10-08-2015, 06:29 PM
Grobdum’s eyes slowly parted, a shining pearlescent light flooding his blurred vision. The world was soft, ephemeral, pleasant. The ground he lay upon was supple and supportive. The very air glowed with a positive radiance that was unlike he had ever felt before. In the smallest corner of his mind, he was sure that he could hear the sound of singing.
His bloodied, scabbing hands pressed into the clouds that lay below him, swaths of green now showing from beneath his cracked and peeling golden varnish. The bone necklace that lie around his neck rattled as he twisted his body and began to prop himself up. Upon his shoulders were the hands of his friends, lifting him up as he came to. He stood bare, without weapon, staff or artifact to cling to. All the goblin had left was his robes which had been ground full of dirt, blood and tears.
From where he lay, a towering city raised up above him, each structure gilded in complex and wondrous swoops of geometric golden patterns. There was no sun here, no need for light beyond the holy luminosity of the verse itself. In the sky, angels flew.
“Where are we?” the tiny creature meekly asked.
“The Oververse,” Lyra beamed, “We finally made it.”
Slowly rubbing his head, the goblin looked genuinely confused, “Why’s we ‘ere? Wot’s we doin’ in dis place?”
The group of people looked down at him with befuddled looks, “What do you mean? This is everything we’ve been working for! We finally made it, Grobdum! After everything, we’re finally here,” Lyra ecstatically explained.
The once-great leader of Da Golden Boyz stared into the Oververse blankly, and took a deep breath. “Oh.” He pointed towards the fluffy, joyful terrain, “Dis is wot you gits was questin’ aftah?”
“Yes, and we made it.” Lyra’s joy bloomed with every word. “Through all the pain and suffering, with all of our lost friends and companions… through everything, we’re here. We beat it.”
Looking down at his own beaten body, the goblin’s eyebrows bent inwards, a conflict rushing through his body. “Why’mI here?” he asked into the ether. He looked up to his comrades, searching for an answer, but they had none for him. “Why did I go through all dat? What’s I s’posed to do ‘ere?”
“Well,” Lyra said, trepidation soaking her tone, “we all came because we lost something, or because we needed something from Omni. We’re here for answers, or to right some wrong in our lives.” She knelt down besides the small man, placing a hand on his arm, “Why did you follow us if you didn’t even know where we were going?”
“He was following the warpath,” a deep, baritone voice answered from the sky above them. A shining angel descended, his glowing figure bursting with holy power. Sculpted armor lay over his chest and shoulders, glimmering steel inlaid with silver and gold images of wars past fought. On his hip, a sword gleamed from haft to tip.
The celestial being landed beside the conversing secondaries, easily standing a half foot higher than the tallest of them. He looked down on the pathetic creature, his swirling, radiant pupils shining upon him. “It is the way of this kind, to make war. They follow anyone, anything that feels great conviction. It is the source of their power, the wind from which their magic blows.” A faint, merciful smile crossed his lips, “It is simply what he is: a creature of instinct, a creature of conflict. He cannot escape what he is.” The angel gracefully gestured towards the collection of people that stood before him, “You just happen to be the war party he fell in with.”
Grobdum, his own golden gift now little more than a crackling masque, stood before the creature, small and frail in his figure and expression. He stared at his battered fingers, his sharpened, broken fingernails, his blood-soaked paraphernalia. All the creature had known was conflict, overcoming and destroying anything that stood in his path. Even his friends and allies, when the time came.
The angel used the tip of his sheathed scabbard to tilt the goblin’s chin up, forcing Grobdum to look into his burning eyes. “Do not be distressed, little one. This was how you were made. It is what you are.”
The group of adventurers looked on, some with pity and others with anger, as Omni’s servant spoke the truth into the tiny goblin’s ears. Pain welled up within Grobdum, pain that could not be inflicted upon him with a blade nor arrow, not with the force of a thousand spells. It was the pain of knowing who and what he was.
“Is dat really it?” he asked, gritty voice squeaking, “Is dat alls I’m good fer?”
