(no subject)
Finally got some work done on Infornography. I've been away from this novel for way too long.
The temple filled quickly. The crowd consisted of the very young and the old, though Silver was surprised by the number of street ruffians scattered throughout. Several bore the distinct markings of the Bludfists.
Before everyone was seated, the lights dimmed. It was almost completely dark. There was an initial bustle, as people hastened to get settled, but when the chanting began, all movement stopped.
Oh Mother, We Adore You
Oh Mother, We Are Grateful
It took him a moment to locate the speaker, a red-robed priest in the darkest corner of the dais. A single beam of light was turned on, illuminating the chanting monk. For an instant, Silver was awed by the priest's magnificence. His robes were of some luxurious fur, dyed brilliant crimson. The hood was pulled up over his head, allowing only some of his golden hair to spill out. Chanting, his voice was commanding, lending importance to the simple phrases he repeated over and over. They filled the large chamber, physically wrapping around Silver through some trick of acoustics, then penetrating him from all sides.
Blinking and turning away, he couldn't escape the dazzle. There were more priests now, filing in through hidden passages, and carrying candles. Their voices added counterpoint to the chanting, finding empty spaces around the first priest's words to fill and driving the sounds deeper inside him. He fought against it, frightened by the intensity. This was nothing he remembered, these words that both violated and uplifted him. It was violent and serene at once, pleasure and pain.
In repetition the words lost all meaning, and yet became more real. They were physical, tangible things that caressed his skin and sent waves of sensation inside him. He was filled by their presence, and felt tension building in his muscles. The sounds collided inside him now, so many patterns of spoken discord weaving their vibrations through his flesh and mind that he could no longer keep them separate.
Become one single entity of vibration, the words smashed against him again and again. Silver gritted his teeth, awaiting some climatic release from the tightness making his toes curl up and his hands grasp pointlessly at empty air.
As the sounds softened, and separated, he reached after them, chasing the soft echoes that faded throughout the room. When he realized the monks were done chanting he felt absence, and longing.
The temple filled quickly. The crowd consisted of the very young and the old, though Silver was surprised by the number of street ruffians scattered throughout. Several bore the distinct markings of the Bludfists.
Before everyone was seated, the lights dimmed. It was almost completely dark. There was an initial bustle, as people hastened to get settled, but when the chanting began, all movement stopped.
Oh Mother, We Adore You
Oh Mother, We Are Grateful
It took him a moment to locate the speaker, a red-robed priest in the darkest corner of the dais. A single beam of light was turned on, illuminating the chanting monk. For an instant, Silver was awed by the priest's magnificence. His robes were of some luxurious fur, dyed brilliant crimson. The hood was pulled up over his head, allowing only some of his golden hair to spill out. Chanting, his voice was commanding, lending importance to the simple phrases he repeated over and over. They filled the large chamber, physically wrapping around Silver through some trick of acoustics, then penetrating him from all sides.
Blinking and turning away, he couldn't escape the dazzle. There were more priests now, filing in through hidden passages, and carrying candles. Their voices added counterpoint to the chanting, finding empty spaces around the first priest's words to fill and driving the sounds deeper inside him. He fought against it, frightened by the intensity. This was nothing he remembered, these words that both violated and uplifted him. It was violent and serene at once, pleasure and pain.
In repetition the words lost all meaning, and yet became more real. They were physical, tangible things that caressed his skin and sent waves of sensation inside him. He was filled by their presence, and felt tension building in his muscles. The sounds collided inside him now, so many patterns of spoken discord weaving their vibrations through his flesh and mind that he could no longer keep them separate.
Become one single entity of vibration, the words smashed against him again and again. Silver gritted his teeth, awaiting some climatic release from the tightness making his toes curl up and his hands grasp pointlessly at empty air.
As the sounds softened, and separated, he reached after them, chasing the soft echoes that faded throughout the room. When he realized the monks were done chanting he felt absence, and longing.