Edena_of_Neith
First Post
With the advent of nuclear weapons, and the implications of those weapons, the Angels appear for the first time in the world of Oerth.
- - -
The people of the Flanaess have been forced into the cities, now that the countryside cannot support them, and most of the 170 million people of this part of the Oerik continent live in the new, fortress-like sprawls of concrete and steel.
In apartments that enable them to survive, but not to live, Oerth's people huddle, surviving on the small rations given them, drinking the water ration allowed (only so much can be purified of disease with the magic available.)
There is no mirth, no laughter, no hope, and no future.
The advent of nuclear weapons means these people have nothing to look forward but their own deaths, without recourse, having nowhere to run or to hide.
Many of these people, blind, wounded, mutilated, slowly dying, would prefer not to live any longer.
A lot of people have been praying. Praying for help and hope that has not come.
Until now.
A radiance comes into a thousand apartments, fills tens of thousands of dim, dark rooms.
It beams down into towns in the country, where people huddle in structures still standing, striving in vain to harvest what crops remain, knowing they won't survive the winter.
The light shines on the uncounted thousands of wounded men and women, some without legs, some without arms, many with bandages permanently wrapped around ruined eyes.
It shines down on tramatized children whose parents are gone, on tramatized children who have sat and wondered why the people they trusted couldn't make the world right, couldn't make it safe again, couldn't stop it from hurting them.
It shines on those without hope, without a future, people who can only wait for the bombs and the oblivion they will bring.
Out of that light step the Angels.
They are transparent, the Angels. One can see the walls of the sickrooms through them and their robes.
They shine with an inner light, the Angels. The light is all about them, on their gossamer garments, their hair, their gentle faces.
Those faces are ageless, and genderless, but altogether beautiful.
They carry gossamer swords which are sheathed in transparent, white sheaths.
Their wings are not visible.
With silent grace and without speaking a word, the Angels step up to those who are lost.
Those looking into those radiant faces see expressions of sadness and pain.
In those eyes, however, is deep compassion and love, and these feelings are instantly known by all who the Angels look at, even those who are semi-concious or unconscious.
It is like being wrapped in the arms of someone very powerful, and very tender, or if one is a child, like being held by one's mother.
Physically and mentally, it comes as a wave of reassurance that the nightmare will end now.
The horror will be relegated to memory only.
The pain is going to stop.
There will be peace and healing and joy in it's place.
Then, the Angels reach out with ethereal hands to those who are stricken, laying in bed, dying, or huddled in their rooms, children huddled in corners, adults sitting listlessly without hope, millions of people for whom this stricken world no longer has a place.
There is no question that the Angels intend to take these people from Oerth to Toril.
There is no question that the intend to do so right now.
However, the Angels go everywhere - including places such as the Dark Union and the Empire of Iuz, and even to the Solistarim and the fell races of the Underdark.
Their hands are not reached out to warriors, fierce and eager to continue the battle.
Their hands are not reached out to those planning new war.
Their hands are not reached out to those researching new ways to employ magic and science to kill.
Their hands are not reached out to anyone who does not want them.
As it would happen, more than 150 million of the 170 million people of the Flanaess, want them.
There are only a few hundred Angels.
Does anyone hinder them, or try to stop them by force?
Does anyone try to speak to them?
- - -
The people of the Flanaess have been forced into the cities, now that the countryside cannot support them, and most of the 170 million people of this part of the Oerik continent live in the new, fortress-like sprawls of concrete and steel.
In apartments that enable them to survive, but not to live, Oerth's people huddle, surviving on the small rations given them, drinking the water ration allowed (only so much can be purified of disease with the magic available.)
There is no mirth, no laughter, no hope, and no future.
The advent of nuclear weapons means these people have nothing to look forward but their own deaths, without recourse, having nowhere to run or to hide.
Many of these people, blind, wounded, mutilated, slowly dying, would prefer not to live any longer.
A lot of people have been praying. Praying for help and hope that has not come.
Until now.
A radiance comes into a thousand apartments, fills tens of thousands of dim, dark rooms.
It beams down into towns in the country, where people huddle in structures still standing, striving in vain to harvest what crops remain, knowing they won't survive the winter.
The light shines on the uncounted thousands of wounded men and women, some without legs, some without arms, many with bandages permanently wrapped around ruined eyes.
It shines down on tramatized children whose parents are gone, on tramatized children who have sat and wondered why the people they trusted couldn't make the world right, couldn't make it safe again, couldn't stop it from hurting them.
It shines on those without hope, without a future, people who can only wait for the bombs and the oblivion they will bring.
Out of that light step the Angels.
They are transparent, the Angels. One can see the walls of the sickrooms through them and their robes.
They shine with an inner light, the Angels. The light is all about them, on their gossamer garments, their hair, their gentle faces.
Those faces are ageless, and genderless, but altogether beautiful.
They carry gossamer swords which are sheathed in transparent, white sheaths.
Their wings are not visible.
With silent grace and without speaking a word, the Angels step up to those who are lost.
Those looking into those radiant faces see expressions of sadness and pain.
In those eyes, however, is deep compassion and love, and these feelings are instantly known by all who the Angels look at, even those who are semi-concious or unconscious.
It is like being wrapped in the arms of someone very powerful, and very tender, or if one is a child, like being held by one's mother.
Physically and mentally, it comes as a wave of reassurance that the nightmare will end now.
The horror will be relegated to memory only.
The pain is going to stop.
There will be peace and healing and joy in it's place.
Then, the Angels reach out with ethereal hands to those who are stricken, laying in bed, dying, or huddled in their rooms, children huddled in corners, adults sitting listlessly without hope, millions of people for whom this stricken world no longer has a place.
There is no question that the Angels intend to take these people from Oerth to Toril.
There is no question that the intend to do so right now.
However, the Angels go everywhere - including places such as the Dark Union and the Empire of Iuz, and even to the Solistarim and the fell races of the Underdark.
Their hands are not reached out to warriors, fierce and eager to continue the battle.
Their hands are not reached out to those planning new war.
Their hands are not reached out to those researching new ways to employ magic and science to kill.
Their hands are not reached out to anyone who does not want them.
As it would happen, more than 150 million of the 170 million people of the Flanaess, want them.
There are only a few hundred Angels.
Does anyone hinder them, or try to stop them by force?
Does anyone try to speak to them?
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