03-23-2017, 10:47 AM
The monk was silent after his initial words. But his eyes spoke volumes, despite the softness of his tone, the meekness of his bow. Curiosity and suspicion seemed to war with each other even as he bent his neck.
Fiery, this one. Protective. Armande smiled to himself. He would not be won over the with trinkets, not like some of the others. Armande found himself liking this man. Not a lickspittle. Within reason, of course. His authority was his auctoritas, the clout he wielded. He would not allow people to diminish that. But he expected intelligence from his followers. Those who chose to believe, chose of their own free will based on the undeniability of his logic made the best and most useful of tools. And proof was forged in the cauldron of challenge.
Anything of strength was. As they walked, the stench of sulfurous gases and rendered waste wafted up from time to time. The heat was ever present, the vast weight of the world above- miles and miles of earth- pressing down around them, making the air perceptibly dense. A forge indeed, deep in the bowels of the earth. What was this but a place where the hardiest survived, extremophiles in human form. But instead of bacteria flourishing in the ozone layer or at vents at the bottom of the ocean floor, they were Khylsty, stored away and preserved, forged and shaped, for a future time.
His smile became real. Rasputin's vision seemed real to him now, undeniable. He was looking forward to speaking to Valeriya- to The Eye.
As if by magic, the next turn took them to her room. He looked at her, the chipped blue ice of his eyes taking her in all at once, surprised at the excitement he felt. The fall of her hair framed her sharp green eyes. Piercing. And he felt that hand of prophecy at his back.
"I thank you, Valeriya, for my accommodations. The rest was needed. However," he nodded to the folded skin that draped his arm, the white and grey mottled fur soft and downy, "there is much to be done." Then, without preamble, he settled to the ground in a meditative pose, inclining his head and inviting her to do the same in front of him. It was a gesture of respect. But also an invitation to share, as equals. He hoped she was wise enough to see the difference.
He settled the skin across his lap, parts of the skin side- and the writing and map- showing, but did not refer to it. Instead he studied her. She was a mystery. Or Mystery. Sophia flashed across his mind, as philosophies categorized themselves in front of him, explanations of the world around him. According Neo-Platonism, and the later Gnostics, the emanation of the Monad, The One, the embodiment of wisdom. Elements of the Mother Goddess worship attached themselves to her, as she birthed the Demiurge. Others too. Kali Ma. Mother, Whore, Destroyer. Daughter, Wife, Crone. Herald of the end. All myths, archetypes, he believed, referring to the ancient gods the Atharim destroyed.
And yet...another power was afoot. Prophecies whirled about their heads like a storm. A pregnant storm, filled with potential from their union. He could almost see it. "You have a power. You see. Tell me how you see. What do you see?"
He studied those deadly and seductive green eyes, watching. Waiting. Wanting to see what had been forged down here, what had be vouchsafed for the last days.
Edited by Regus, Mar 23 2017, 07:26 PM.
Fiery, this one. Protective. Armande smiled to himself. He would not be won over the with trinkets, not like some of the others. Armande found himself liking this man. Not a lickspittle. Within reason, of course. His authority was his auctoritas, the clout he wielded. He would not allow people to diminish that. But he expected intelligence from his followers. Those who chose to believe, chose of their own free will based on the undeniability of his logic made the best and most useful of tools. And proof was forged in the cauldron of challenge.
Anything of strength was. As they walked, the stench of sulfurous gases and rendered waste wafted up from time to time. The heat was ever present, the vast weight of the world above- miles and miles of earth- pressing down around them, making the air perceptibly dense. A forge indeed, deep in the bowels of the earth. What was this but a place where the hardiest survived, extremophiles in human form. But instead of bacteria flourishing in the ozone layer or at vents at the bottom of the ocean floor, they were Khylsty, stored away and preserved, forged and shaped, for a future time.
His smile became real. Rasputin's vision seemed real to him now, undeniable. He was looking forward to speaking to Valeriya- to The Eye.
As if by magic, the next turn took them to her room. He looked at her, the chipped blue ice of his eyes taking her in all at once, surprised at the excitement he felt. The fall of her hair framed her sharp green eyes. Piercing. And he felt that hand of prophecy at his back.
"I thank you, Valeriya, for my accommodations. The rest was needed. However," he nodded to the folded skin that draped his arm, the white and grey mottled fur soft and downy, "there is much to be done." Then, without preamble, he settled to the ground in a meditative pose, inclining his head and inviting her to do the same in front of him. It was a gesture of respect. But also an invitation to share, as equals. He hoped she was wise enough to see the difference.
He settled the skin across his lap, parts of the skin side- and the writing and map- showing, but did not refer to it. Instead he studied her. She was a mystery. Or Mystery. Sophia flashed across his mind, as philosophies categorized themselves in front of him, explanations of the world around him. According Neo-Platonism, and the later Gnostics, the emanation of the Monad, The One, the embodiment of wisdom. Elements of the Mother Goddess worship attached themselves to her, as she birthed the Demiurge. Others too. Kali Ma. Mother, Whore, Destroyer. Daughter, Wife, Crone. Herald of the end. All myths, archetypes, he believed, referring to the ancient gods the Atharim destroyed.
And yet...another power was afoot. Prophecies whirled about their heads like a storm. A pregnant storm, filled with potential from their union. He could almost see it. "You have a power. You see. Tell me how you see. What do you see?"
He studied those deadly and seductive green eyes, watching. Waiting. Wanting to see what had been forged down here, what had be vouchsafed for the last days.
Edited by Regus, Mar 23 2017, 07:26 PM.