Rain lashed down on that ravaged plain in furious sheets. The broken earth drank it up through ragged cracks that went down forever.
At the center of the plain, a gaping maw of a hole sucked down water in great, sodden gulps. Perversely, gouts of flame licked up out of it, unnaturally green and purple. A lone figure stood at the edge of the pit, unaware or uncaring of the tremendous heat. Its lips moved, inaudible over the combined roar of rain and fire.
Smoke and steam heaved from the pit, and up rose a great clay monstrosity, towering dozens of feet over the figure below.
“What would have of me, my master?” it bellowed. The figure looked up at the beast, allowing her hood to fall back. Her features were fine and fair, hair so blonde as to be almost white.
Her voice was cold as ice. “Your time of sleep has come to an end, my dear. I have need of a titan.”
The golem pulled its massive bulk out of the pit. “Then let us be on our way,” it replied. It scooped its master up and lumbered out over the plain.
[Originally posted at Ficly.]
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He walks slowly, each lumbering stride carrying him a dozen leagues. Entire villages are crushed beneath his feet; whole nations are shaken by his passing. He cares not one whit. He strides through them like they are grass. They are insignificant in his eyes, for they forgot him long ago.
He chatters with himself for, as the last of his kind, there is no one else with whom to talk. He is the lonely god — and he is stark, raving mad.
“What will it be, Bronze? What will you do now?” he asks himself.
“This,” he replies.
He stoops, and the land beneath him shudders. With his hand, he scoops up a mountain, brushing away dirt and stone until only the thumb-bone of a titan remains in his palm.
“Ah,” he says. “Right where I left it.”
He grins and plops one end of the bone into his mouth, sucking fiercely upon it.
He stands again, and resumes his plodding. The lonely god will not come this way again.
He has that for which he came.
[Originally posted at Ficly]
Air _whooshed_ in and out of the titan’s lungs like enormous bellows. The sound flowed through the mountainous cavern with a sonorous resonance that would have entranced any mere mortal. Each breath built on and amplified the last, cascading into a hypnotic mellifluence that was both beautiful and terrible.
The titan lay upon an enormous slab of granite. Metallic bands, etched with the runes of an ancient, forgotten language, stretched across its sleeping form — one at the shoulders, one at the hips, and one at the knees. Four smaller bands restrained its wrists and ankles.
After aeons of lethargy, the titan had become overgrown with moss. Lichen grew from its ears and the corners of its eyes. Its skin had become calloused and rough, its nails cracked and blackened. Yellowed mucous seeped from its nostrils, and rivers of saliva dripped from its open mouth.
Of course it knew nothing for this, nor would it have cared. This once great titan, this sleeping behemoth, this Tzubletz’th slumbered on.
[Originally posted at Ficly]