DEATH (pale_as) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-01-28 19:56:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | death, guns |
Who: Death and Open
What: Praying for the heathens
When: Wednesday, eleven o'clock
Where: Grace Church
There had been a slaughter. Normally, Death would not have minded such a thing, it gave him power to take mortals to the beyond, but this was different, this was not so much a mass death as it was a mass fading. Belief was a powerful thing, and now that the Greeks believed in the specter of their own death, Death himself was feeling the surge. But it was no great victory, he felt, it was so hollow, so synthetic. He couldn't believe that this was part of the Plan. It was a mistake, it had to be. So he had come here, to this church, not because it was a particularly pleasing church to the Lord - it wasn't not pleasing, mind, just not special in any way that mattered in the spirit - but it was exquisitly built, and its splendor reminded Death of the great legacy that had spawned him. The church was lovingly decorated. Stained glass, a beautifully clothed choir, a bell tower, it was all in gold and bright colors, beautiful despite the death outside. He knelt before the largest of the windows, palms raised up towards a immaculately crafted image of the crucified Christ.
"BLESSED ARE YOU, OUR GOD, KING OF THE UNIVERSE, WHO HAS ORDERED THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH, AND GIVEN THEM AN APPOINTED TIME. BLESSED IS THE KEEPER OF THE DATE OF THE END, BLESSED IS OUR KING." He began in a low, rumbling tone, his true voice, not the one he used every day so that mortals would not fear him so much when he came to them, but in the voice he knew would be called for in the Last of Days. He continued for several minutes, in Hebrew, Greek, and English, just praising the Old Man, his Son, and the Spirit. That was how things were to be done, praise first, and then the requests. He continued his praise for over half an hour. It was a terribly beautiful thing to witness, Death, the old rider, praising the God who would send him to fire and brimstone on the Last Day. But he had to push that thought aside, there was a Pantheon to save.
"I PRAY ON BEHALF OF THE AVATARS OF THE GREEKS, THE CREATURES, THE SPIRITS OF NATURE. I PRAY THAT YE SHALL KEEP THEM 'TILL THE LAST DAYS, AND THEN ALOT THEM WHAT THEY MAY HAVE. KEEP THE AVATARS OF-" And then, in that same voice, which became louded and more bellowing as he continued, Death managed to rattle off a complete list of all the greeks in his aquainance. He may have missed a few minor dieties, but from what he had heard, they may have already been dead.
Finally he collasped, exausted, before the cross, shoulders heaving as if the wind had just been knocked out of him. It had taken a trumendous amount of effort on his part, to pray for heathens, but he had done what he could. He folded his arms under his head and sighed. He could only hope that this tribute had done some good to the Greeks.