A
clanking patchwork of clay and stone. The rough form of a man formed
by a hundred hands*. The statue pieces that make his body are ruined
scraps from the fallen idols of cities lost beneath the earth.
The
hands arranged to strike down gods that eyes were carved to see. The
chest a daemons, weirdly shaped. One leg of marble made to hold up
worlds, the other treading snakes as ancient foes. The curling
serpents carried still upon the toes, and worn with endless tread but
writing still. The nose, patrician emperors the chin, a saints, the
hair, arranged from naiads, nymphs and fools.
This
creature questing endlessly and lost within it's memories halls. But
filled with fiery purpose to some end, and knowing absolutely it was
made for some great act. Or condemned for crimes it can't recall.
It
may be right.
(mashed
up collective memories of a dozen cultures could perhaps be useful to
adventurers.)
*Ok, probably not a
hundred.
No comments:
Post a Comment