09-20-2016, 12:18 PM
Nimeda kept herself back as if there was something unsettling about the arch. Not so much her companion Mara. Something about her set off a ticklish feeling right at the base of his neck. Not goosebumps, like when a woman embraced the power. Just a sense of general unease.
"I would be afraid the be trampled, too,"
he told Mara. "But not by the horses. By the man who made this..."
he rapped his knuckle against the base, "...this thing. I don't like that it exists at all. But I like what I can learn about the man who created it. That's my favorite part."
It was a statement that he would transform the world with the awesome might of the Power. And perhaps they would. But the man who needed a monument to his own power was an arrogant one. That Brandon had chosen to destroy Lenin's mausoleum in its creation was telling. He would choose to ignore the past and forge ahead with reckless abandon, until history repeated itself. Maybe they would bury the Ascendancy here when he died, before his patrons and privileges ripped the CCD apart and plunged the world into darkness, or channelers of the Power would take advantage of the chaos and set themselves up as kings and queens of the world. How much more of the world would he trample and consume, first?
What motivated him to such arrogance? What kept him up at night, pushing him forward with plans like these? "I wonder what he dreams about,"
Jon mused, speaking almost as if to himself. "The Ascendancy. What things frighten you, you so-called god?"
"I would be afraid the be trampled, too,"
he told Mara. "But not by the horses. By the man who made this..."
he rapped his knuckle against the base, "...this thing. I don't like that it exists at all. But I like what I can learn about the man who created it. That's my favorite part."
It was a statement that he would transform the world with the awesome might of the Power. And perhaps they would. But the man who needed a monument to his own power was an arrogant one. That Brandon had chosen to destroy Lenin's mausoleum in its creation was telling. He would choose to ignore the past and forge ahead with reckless abandon, until history repeated itself. Maybe they would bury the Ascendancy here when he died, before his patrons and privileges ripped the CCD apart and plunged the world into darkness, or channelers of the Power would take advantage of the chaos and set themselves up as kings and queens of the world. How much more of the world would he trample and consume, first?
What motivated him to such arrogance? What kept him up at night, pushing him forward with plans like these? "I wonder what he dreams about,"
Jon mused, speaking almost as if to himself. "The Ascendancy. What things frighten you, you so-called god?"