A Solitary God In A Dark Multiverse - 233 New Perspectives

The miners were decked out in standard-issue safety gear. They all had helmets on, their headgear being the source of the light that enabled them to study the wall in the first place. They also had on brightly colored security vests which enabled them to stand out against the darkness of the mine they entered daily and had to brave five days a week. They also had toolbelts wrapped around their waists, which were outfitted with the tools of their particular trade. Their hands were protected, somewhat, by the thick gloves they all wore.

A few minutes passed, and during that time none of the miners spoke. None of them were especially chatty, and so they all waited for their shift-boss to come to a decision about whether or not to try and mine the wall. Their boss was the tallest and oldest member of this particular crew. He was also one of the few men to have a full beard.

There was a rather difficult to read expression on his face as he studied the wall. Eventually, the man lifted his pickaxe, grabbing the thing from his toolbelt. He took a step forward, aimed at where many of the beams of light were focused and began to swing his pickaxe at the brightest spot on the wall.

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In a forest located not far from the mine where the miners labored, hoping to finish their work swiftly, another group of individuals were performing a different but far more important sort of labor. They were gathered in a single chamber in a newly constructed and unusual temple, and they were prostrating themselves before a silent and still pool.

The creatures resembled a cross between humans and snakes. They had the sinuous tails of serpents where their legs should have been, and their skin was hidden beneath a layer of thick scales. They had the upper bodies of humans, complete with arms and even human-like heads. They were dozens of them and they were all hissing a quiet hymn to their master.

The sibilant sound they made filled the chamber with a haunting and glorious noise. They had been making the sound for a few minutes now, and this was a daily ritual that they performed as they began to end the day.

The serpents-turned-nagas were Althonites, worshipers of the ophidian overlord himself. Each of them had individually felt the divine touch, the divine potency of their creator, and upon evolving into mighty nagas they had felt a compulsion fill them and bring them to the temple. Upon arriving here days ago they immediately joined together and devoted themselves to the service of their maker, hoping to divine his will and enact it however he demanded.

Their creator had not left his will a mystery. Within hours of their arrival in the temple he had told them what he wanted. He informed them that they were to be a secret society devoted to advancing the Althonite agenda amongst the people of Silverok, and that for now they were to begin by tending too and indoctrinating the resurrected humans he had placed within the bowls of the temple.

For the past few days this had been what they had done. They cared for the humans, while slowly introducing them to their master and then telling them a surprisingly honest account of the creature they served.

The humans who had temporarily lived in the temple learned of Althos. Their serpentine caretakers told them of the mysterious, otherworldly entity who possessed the power of resurrection, the power to enter and control dreams, and even the power to create life from nothing. The humans were told of how the god had resurrected them and hoped to inspire them to take on the tyrannical government of Silverok.

The serpentine priests, priestesses, warlocks, and witches, were blessed by their god and received immense boosts to their charisma and intelligence. The humans swiftly became putty in their hands, easily becoming fervent worshippers of the strange deity who invaded their dreams and whispered hypnotically to them even when his ophidian missionaries were not filling their heads with secondhand messages from the god of lust himself.

The humans had left the temple earlier today, mere minutes ago, and were now back in the homes of their families thanks to Althos’ divine interevention. That said the homes would otherwise be empty for a few more hours. Althos was unbothered by that, as the god had gradually begun to become patient, a trait that would serve him well in the days to come.

The serpentine cult devoted to the sinister lord of shadows continued their unusual form of prayer. The high priest of the cult was a rather plain-looking naga dressed in ornate robes made by Althos himself. The robes were a stunning shade of green that was unusually vibrant given the nature of the darkened chamber the cult found itself in each afternoon.

The finely dressed naga was also the serpent closest to the small, circular pool that the cult was momentarily situated around. It was a small body of water that resided within an artfully constructed marble basin. The basin, like everything else in the temple, was handmade by the deity. None of the serpents knew the precise purpose of the basin, though they knew that their god was also a creature of elemental power, and so they suspected that perhaps their creator was himself intrinsically tied to water in such a way that this basin was a sort of small holy place to him.

Perhaps fifteen minutes after the serpentine hissing had begun the noise began to die down. As the noise began to die down the greatest of the assembled naga, the high priest himself, began to cease his prostrations. He slowly and boldly began to lift his head and then the rest of his long and snakelike body up from the floor. As he did he looked up at the basin, the small marble pool that he directed his prayers towards.

The small marble pool was still, as undisturbed and as calming to behold as it had always been. The snakelike creature was still for a moment, before he heard a quiet voice in the back of his mind let out a pleased whisper.

“Come Silverfang. Speak to your congregation.” The voice whispered. Silverfang, the high priest of the small temple, let out a pleased hiss. The sound filled the serpents closest to him with relief, and they almost inaudibly also let out soft sighs of their own.

