Sorry...No Title for this one
In the tree-clad passes of the highest mountain, a caravan of Halfling monks walked…
There were hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… The numbers did not matter. One was all; and all were one.
Each wore a robe of black and red. Black and red was the color of the order of the Torakean monks. They marched ever on in the moonlight and ever up the mountain, towards the highest peak closest to the sky and closest to the heavens. Their robes were hooded, but an observer, had there been one, might have thought that all their faces beneath may have been the same; there were no variations in height or build amongst the walkers though the robes would likely have blurred any subtle distinctions. Perhaps they all wore the same face beneath the hoods. It didn’t matter one bit.
Indeed, an observer would have seen nothing, for the night draped itself around the figures, even though there was moon-light, climbing so closely it was doubtful the monks could even see each other. Yet none stumbled nor faltered. As though guided by an innate sense, they knew in their hearts, souls and their deepest faith where they were going, and what their purpose was once they arrived at the highest peak…
The lead monk reached the pinnacle of the mountain, and the entire procession froze, as if on cue. It was not a gradual stopping, but a sudden halt – every monk, from the second in line to the very last, knew to stop and all of them did and right on cue. All were still and silent for a moment. Then, from out of the silence…
“All hail the Highlord!” cried the lead monk, and flung himself forward onto his knees, bowing deeply at the waist, face-first onto the ground. Instantly, the entire following did likewise, again with that sudden oneness. A thousand, voices crying, “All hail the Highlord!” with one breath. The sound and the echoes that followed were deafening. Yet none of the worshippers flinched or moved in the slightest. All remained bent in reverence to some unknown power, a power that only they knew and respected.
And they remained so, bent in silent prayers and meditation, until all the echoes had faded and the mountains were still and quiet again.
There were hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands… The numbers did not matter. One was all; and all were one.
Each wore a robe of black and red. Black and red was the color of the order of the Torakean monks. They marched ever on in the moonlight and ever up the mountain, towards the highest peak closest to the sky and closest to the heavens. Their robes were hooded, but an observer, had there been one, might have thought that all their faces beneath may have been the same; there were no variations in height or build amongst the walkers though the robes would likely have blurred any subtle distinctions. Perhaps they all wore the same face beneath the hoods. It didn’t matter one bit.
Indeed, an observer would have seen nothing, for the night draped itself around the figures, even though there was moon-light, climbing so closely it was doubtful the monks could even see each other. Yet none stumbled nor faltered. As though guided by an innate sense, they knew in their hearts, souls and their deepest faith where they were going, and what their purpose was once they arrived at the highest peak…
The lead monk reached the pinnacle of the mountain, and the entire procession froze, as if on cue. It was not a gradual stopping, but a sudden halt – every monk, from the second in line to the very last, knew to stop and all of them did and right on cue. All were still and silent for a moment. Then, from out of the silence…
“All hail the Highlord!” cried the lead monk, and flung himself forward onto his knees, bowing deeply at the waist, face-first onto the ground. Instantly, the entire following did likewise, again with that sudden oneness. A thousand, voices crying, “All hail the Highlord!” with one breath. The sound and the echoes that followed were deafening. Yet none of the worshippers flinched or moved in the slightest. All remained bent in reverence to some unknown power, a power that only they knew and respected.
And they remained so, bent in silent prayers and meditation, until all the echoes had faded and the mountains were still and quiet again.
posted by Logan at 11:04 PM
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