.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
08-23-2015, 01:22 AM
|
the indigo priest
The Gods of The Rift speak and the servant obeys. That’s how it was, how it always has been, always would be. The magic of the High Priests manifested like static in their minds, a cacophony of sound, the voices of all the tortured gods of the Rift that melded in a constant stream of cries. In the order, the servant cast aside themselves in order to be a vessel of the gods but for the High Priests it was not possible to do anything else; their minds were so full of the gods there was no room for the self, it was cast away, forgotten, unwanted. It was their job to listen, to interpret, and to see the orders carried out when a voice broke through the static. It never mattered which god gave the command, whether they gave and order to help or to hurt, it was obeyed. Save the pale priestess. The order had come and the indigo priest obeyed. He set out at dawn in with four of his Berserkers. They were difficult to keep in hand as they traveled, wild as they were, but the promise of bloodshed kept them moving. The massive priest lumbered over the glassy landscape without speech and did not waver from his path, the god had shown him where to go and so he went. The five approached the the prisons entrance at a trot. Shouts rose, ahead of them, four of the rift herd had been left on the surface to guard the prisoners inside and came running at the obvious threat on their charge. “Stop! What is your business here?!” one shouted, but the priest and his mad fighters made no reply. “STOP!” the guard yelled again but the the five were almost upon them. All the indigo priest had to do was nod and the fighters were released. While he held his pace toward the entrance, his underlings surged forth to attack with savage pleasure. They would kill or die in service of the gods, it did not matter which. The guards rushed up to meet them and the miniature battle began, four pairs meeting with shouts and screams as the blue priest moved steadily between them. The Berserkers were selected for their size and strength, for their savagery and he had not doubt that they would keep his path clear. The entrance to the underground dungeon was cleverly made, hidden in the mirrored landscape unless you knew where to look and were standing in the right spot but the god had shown him. A wide mouth opened in the earth and wide shallow steps spiraled downward into the darkness and he descended. Every now and again he passed a cell door off the curved staircase but his silver eyes did not so much as glance through the metal bars until he reached the door he sought. There she was, blindfolded and in chains. If a twinge of sympathy came it went unnoticed, the priest felt little enough emotion, and if he did it did not sway him. A rescue missions this may be but he was no knight in shining plate, he was a servant following orders and his feelings did not matter. They never mattered. Two more guards had been posted on either side of her cell, a black stallion to the right and a grey to the left. The blue priest did not heed their warnings but stopped upon the wide landing and faced them with a stony face. "Identify yourself!" the grey shouts, his voice slightly tremulous. From above the shouts and screams echo around the chamber and filter down and this blue beast is a fearsome thing. Built like a mountain and just as still with pupilless that glow and shift like shining silver. All three stand for a moment still and silent and then the guards make to move forward. A screaming of twisting metal and a bang of exploding rock split the cavern as the priestess' cell door is ripped from the wall and torn in two. Without so much as a flick of his ear, the blue priest warps the metal, if flies through the air and wraps wound the guards, driving them away and towads the wall on either side of the cell's opening. They shout in rage, in protest but the priest pays no attention to their ire, only drives the ends of their new metal shackles into the rock. The force throws them hard against the wall and their shouting falls silent. The sounds from above have stopped as well. The indigo priest stands for a moment, quiet and still, studying the bound mare. Pale and refined, in shades of smokey grey Beautiful... the word comes to mind but it doesn't make any sense to the stoic stallion. Why that word? Appearance was irrelevant, functionality was not added by being beautiful, so why didn't it come to mind now? Why was this woman bound here, what had she done? It doesn't matter. he reminds himself, he still has a task to complete. The are four small pops as a link of each chain that binds her legs is released and for the first time today the indigo priest speaks, his voice deep and gruff. "Come with me, Priestess." but this is your heart
can you feel it? can you feel it? |
@Naja