Now “standing” as tall as Silverfang could he slowly slithered over to the foot of the basin. As he did that more and more of his spiritual disciples, the congregants he had gathered, began to rise up from their own prostrations and silently watched him. Their silted, serpentine eyes were filled with curiosity as this was a new action on his part, not something he had done before.

When he reached the foot of the basin he turned to face the snakes Althos had gathered. The number of naga before the high priest numbered in the dozens, all of whom wore clothes given to their them by their god. They all wore differently colored robes and different pieces of jewelry that accentuated different features of theirs.

The scene was strange, as none of them knew why their god had behaved the way he had. And yet each of them was uniquely grateful to their god, and delight and pious gratitude was visible on their reptilian faces. Silverfang studied them for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak, inspired by his god to give a speech to the congregation.

“I am standing before you after having received encouragement by the Sibilant Serpent himself!” The naga priest began, speaking powerfully. His words elicited a soft gasp from the gathered nagas, as their god had only spoken to them directly in unison until this point. Aside from dreams if the Sibilant Serpent had had something to say he would have spoken to them all, not picked and chosen one of them.

“I know the truth is shocking, but nevertheless it is the truth. He who elevated us from complacency whispered in my mind to come and speak to you.” The naga confessed. As the assembled nagas took one collective breathe, the quiet god they worshiped whispered into Silverfang’s mind once again.

“I reward those who serve me well. Tell the serpents that you are hereby infused with my authority. As a result of this, your words are my words. So long as you serve me and see to the duties I assign to you, you shall have a place of authority and respect amongst your peers.” The voice whispered, conferring a reward to Silverfang.

This caused the serpent to begin to smile, something which he immediately tried to rein in and get under his control when he realized it was happening to him. The naga did his best to contain his smile as he began to ready himself to repeat what he had just been informed.

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Over two hours later night was falling as a lone man made his way home. He was an inhabitant of the city of Rockvale, the city closest to the mine that the group of laborers he was a part of had just finished working in for the day and for the week. It was the end of a long and physically challenging week.

The man was sore all over as he slowly trodded over to the home he owned on the outskirts of the city. Stars twinkled in the sky overhead and the man did his best to keep his eyes down and be ignored by anyone who might be watching. The streets weren’t safe and the man knew that. All he wanted to do was get home and lay down so that his muscles might recover before his next shift in roughly 60 hours.

The man’s body felt light without the weight of the safety gear he often lugged around as a part of his job, but the exhaustion he felt was the sort that lingered in his very bones. He struggled to keep going, but each step brought him closer and closer to where he wanted to be so he managed to pull off the impressive feat of getting close enough that eventually he could see his home in the distance.

When the man’s home appeared in the distance his eyes widened in delight, even if he had seen the sight of his home for many, many nights over the course of the last year. He quickened his pace and began to close the distance between himself and the meek, one-story, two-bedroom house the government had commanded his family live in a long time ago.

The man walked, at a somewhat speedy pace, for a few minutes until eventually he stood right outside of his home and began to fumble with the keys. As he grappled the keychain he kept on his person at all times his mind turned towards the distant past.

He recalled a childhood wherein many early memories were of this city’s alleyways and dead-end streets. He was a native of this city, which was unsurprising since travel was strictly restricted and difficult to execute safely. He also recalled the warmth of his family, something that didn’t often cross my mind as the last of his family members had perished a long time ago.

As his fingers landed on the key he knew corresponded to the locked door that separated him from dinner and then probably bed, he felt tears well up in his eyes for some reason. The miner and general laborer was not the most empathetic sort, but even he found it unusual to feel a minor rush of emotion out of the blue.

For the briefest instant the man’s grandmother appeared in his mind’s eye, the image of him speaking to her filling his mind. As it did he ruminated on how much he missed her. That said such thoughts proved to be a distraction. They only increased the difficulty of the man attempting to unlock his own door and enter his own home.

Eventually though the man succeeded in unlocking the door and pushing it open. As it opened he took his first steps inside his own home, fully suspecting that the day would be normal until he saw none other than his grandmother patiently and happily seated in one of the few chairs that he possessed. His grandmother was facing the door as it had opened, having heard the thing swung open and turning in time to face her grandson, who almost immediately dropped the keychain that he had been holding.

He took one step into his home, skeptically, logically doubting that his deceased grandmother had returned to life. That said he couldn’t hide his emotions either. Not entirely, even while his analytical mind attempted to make sense of what were happening in front of him. There was a shocked smile on his lips, even as tears welled up in his eyes and he had to fight the urge to dash towards the woman in his kitchen and ask her if she could possibly be who he dared hope she was.