call it, your fragile webs may fall apart and the world may shape itself to my vision or do you come out of fear that I will move too soon while your plans are incomplete and your pieces are not yet in place. No, I do not fear your alliances and gathered forces, I will act in my own time as I see best and to wrest charge of the mortal world and drive the remaining immortals out of it and set it in order as it should always have been.”
“I had little enough hope that you could see reason,” the other said his voice rough with anger, “but I had to try, this time I will crush you for once and for all.”
The angel nodded to the subhumans, “You may show the good wizard out. If we keep him he may find some way escape and do some harm and if we kill him he will just reform somewhere else in a few weeks and be saved a long and painful walk.“
As the door closed once more the angel’s assistant cleared her throat, “did you want me to have your six-thirty sent up, my lord? It’s the lost and orphaned prince of Enyvere. They found him crossing the plains of despair with half a dozen starving urchins and the Sword of Eldrich Might.”
“In a moment,” the angel muttered, leaning far out over into the window casement, “I want to watch him leave, he’s a tricky bastard and I half expect he’ll befuddle the guards with an illusion and try to rescue the prince or some such nonsense.”