The angel nodded softly, his every gesture kind and forgiving. “It is. I am sorry, little creature, but this was what you were made for. All Secondaries were created in the image of a Prime’s expectations. Their thoughts and intentions were woven into you, and within you, they only created the possibility of strife. It was literally what you were made for. Everything else, well, it is but a byproduct of that aim.”
The angel looked along the golden city, sweeping his short, curly brown hair back before he continued, “Just as I was made for my duties, we are each perfect in our compositions, because we are each made by the sculpting hand of a Prime. We are incapable of anything but perfection in our form, for we are crafted through sheer intention.” The glory of the natural light illuminated the angel’s features, casting his finely chiseled face and body into perfect shadow. “Do you understand?”
The goblin shook his head and whimpered, “No.”
The kind gaze of the angel turned back upon him. “Of course you do not. You were not made to understand.” With that, the angel’s wings flapped and he was cast back into the sky, far away from any more questions or answers.
Grobdum’s hands balled into fists, and a look of anger cleaned away his confusion. “I know what I want to ask Omni,” he said with a conviction that was almost uncharacteristic.
When the time came for the group to leave, a shimmering trail left from their angelic guide, Grobdum plod out in front of everyone else. Some were gleeful, others determined as they marched onward over the cloud-formed hill-crests, their own personal journeys finally coming to an end. For Grobdum, it almost seemed as though it had just begun, a lifetime of suffering and conflict spanning out behind him in a vast and important blur.
The stares and calm demeanors of the Oververse’s denizens did little to detract the goblin from his path, his tiny feet making pace with even the larger of the congregation. It was not long before he stood within the halls of Valhalla, the grand white pillars that lined the path dwarfing most structures in the known world. At the end of the majestic pathway stood a grandiose throne, the back of which spanned up high and proud into the building.
Without thought, without feeling, Grobdum descended upon the God and stood before him, staring up at the grinning creature with his beady black eyes.
“Is you Omni?” he asked, his voice echoing over the hallways and corridors.
The white, genderless creature bent forward to look upon the greenskin without eyes to see him. “Who else would I be?”
“I gots meself a wish for yas,” Grobdum yelled, casting his arms up as he projected his little voice as far as he could. “I’z want to have purpose! I want to live fer somefin biggah den war! I want to be more den wot I wuz made for!”
His bloodied, scabbing hands pressed into the clouds that lay below him, swaths of green now showing from beneath his cracked and peeling golden varnish. The bone necklace that lie around his neck rattled as he twisted his body and began to prop himself up. Upon his shoulders were the hands of his friends, lifting him up as he came to. He stood bare, without weapon, staff or artifact to cling to. All the goblin had left was his robes which had been ground full of dirt, blood and tears.
From where he lay, a towering city raised up above him, each structure gilded in complex and wondrous swoops of geometric golden patterns. There was no sun here, no need for light beyond the holy luminosity of the verse itself. In the sky, angels flew.
“Where are we?” the tiny creature meekly asked.
“The Oververse,” Lyra beamed, “We finally made it.”
Slowly rubbing his head, the goblin looked genuinely confused, “Why’s we ‘ere? Wot’s we doin’ in dis place?”
The group of people looked down at him with befuddled looks, “What do you mean? This is everything we’ve been working for! We finally made it, Grobdum! After everything, we’re finally here,” Lyra ecstatically explained.
The once-great leader of Da Golden Boyz stared into the Oververse blankly, and took a deep breath. “Oh.” He pointed towards the fluffy, joyful terrain, “Dis is wot you gits was questin’ aftah?”
“Yes, and we made it.” Lyra’s joy bloomed with every word. “Through all the pain and suffering, with all of our lost friends and companions… through everything, we’re here. We beat it.”
Looking down at his own beaten body, the goblin’s eyebrows bent inwards, a conflict rushing through his body. “Why’mI here?” he asked into the ether. He looked up to his comrades, searching for an answer, but they had none for him. “Why did I go through all dat? What’s I s’posed to do ‘ere?”
“Well,” Lyra said, trepidation soaking her tone, “we all came because we lost something, or because we needed something from Omni. We’re here for answers, or to right some wrong in our lives.” She knelt down besides the small man, placing a hand on his arm, “Why did you follow us if you didn’t even know where we were going?”
