Bad Moon
AN: SilMil…ish?
“I see the bad moon arisin'
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today
Don't go around tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise
I hear hurricanes ablowin'
I know the end is comin' soon
I fear rivers overflowin'
I hear the voice of rage and ruin
Don't go around tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise.”
- CCR, Bad Moon (oh yeah - I find inspiration everywhere!!)
Mortal men look to the pitch black sky and hurry towards shelter - this is not a night to be outside, exposed to the elements. On this evening, only the four citadels of the realm are so bold as to invite tragedy into their lives. From sundown until sunrise many perilous hours from now, these four men are the protectors of Earth, sworn to hold vigil against the blood red satellite looming in the sky above. To keep the world safe, they must perform a horrible task - offerings, four virgin women to the mighty scarlet moon, sacrificed at midnight.
An elaborate ceremony for the changing of the old guard took place near Mid-Winters Eve - legends passed into the night, with four young men - strong, virile, brave - chosen to replace the former icons and stand in their place for the next twenty years.
Tonight, after a day of silent meditation and purifying themselves through fasting and bathing rituals, they don long, dark cloaks, hoods pulled over their faces.
The women, chosen at random from across the kingdom, are clothed in all pristine white and await their sad fates, bound to four ancient trees in the forest. Nothing grows in the circle. It as if the earth knows this terrible place and refuses to take part in the actions. A pile of kindling sits aside, awaiting a spark.
The youngest, a blonde man with nothing but a downy beard on his chin, wavers as he holds the sharpened blade against a young woman’s throat. Her hair, short with a bluish tint, flutters slightly in the breeze - matching the trembling weapon. She remains motionless. The man looks to his left, to the oldest of their group, seeking approval or direction.
With silver hair turned nearly ginger in the red light, the broad shouldered man makes eye contact with the tribute in front of him. Her skin is like porcelain, but her blue eyes are defiant, radiant with life. He has stood down armies. He has battled generals. He has murdered and slain and burned lands. He finds himself struck down by her gaze in an instant.
“Hold,” he tells his comrades.
An unnatural wind surrounds them - throwing back the hoods of their cloaks and revealing their faces - stunned at the turn of events. At the same time fog infiltrates the space, effectively cutting the quartet and the women from the rest of the world. The moon turns swiftly from red to silver, bathing all in an ethereal light.
An apparition appears in front of them, a delicate form clothed in silver, a tall scepter held tight in her left hand.
“You have spared them, why?”
“It is not their time.”
“What will you tell the others? They will want to know there has been blood.”
“We will tell them the goddess has been appeased.” Finding it uncomfortable to be standing in this woman’s presence, the silver haired man kneels and the others follow suit.
"And the bodies? What of the pyre? Of the ashes required for the remainder of this horrific tradition?"
"We..."
"Daughters sacrificed to my evil sister year after year! These four are special - their survival marks a shift. I have waited for you - for them." The men remain motionless. The woman bends her scepter and a brilliant light fills the space, the four women disappear in an instant. As the woman fades from view, she looks to the sky and nods at the Moon and announces, "They are safe. Keep an eye on the stars - they will return. Until then, prepare yourselves."
With nothing remaining, the tall man walks to the branches and sets them alight. The four silently watch the flames in the dark.
AN: The funny thing is that I wanted this to be angsty - like some sort of warm up for next month. D'oh!
“I see the bad moon arisin'
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today
Don't go around tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise
I hear hurricanes ablowin'
I know the end is comin' soon
I fear rivers overflowin'
I hear the voice of rage and ruin
Don't go around tonight
Well, it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise.”
- CCR, Bad Moon (oh yeah - I find inspiration everywhere!!)
Mortal men look to the pitch black sky and hurry towards shelter - this is not a night to be outside, exposed to the elements. On this evening, only the four citadels of the realm are so bold as to invite tragedy into their lives. From sundown until sunrise many perilous hours from now, these four men are the protectors of Earth, sworn to hold vigil against the blood red satellite looming in the sky above. To keep the world safe, they must perform a horrible task - offerings, four virgin women to the mighty scarlet moon, sacrificed at midnight.
An elaborate ceremony for the changing of the old guard took place near Mid-Winters Eve - legends passed into the night, with four young men - strong, virile, brave - chosen to replace the former icons and stand in their place for the next twenty years.
Tonight, after a day of silent meditation and purifying themselves through fasting and bathing rituals, they don long, dark cloaks, hoods pulled over their faces.
The women, chosen at random from across the kingdom, are clothed in all pristine white and await their sad fates, bound to four ancient trees in the forest. Nothing grows in the circle. It as if the earth knows this terrible place and refuses to take part in the actions. A pile of kindling sits aside, awaiting a spark.
The youngest, a blonde man with nothing but a downy beard on his chin, wavers as he holds the sharpened blade against a young woman’s throat. Her hair, short with a bluish tint, flutters slightly in the breeze - matching the trembling weapon. She remains motionless. The man looks to his left, to the oldest of their group, seeking approval or direction.
With silver hair turned nearly ginger in the red light, the broad shouldered man makes eye contact with the tribute in front of him. Her skin is like porcelain, but her blue eyes are defiant, radiant with life. He has stood down armies. He has battled generals. He has murdered and slain and burned lands. He finds himself struck down by her gaze in an instant.
“Hold,” he tells his comrades.
An unnatural wind surrounds them - throwing back the hoods of their cloaks and revealing their faces - stunned at the turn of events. At the same time fog infiltrates the space, effectively cutting the quartet and the women from the rest of the world. The moon turns swiftly from red to silver, bathing all in an ethereal light.
An apparition appears in front of them, a delicate form clothed in silver, a tall scepter held tight in her left hand.
“You have spared them, why?”
“It is not their time.”
“What will you tell the others? They will want to know there has been blood.”
“We will tell them the goddess has been appeased.” Finding it uncomfortable to be standing in this woman’s presence, the silver haired man kneels and the others follow suit.
"And the bodies? What of the pyre? Of the ashes required for the remainder of this horrific tradition?"
"We..."
"Daughters sacrificed to my evil sister year after year! These four are special - their survival marks a shift. I have waited for you - for them." The men remain motionless. The woman bends her scepter and a brilliant light fills the space, the four women disappear in an instant. As the woman fades from view, she looks to the sky and nods at the Moon and announces, "They are safe. Keep an eye on the stars - they will return. Until then, prepare yourselves."
With nothing remaining, the tall man walks to the branches and sets them alight. The four silently watch the flames in the dark.
AN: The funny thing is that I wanted this to be angsty - like some sort of warm up for next month. D'oh!