| Logs |
2009 May 19
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Aria d'Inanna, First Stanza
As with most dreams, one moment Mikal is facing the wrathful angel Janiel, the next she is elsewhere. It is warm here, and dusty, but there is a fertile scent to the ground from which trees and grasses spring. It makes her think of an oasis in the desert. From far off, there are voices, as if there is a crowd or a town, but they seem oddly distant.
The oasis is not virginal, though; there are some stone structures here, a little overgrown in this part of it. Stone steps, broken urns, some toppled statuary seem to litter this depression, this shallow, fertile crevice that Mikal finds herself in.
Mikal looks around puzzledly, and feels quiet regret wash over her at the messy condition of the place. She walks slowly through the little oasis, wondering why she's here. Her voice is soft, "Raphael? Can you scent if anyone's been here in a while?"
Raphael snuffles about a little, and lets Mikal know that there are people who come around here but it's a little infrequent.
Mikal nods, faintly relieved to hear there's no one here presently. She drifts slowly around the buildings, looking down at the fallen statuary and the broken urns. After a moment, though, she pauses by one of the statues, wondering if she can push it back upright and onto its plinth. There's something about this damaged area that bothers her.
It takes some doing, but fortunately Mikal manages to get the statue upright. It's simple stone, but hardy what one would call even remotely sophisticated, crudely carved and shaped. She studies it thoughtfully as she brushes the dirt off it, wondering who or what it commemorates. Nobody puts up statues without reason, especially in a distant oasis.
If nothing else, it takes too much effort to do thoughtlessly.
The ravine is otherwise quiet. Up above, Mikal can see light, more trees, and other greenery. It is not a difficult climb out of the ravine.
The statue is not recognizable as anything or anyone Mikal is familiar with. Its curves certainly suggest a feminine form, but beyond that there is no clue.
Mikal wonders a bit wistfully if she's the Goddess. Mikal misses Her. The small girl sighs softly, then looks up at where Raphael's already sniffing around up near the edge of the ravine. She trots after him, calling quietly, "Anything interesting, Raph?"
It doesn't occur to Mikal to wonder where the thought about the Goddess came from -- that one feels deep and integral to her being.
Raphael bounds up the edges of the ravine, perching at the edge and looking outwards. His 'mental stance' goes from curiosity... to amazement.
Mikal follows the big raptor-wolf up, wondering what's so amazing that it astonishes even her laconic half-brother. She looks around, panting slightly in the dry heat, a moment later.
Once she reaches that point, she sees why the ancient temple was apparently abandoned long ago: There is a newer temple.
She stands, she knows, on a hill overlooking ancient, hoary Uruk, the first city dedicated to Inanna. Mikal knows the legend well: How the city of Aratta was once home of the goddess Inanna, before Enmerkar of Uruk persuaded her to make Uruk her favored place. And here it stands, no mere temple to a goddess but a zigguraut constructed so carefully and royally as to be nothing less than the home of a goddess herself.
The temple-home is massive, dozens of steps leading up to the peak of the zigguraut, all whitewashed in pristine white so as to be blinding in the light. The headpiece of the zigguraut is of silver, with the great symbols of the goddess engraved and placed upon it. Braziers burn fiercely, proclaiming the presence of the goddess. And rows and rows of devout go unto her temple. There is no other building in Uruk as magnificent as the House of Heaven.
Mikal blinks slowly, her eyes wide in wonder as she looks slowly around her. Softly she whispers to Raphael, "Isn't it beautiful, Raph? It's j-just like I remember!"
Mikal adds in quietly growing happiness, "Her priestess Enheduanna should be within, I think!"
Raphael is still more than a little surprised at going from angelic wrath to this, but he remains close by Mikal.