“He was following the warpath,” a deep, baritone voice answered from the sky above them. A shining angel descended, his glowing figure bursting with holy power. Sculpted armor lay over his chest and shoulders, glimmering steel inlaid with silver and gold images of wars past fought. On his hip, a sword gleamed from haft to tip.
The celestial being landed beside the conversing secondaries, easily standing a half foot higher than the tallest of them. He looked down on the pathetic creature, his swirling, radiant pupils shining upon him. “It is the way of this kind, to make war. They follow anyone, anything that feels great conviction. It is the source of their power, the wind from which their magic blows.” A faint, merciful smile crossed his lips, “It is simply what he is: a creature of instinct, a creature of conflict. He cannot escape what he is.” The angel gracefully gestured towards the collection of people that stood before him, “You just happen to be the war party he fell in with.”
Grobdum, his own golden gift now little more than a crackling masque, stood before the creature, small and frail in his figure and expression. He stared at his battered fingers, his sharpened, broken fingernails, his blood-soaked paraphernalia. All the creature had known was conflict, overcoming and destroying anything that stood in his path. Even his friends and allies, when the time came.
The angel used the tip of his sheathed scabbard to tilt the goblin’s chin up, forcing Grobdum to look into his burning eyes. “Do not be distressed, little one. This was how you were made. It is what you are.”
The group of adventurers looked on, some with pity and others with anger, as Omni’s servant spoke the truth into the tiny goblin’s ears. Pain welled up within Grobdum, pain that could not be inflicted upon him with a blade nor arrow, not with the force of a thousand spells. It was the pain of knowing who and what he was.
“Is dat really it?” he asked, gritty voice squeaking, “Is dat alls I’m good fer?”
The angel nodded softly, his every gesture kind and forgiving. “It is. I am sorry, little creature, but this was what you were made for. All Secondaries were created in the image of a Prime’s expectations. Their thoughts and intentions were woven into you, and within you, they only created the possibility of strife. It was literally what you were made for. Everything else, well, it is but a byproduct of that aim.”
The angel looked along the golden city, sweeping his short, curly brown hair back before he continued, “Just as I was made for my duties, we are each perfect in our compositions, because we are each made by the sculpting hand of a Prime. We are incapable of anything but perfection in our form, for we are crafted through sheer intention.” The glory of the natural light illuminated the angel’s features, casting his finely chiseled face and body into perfect shadow. “Do you understand?”
The goblin shook his head and whimpered, “No.”
The kind gaze of the angel turned back upon him. “Of course you do not. You were not made to understand.” With that, the angel’s wings flapped and he was cast back into the sky, far away from any more questions or answers.
Grobdum’s hands balled into fists, and a look of anger cleaned away his confusion. “I know what I want to ask Omni,” he said with a conviction that was almost uncharacteristic.
----
When the time came for the group to leave, a shimmering trail left from their angelic guide, Grobdum plod out in front of everyone else. Some were gleeful, others determined as they marched onward over the cloud-formed hill-crests, their own personal journeys finally coming to an end. For Grobdum, it almost seemed as though it had just begun, a lifetime of suffering and conflict spanning out behind him in a vast and important blur.
The stares and calm demeanors of the Oververse’s denizens did little to detract the goblin from his path, his tiny feet making pace with even the larger of the congregation. It was not long before he stood within the halls of Valhalla, the grand white pillars that lined the path dwarfing most structures in the known world. At the end of the majestic pathway stood a grandiose throne, the back of which spanned up high and proud into the building.
Without thought, without feeling, Grobdum descended upon the God and stood before him, staring up at the grinning creature with his beady black eyes.
“Is you Omni?” he asked, his voice echoing over the hallways and corridors.
The white, genderless creature bent forward to look upon the greenskin without eyes to see him. “Who else would I be?”
“I gots meself a wish for yas,” Grobdum yelled, casting his arms up as he projected his little voice as far as he could. “I’z want to have purpose! I want to live fer somefin biggah den war! I want to be more den wot I wuz made for!”
![[Image: sig2.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/KrimTheUnsettler/sig2.jpg)