Re: Inexorable Altercation [Round II - Armada]
12-22-2010, 11:46 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by bobthepen.
Above the exploding ships, beyond the smell of salt and powder, far beyond the starless night, nine cloaked figures stood, surrounding the sphere which contained the conflict below. They themselves were surrounded by a sea of nothingness, a black void where small, seemingly insignificant spheres served as vessels for the worlds they held. It had not been their choice to gather here. Their meeting had been ordained, their choice stripped away ages ago. Together they stood identical, unidentifiable. Each hooded cloak obscured the face of the one beneath it in shadow, their personalities and individuality hidden beneath yet another featureless sea.
They were nowhere, and yet it was only there they could remain. Their anonymity protected them; their non-existence kept them alive. Together they were invulnerable; parted, they would fall.
“How boring..” A voice emanated from one of the gentlemen, faceless but not speechless. Its tone was unremarkable, but its inflection, abrasive.
“You seriously expect this to get us anywhere?” the voice continued, “Watching these weaklings squabble over who gets to live? First off: unoriginal. Now if you’d follow my idea we’d…”
“Be Silent.” The Leader interrupted.
He was unmistakably the Leader. Though there were no markings or appearances to indicate so, the reaction of the others to his words and decrees revealed otherwise. Also, he held the book.
“Are you saying that because I annoy you?” the gentleman continued, “or because that book told you to?”
“You will be silent, because the book says so.” Another gentleman spoke. He stood on the Leader’s right.
“Oh?” a third spoke up, “so you’ve read the book then?”
“He has read the book,” was the reply, “If he says so, then it was written.”
“But you can’t know it says it for certain, he may have just…”
The dialogue ceased. In an instant, unexplained, unexpected, the Leader vanished.
Though the gentlemen were struck speechless, nowhere was far from silent. A murky sloshing sound spread from where the Leader once stood. Layers of nothingness pulled away from the eight like a receding tide. Glimmers of light replaced the darkness as nothingness gave way to substance. As the more and more of the void dissipated, the features of what nowhere once was returned, and nowhere was not empty.
An ornately covered floor lay where once nothing remained. The sphere that the eight surrounded was no longer floating on blackness, but was set aloft on a pillar, its light illuminating the floor. The other spheres, other worlds, too were propped upon their respective podiums, each giving their own light to their surroundings.
As darkness fled and substance spread, the gentlemen cultists were gentlemen no longer. Their uniformity vanished with the void as their true features took hold. One was tall, larger than the rest, and silent, the cloak still obscuring his face. Two more kept their cloaks on, quietly they stared. The fourth threw off his hood, revealing a face more reptilian than man. Cedar colored eyes darted from cultist to cultist. The fifth was smaller than the others. Cautiously a youthful face peered from behind the folds of fabric. Her complexion an unnatural black, pinpoints of blue light flickered around her head as she gazed at the man who earlier stood to the right of the Leader. That one too removed his hood, his face altogether human, his eyes wide and mouth agape. To his left, tall and unmoving, stood the gentleman called Gias.
Small, quiet, sobs began to flow from behind the hood of the eighth cultist. One of the others, approached and wrapped her arms about the sobbing figure. Though her cloak remained on, her appearance was undeniably feminine.
Where the Leader once stood, there was now only the book of the Wordsmith. its cover closed, its words, unread by those present.
The cedar-eyed cultist spoke first, “Well great. Now what do we do?”
----------
Above the ships abandoned in the dark sea, the stars began to return to the sky.
Above the exploding ships, beyond the smell of salt and powder, far beyond the starless night, nine cloaked figures stood, surrounding the sphere which contained the conflict below. They themselves were surrounded by a sea of nothingness, a black void where small, seemingly insignificant spheres served as vessels for the worlds they held. It had not been their choice to gather here. Their meeting had been ordained, their choice stripped away ages ago. Together they stood identical, unidentifiable. Each hooded cloak obscured the face of the one beneath it in shadow, their personalities and individuality hidden beneath yet another featureless sea.
They were nowhere, and yet it was only there they could remain. Their anonymity protected them; their non-existence kept them alive. Together they were invulnerable; parted, they would fall.
“How boring..” A voice emanated from one of the gentlemen, faceless but not speechless. Its tone was unremarkable, but its inflection, abrasive.
“You seriously expect this to get us anywhere?” the voice continued, “Watching these weaklings squabble over who gets to live? First off: unoriginal. Now if you’d follow my idea we’d…”
“Be Silent.” The Leader interrupted.
He was unmistakably the Leader. Though there were no markings or appearances to indicate so, the reaction of the others to his words and decrees revealed otherwise. Also, he held the book.
“Are you saying that because I annoy you?” the gentleman continued, “or because that book told you to?”
“You will be silent, because the book says so.” Another gentleman spoke. He stood on the Leader’s right.
“Oh?” a third spoke up, “so you’ve read the book then?”
“He has read the book,” was the reply, “If he says so, then it was written.”
“But you can’t know it says it for certain, he may have just…”
The dialogue ceased. In an instant, unexplained, unexpected, the Leader vanished.
Though the gentlemen were struck speechless, nowhere was far from silent. A murky sloshing sound spread from where the Leader once stood. Layers of nothingness pulled away from the eight like a receding tide. Glimmers of light replaced the darkness as nothingness gave way to substance. As the more and more of the void dissipated, the features of what nowhere once was returned, and nowhere was not empty.
An ornately covered floor lay where once nothing remained. The sphere that the eight surrounded was no longer floating on blackness, but was set aloft on a pillar, its light illuminating the floor. The other spheres, other worlds, too were propped upon their respective podiums, each giving their own light to their surroundings.
As darkness fled and substance spread, the gentlemen cultists were gentlemen no longer. Their uniformity vanished with the void as their true features took hold. One was tall, larger than the rest, and silent, the cloak still obscuring his face. Two more kept their cloaks on, quietly they stared. The fourth threw off his hood, revealing a face more reptilian than man. Cedar colored eyes darted from cultist to cultist. The fifth was smaller than the others. Cautiously a youthful face peered from behind the folds of fabric. Her complexion an unnatural black, pinpoints of blue light flickered around her head as she gazed at the man who earlier stood to the right of the Leader. That one too removed his hood, his face altogether human, his eyes wide and mouth agape. To his left, tall and unmoving, stood the gentleman called Gias.
Small, quiet, sobs began to flow from behind the hood of the eighth cultist. One of the others, approached and wrapped her arms about the sobbing figure. Though her cloak remained on, her appearance was undeniably feminine.
Where the Leader once stood, there was now only the book of the Wordsmith. its cover closed, its words, unread by those present.
The cedar-eyed cultist spoke first, “Well great. Now what do we do?”
----------
Above the ships abandoned in the dark sea, the stars began to return to the sky.