Uruk spreads out before her, and yet she feels no tension or stress at it's viewing, nothing screaming at her to flee the confines of the city for the forest. Instead it is simply Uruk. Her eye falls on a procession of priestesses moving towards the temple, with chimes and incense, garbed in white cotton gowns
Mikal is bemused by that also, but the joy of seeing the Lady's temple far outweighs that concern. She paces slowly into the city with Raphael, heading for the temple and looking around in increasing happiness. It feels like home to her! The only thing that seems at all anomalous to her is, oddly enough, Raphael. Part of her keeps expecting to see a lion, not a raptor-wolf, when she glances down at where her hand rests on the heavy maned creature pacing slowly next to her, looking around in equal interest.
Descending into the city is like descending into a dream, a dream of someone once known but forgotten, and now hints of it coming back. She knows these streets, these walls, knows them as well as if she walked them, touched them. Here is the great bazaar, where goods from all over Sumer are hawked by travelling merchants. Here the barracks, where kilted and helmeted warriors train with bronze spear and shield. And here the great processional, pillars and steles lining the pathway, hung with banners and cloths that somehow Mikal knows will not survive the coming millennia, but which now are great swaths of color against the blue sky. And here is the processon of Inanna's own, sandaled feet rustling against the ground as they walk to the geat House of Heaven, music and incense preceeding and following them.
Mikal beams with delight, her eyes shining as she watches the sacred drummers and singers, the light-footed dancers with be-ribboned tamborines... her own feet feel almost twitchy with a desire to laugh and dance with them, free of worry and glowing with rapture. Without realizing it her small fist closes in longing in Raphael's heavy mane; she hasn't noticed yet that she's once more dressed in her ceremonial robes and attired as a warrior queen.
The scene retains it's dreamlike quality, becoming almost ethereal with the music and the incense. It still retains that quality, even as the processional's singing seems to fade into the distance (though they still stand there) and the sun is devoured by an eclipse. And then suddenly the mailed priests of Anu appear at the other end of the processional, maces and socket-axes brandished.
Is it possible that even this far back, so relatively soon after the fall of the Abelites at Jericho and the rise of Enoch in impossibly-far-off Nod, the seeds of religious war have already been sown and are bearing awful, sour fruit? Could the conflict between Shekhina and the Architect even have started this early, in the form of Inanna and Anu? Wether it does or not, the priests of Anu, faces twisted into masks of mad fury, begin their charge down the street at the priestesses of the other major deity of Uruk. For the House of Heaven is walled off from the rest of Uruk, and only on such a processional day as this would those devoted to the goddess be outside the temple's walls.
Mikal looks shocked -- surely none would dare attack Her house and Her priestesses?! She's already reacting, though, in a way she wouldn't dream of doing were she in her supposed right mind -- calmly unshouldering the bow and stepping forward, turning sideways to aim and smoothly nocking an arrow as she calls out strongly, "Priests of Anu, stop! Desist in this wrong action!"
Raphael is somehow huge now -- though not a lion, he seems to have grown in size; his hackles rising as he growls, loud enough to shake the ground.
Mikal frowns as the attackers do not hesitate in their rush. This is deeply, profanely wrong, and she somehow knows the madness is laid upon the priests, rather than being inherently part of them. She fires an arrow to strike like a thunderclap in the ground before them, to throw them back and hopefully knock them back into their right senses.
The priests scuffle to a stop, staring, as the thunder echoes throughout the city; meanwhile the troop of priestesses do not cower but rather stand behind Mikal. A grave silence fills the city, as the priests, their eyes dazed from madness, stand uneasily
Two of the priests are pushed roughly to the side. The priest who steps forward between them is hulking though he is not noticably taller. Unlike the others, he is clean-shaven, with no beard, and his hair is shorn to a bald pate as well. Like Mikal, he too carries a strung bow, and a wicked sickle thrust into the belt of his kilt, his leathern sandals crunching against the ground. His eyes are not clouded with the same madness, but rather with darker, more twisted thoughts, a cunning kind of madness.
Mikal stands easily, proudly in place, and calls calmingly to the priests, "What ails you, my brothers? Why do you come in battlegear here, on this feast day of our Lady? Be at peace; lay down your arms and armor, and return with the sacred qadishim to Her temple, there to participate in the holy rites, to pray to the Queen of Heaven and Earth for Her wisdom and guidance."
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