Post by JoshSmaltz on Mar 19, 2016 1:29:00 GMT
Springtime brought renewal for the people of the Valley. As the snow began to melt, a resurgence of life swept down from the highest peaks of the surrounding Mountains. Winter, who staked claim over the realm for months, had finally retreated. Movement within the brambles and thrushes made the misty forest dance with ghost-like fluidity, as gentle winds caressed the tops of new growth across the plain. Tradition held that the bulging of the rivers and return of the Golden Flock -those prodigiously beautiful, god-like creatures, sailors of the sky! - called for a celebration of life.
The gargantuan birds of the Golden Flock had returned to their roosts in the craggy cliffs! Joy spread like a plague through the people in the city. Each man, woman, and child, knew that survival of the deep cold and frost of the preceding months was a gift from the heavens. All across the Valley preparations were made. Streets were cleaned as food was gathered, and throngs of men frantically hustling from shrine to grove made ready the altars and stages required for the festival. Each citizen of the city, each peasant in the fields, served a purpose. Every living person in the Valley knew that fulfilling that purpose was the sole reason for their continued existence. Having survived the most brutal winter any had seen or heard of, was a credit to the mercy of the God’s.
With the help of her family and the other women of the fields, Rose began to purify herself. Steam hovered off of the water as she lowered herself into the cauldron. Hands reached in to aid as flesh singed and faint gasps permeated the soft silence that haunted the sacred bath. As the fire was fed, the bubbling of the water became cacophonous, and yet, serenity shone on her youthful face. All her life was spent in hopes that one day she may gift unto her people the continued mercy and benevolence of the ancient deities. 20 years after the day light first struck her eyes, she would finally be made whole.
Many maidens before her had succeeded. Who dared offend a god by failing? Every twenty years another pact was made, and the people of the valley continued to thrive. Had they not bested the challengers from the West? Were it not for the blessing of winter raging across the battlefield, would anyone be alive now to celebrate this fresh spring?
Rose cared little for the answers. She had waited her entire life for this moment. Although there will be others this day, enjoining themselves to various deities, Rose was destined for the Great One herself. Among those powerful gods it was he that defended the people of the valley, and without his kindness, none would have survived the onslaught of the invaders. Many were lost during their merciless campaign, and those who remained were filled with resolve. Their gods would be honored; and being rightfully worshiped, eternal promises would be kept.
Few were as lucky as Rose. Although some cultures offered more to the Heavens, she was the ultimate gift- prepared for consecration from birth. Having been fully purified, she was half-led, half-dragged to the pillar outside of the shrine on the outskirts of the city, just within the dense maze of vines and shrubbery that buffered the town to the West. Her eyes, incapable of focus now, washed side to side over the surrounding crowd that grew more ominous as the sun slowly set.
Later generations will look back and say she ascended to her new home on the swift wings of the black smoke that surrounded her, guided by the Golden Flock themselves. It will be remarked how slowly her skin peeled back as the flames licked harder and harder against her doughy flesh. Stories will be told how without restraint, within the flames, a smile was seen cracking across her lips as a shrill moan of ecstasy permeated the chants of the frenzied crowd.
Blessings upon the people of the Valley!
The gargantuan birds of the Golden Flock had returned to their roosts in the craggy cliffs! Joy spread like a plague through the people in the city. Each man, woman, and child, knew that survival of the deep cold and frost of the preceding months was a gift from the heavens. All across the Valley preparations were made. Streets were cleaned as food was gathered, and throngs of men frantically hustling from shrine to grove made ready the altars and stages required for the festival. Each citizen of the city, each peasant in the fields, served a purpose. Every living person in the Valley knew that fulfilling that purpose was the sole reason for their continued existence. Having survived the most brutal winter any had seen or heard of, was a credit to the mercy of the God’s.
With the help of her family and the other women of the fields, Rose began to purify herself. Steam hovered off of the water as she lowered herself into the cauldron. Hands reached in to aid as flesh singed and faint gasps permeated the soft silence that haunted the sacred bath. As the fire was fed, the bubbling of the water became cacophonous, and yet, serenity shone on her youthful face. All her life was spent in hopes that one day she may gift unto her people the continued mercy and benevolence of the ancient deities. 20 years after the day light first struck her eyes, she would finally be made whole.
Many maidens before her had succeeded. Who dared offend a god by failing? Every twenty years another pact was made, and the people of the valley continued to thrive. Had they not bested the challengers from the West? Were it not for the blessing of winter raging across the battlefield, would anyone be alive now to celebrate this fresh spring?
Rose cared little for the answers. She had waited her entire life for this moment. Although there will be others this day, enjoining themselves to various deities, Rose was destined for the Great One herself. Among those powerful gods it was he that defended the people of the valley, and without his kindness, none would have survived the onslaught of the invaders. Many were lost during their merciless campaign, and those who remained were filled with resolve. Their gods would be honored; and being rightfully worshiped, eternal promises would be kept.
Few were as lucky as Rose. Although some cultures offered more to the Heavens, she was the ultimate gift- prepared for consecration from birth. Having been fully purified, she was half-led, half-dragged to the pillar outside of the shrine on the outskirts of the city, just within the dense maze of vines and shrubbery that buffered the town to the West. Her eyes, incapable of focus now, washed side to side over the surrounding crowd that grew more ominous as the sun slowly set.
Later generations will look back and say she ascended to her new home on the swift wings of the black smoke that surrounded her, guided by the Golden Flock themselves. It will be remarked how slowly her skin peeled back as the flames licked harder and harder against her doughy flesh. Stories will be told how without restraint, within the flames, a smile was seen cracking across her lips as a shrill moan of ecstasy permeated the chants of the frenzied crowd.
Blessings upon the people of the Valley!
