And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts saying,
'Come and see.' and I saw.
***
One of the four beasts saying,
'Come and see.' and I saw.
***
Never underestimate the capacity for someone to mean you ill, even before the gods, he had said to her when the strange visitor arrived on the wing.
When the earth shifted again and towering ancient stone became as sand before the unseen wrath of gods, sealing the way that was blocked before only by 'divine will', he realized he should have spoken more bluntly to the flower maiden.
Never trust a god, or any who claim to do their will.
Raymond had watched from a distance with something very near boredom as Calliope paced the recalcitrant gateway like a persistent hound. That was her - she let nothing go easily, surrendered to nothing quietly, and he had been content to wait patiently for the dealer to play out the hand. But the house had cheated. As dust rose like a demon's fetid breath from the collapsed, stony maw, as the lady of lions leapt and screamed at the barrier like a beast caged, he turned to stone.
Raymond's rage was nothing like Calliope's, which roared and blossomed like flames in a dry forest. It ran silent and deep, a dark and powerful undertow hardly stirring the waters of his expression. His rage was patient, bitter, seductive - a paean to cold butchery in a bath of hot rushing blood.
And still Calliope screamed her hatred at the gods.
He could not rush to her side now to quell her fury. He could not wait and hope that the horses behind that rubble would not dissolve into savagery at the earliest opportunity when so much of his life experience had informed him otherwise. Florentine had named Raymond her Champion, and he had promised her his best. So his best he would do.
Snarling, tail blade whip-like in agitated readiness at his back, the red stallion leapt to action, taking charge of himself and his emotions with a cold and decisive fury. He knew at a glance that a horse alone could not shift such wreckage - assuming the gods had not abused their might to guarantee it - but however sacred the conference within he would rather face an eternity in whatever hell they created for him than do nothing at all.
Rearing up, flashing his own body like a rallying banner, he bellowed to the horses gathered near the collapsed gateway: "Who will help us rescue the Sovereigns?" Obediently the tumultuous mountain air took his words and spread them far, a clarion call to unite the masses.
It was not the will of the gods that made a mortal strong.
When the earth shifted again and towering ancient stone became as sand before the unseen wrath of gods, sealing the way that was blocked before only by 'divine will', he realized he should have spoken more bluntly to the flower maiden.
Never trust a god, or any who claim to do their will.
Raymond had watched from a distance with something very near boredom as Calliope paced the recalcitrant gateway like a persistent hound. That was her - she let nothing go easily, surrendered to nothing quietly, and he had been content to wait patiently for the dealer to play out the hand. But the house had cheated. As dust rose like a demon's fetid breath from the collapsed, stony maw, as the lady of lions leapt and screamed at the barrier like a beast caged, he turned to stone.
Raymond's rage was nothing like Calliope's, which roared and blossomed like flames in a dry forest. It ran silent and deep, a dark and powerful undertow hardly stirring the waters of his expression. His rage was patient, bitter, seductive - a paean to cold butchery in a bath of hot rushing blood.
And still Calliope screamed her hatred at the gods.
He could not rush to her side now to quell her fury. He could not wait and hope that the horses behind that rubble would not dissolve into savagery at the earliest opportunity when so much of his life experience had informed him otherwise. Florentine had named Raymond her Champion, and he had promised her his best. So his best he would do.
Snarling, tail blade whip-like in agitated readiness at his back, the red stallion leapt to action, taking charge of himself and his emotions with a cold and decisive fury. He knew at a glance that a horse alone could not shift such wreckage - assuming the gods had not abused their might to guarantee it - but however sacred the conference within he would rather face an eternity in whatever hell they created for him than do nothing at all.
Rearing up, flashing his own body like a rallying banner, he bellowed to the horses gathered near the collapsed gateway: "Who will help us rescue the Sovereigns?" Obediently the tumultuous mountain air took his words and spread them far, a clarion call to unite the masses.
It was not the will of the gods that made a mortal strong.
***
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
@Random Events
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
