Ainulindalion
24-10-2003, 11:10
Ainulindalion looked down, without physical form, at his island below him.
11.7 kilometer across, as those with permanent organic forms measured such things. 40 square miles, for those less mathematically inclined.
The circular island hung below him, visible yet unreachable and unseeable, without intent.
Fallen angels at my feet
He spun through reality checking in on those who were important.
Melkor: in the depths of the earth. Rage at his presence, and inability to do anything about it.
Sirithil: in her high tower apartment, content in her technology and elvenlore.
The darkness and the light. So different, yet so much the same.
Whispered voices at my ear
Demons and angels, gods and devils. All existed here, in this harmony that was Ardanor.
The fleets orbiting over the surface of this planet, thousands of ships. The firepower to destory the planet a million billion times over. He could wipe them from existence with a mere thought.
Death before my eyes
But no. He had promised long ago, an oath to Eru, that he would not disrupt the balance of power.
He knew what he was, though he had never told anyone. A mistake. A single flawed note in the song of creation.
Lying next to me I fear
Hence his name. Ainulindalion. Son of the Song of the Holy Ones. Son of Creation. Balion, as he was sometimes known. Son of Power.
He was a god, in all but name. But recently, he had discovered a few limits to his power. He had overcome them, though.
But it had disturbed him. Still did in fact. What did it mean?
She beckons me, shall I give in
Yet he returned his focus to his island. The sharply sloping cliffs, leading to a plataeu at 2015 meters.
The forest and the lake, and his fortress. The small village, one hundred people amoung them.
They lived in harmony, acknowledging him, but for the most part, ignoring him.
He had no need for their worship.
Upon my end shall I begin
The outer wall of the castle, holding the gardens, filled with glowing trees and the last of the Mearas, lords of horses. The stones glowed, but were outshown by the metal work of mithril and the light of the trees.
Except in the corners, where the horses dared not tread, for the corners held trees of the deepest shadow, of what could be called nothing but unlight.
By this, balance was maintained. The beasts of the forests were content, and lived with the people of the land, who took no more than they needed, and there was always enough.
Ainulindalion saw to that. No one and no thing would harm the people under his protection, not to significant extent. Their simple existence was one of happiness.
Forsaking all I've fallen for
He slid his conciousness into the castle, examining each room in turn.
The great hall, lined in marble of every color, doors of glowing wood, crystal lights filled with living light.
The guest bed chambers, the game room, the weapons room, where he maintained his collection of rare artifact weapons. The torture room, which he maintained only because it was a castle. He hated that room, especially the machine in the middle of the room, one of the purest evil, capable of corrupting good and making it evil.
The vision room, where he could see anything he chose to see, and could show anyone what they wished to see. The kitchen. Odd for a god, as was the bathroom.
And his bedroom, white and black, in perfect balance, as battles raged in realtime on the wall hangings, and titanic struggles played out at a reduced pace.
He usually maintained a human form. Jet black hair and leather clothing, with a heavy cape that fluttered even without a breeze. A sword of some sort. His eyes were the only place most people would ever see his true emotions in that form.
The eyes. Windows to the soul.
Oddly appropriate, as that was his existence. A spirit. He had no regular physical form.
Perhaps his only flaw was a lack of creativity. Nothing here was original.
But that was for the organics.
I rise to meet the End.
11.7 kilometer across, as those with permanent organic forms measured such things. 40 square miles, for those less mathematically inclined.
The circular island hung below him, visible yet unreachable and unseeable, without intent.
Fallen angels at my feet
He spun through reality checking in on those who were important.
Melkor: in the depths of the earth. Rage at his presence, and inability to do anything about it.
Sirithil: in her high tower apartment, content in her technology and elvenlore.
The darkness and the light. So different, yet so much the same.
Whispered voices at my ear
Demons and angels, gods and devils. All existed here, in this harmony that was Ardanor.
The fleets orbiting over the surface of this planet, thousands of ships. The firepower to destory the planet a million billion times over. He could wipe them from existence with a mere thought.
Death before my eyes
But no. He had promised long ago, an oath to Eru, that he would not disrupt the balance of power.
He knew what he was, though he had never told anyone. A mistake. A single flawed note in the song of creation.
Lying next to me I fear
Hence his name. Ainulindalion. Son of the Song of the Holy Ones. Son of Creation. Balion, as he was sometimes known. Son of Power.
He was a god, in all but name. But recently, he had discovered a few limits to his power. He had overcome them, though.
But it had disturbed him. Still did in fact. What did it mean?
She beckons me, shall I give in
Yet he returned his focus to his island. The sharply sloping cliffs, leading to a plataeu at 2015 meters.
The forest and the lake, and his fortress. The small village, one hundred people amoung them.
They lived in harmony, acknowledging him, but for the most part, ignoring him.
He had no need for their worship.
Upon my end shall I begin
The outer wall of the castle, holding the gardens, filled with glowing trees and the last of the Mearas, lords of horses. The stones glowed, but were outshown by the metal work of mithril and the light of the trees.
Except in the corners, where the horses dared not tread, for the corners held trees of the deepest shadow, of what could be called nothing but unlight.
By this, balance was maintained. The beasts of the forests were content, and lived with the people of the land, who took no more than they needed, and there was always enough.
Ainulindalion saw to that. No one and no thing would harm the people under his protection, not to significant extent. Their simple existence was one of happiness.
Forsaking all I've fallen for
He slid his conciousness into the castle, examining each room in turn.
The great hall, lined in marble of every color, doors of glowing wood, crystal lights filled with living light.
The guest bed chambers, the game room, the weapons room, where he maintained his collection of rare artifact weapons. The torture room, which he maintained only because it was a castle. He hated that room, especially the machine in the middle of the room, one of the purest evil, capable of corrupting good and making it evil.
The vision room, where he could see anything he chose to see, and could show anyone what they wished to see. The kitchen. Odd for a god, as was the bathroom.
And his bedroom, white and black, in perfect balance, as battles raged in realtime on the wall hangings, and titanic struggles played out at a reduced pace.
He usually maintained a human form. Jet black hair and leather clothing, with a heavy cape that fluttered even without a breeze. A sword of some sort. His eyes were the only place most people would ever see his true emotions in that form.
The eyes. Windows to the soul.
Oddly appropriate, as that was his existence. A spirit. He had no regular physical form.
Perhaps his only flaw was a lack of creativity. Nothing here was original.
But that was for the organics.
I rise to meet the End.