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fiveminute06

Page history last edited by Joe 14 years, 5 months ago

Fourteen Years Later


 

The tiny fires of a hundred burning candles danced slowly in the cold, dark sanctuary of a long abandoned cathedral, its gothic stone architecture aged and crumbling like the skeletal remains of some long dead animal. Where church pews once held the faithful, now dozens of cloaked figures stood, dressed in dark purple robes, their faces hidden from each other, hoods pulled low over their eyes. From the narthex, one of these hooded figures began a slow march down the tattered red carpet towards the altar in front of the silent audience. And as he walked, he began to speak, his rich voice echoing off the decrepit walls.

 

"Brothers and sisters, our retribution is at hand."

 

The candles flickered, illuminating the dark violet robes, shadows dancing menacingly across the walls.

 

"For many years, we have gathered, silent, in zealous meditation, seeking answers to questions long forgotten. For too long, we have suffered in our lack of knowledge. These questions plague us, disturbing us in our daydreams and haunting us in our nightmares."

 

The figure slowly ascended the steps before the chipped stone podium and turned towards the gathering of mysterious figures.

 

"We have seen things that were never meant to be seen, and are left deserted in our thirst for truth. No longer shall we suffer this hardship. No longer shall we be quietly tortured by our doubts. How I have longed for this day.”

 

As the hooded man slowly raised his hands, the candles in the cathedral seemed to glow brighter, illuminating the apse of the large cathedral.

 

"We have learned who is responsible for our suffering. The ones responsible for taking away from us that which was never theirs to begin with."

 

The hooded figure turned his back to the audience and removed his dark violet hood, untamed blond hair flowing free around his shoulders as he looked up at the primitive canvas that hung from the ceiling, glowing from the light of the burning candles.

 

"They shall pay for their deeds. All shall fall."

 

"ALL SHALL FALL." The gathered spoke in unison, their combined voices sounding ominous. All looked up to view the canvas and the strange symbol painted upon it: three spirals, all spinning outward until they are connected in the center. Some have called it, appropriately, the Triple Spiral, representing life, death and rebirth. What made this symbol different are the three large gashes that had been ripped across it into the canvas.

 

"Yes," the blond haired man spoke quietly, "All shall fall..."


 

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