Username: tehexile Any background information: Excerpt:
“The Dragon of Heaven and the Dragon of Earth,” Lord Broken told him, “Are the symbols of the Celestial and Infernal Offices respectively. They represent its timeless, cyclical nature, its authority over all planes of existence and its duty to preserve order above all things. The way that the dragons intertwine symbolises the relationship between the two Offices; apart, but together. Overlapping, but with their own separate duties. Often in conflict, but always ultimately working towards the same goals.”
“So, is it based on a real Dragon of Heaven and Earth, or are they just a metaphor?” asked Scribe.
“Some of the oldest Celestials and Infernals say that they remember the First Founding of the Order, and they say that the Dragons themselves personally directed them in their duties,” replied his Master, “Although it is unlikely that anyone alive today really remembers that far back. The First Founding was at the time of the very creation of the Universe!”
“We aren't immortal?” he asked.
“Nothing's immortal. Ageing isn't just waiting to get older, you know, we all do things that wear us slowly down. Everyone and everything wears out eventually, and they'll be replaced by something new. Some of us are very old, because we're very simple beings, when it comes down to it. We don't have the same freedom and choices that pull people's souls apart. But we can't last forever.”
“I wasn't there at the First Founding, but I was there after everything got built, and when the Laws were being decided,” added Lysander, “Now that was an exciting time!”
“Did you see the Dragons?”
“No, no, I was nobody important at the time. They'd never bother appearing in front of me!”
“I think I've seen them,” said Scribe, “And I know I'm nobody that important. Not on that kind of scale.”
“Well, maybe you just caught sight of them doing something unrelated to you,” he said, “What were they doing, by the way?”
Scribe repeated what he'd seen, and they listened with interest, and nodded.
“The Moon, eh?” said Lysander, looking up at the sky. Mostly they saw the cogs and wheels of the machinery that controlled the world, slowly turning. It was much the same view as the Infernal Plane, except that you could see the top, not the bottom, and there were less sharp, grinding things and there was no furnace, although you still didn't want to fall into the machinery. You could dimly see the Moon from between two cogs. Scribe hadn't realised you could see it from here.
“Its much larger here than back home,” he commented.
“That's because we're closer to it,” said Lysander.
“Time to put out the lanterns,” interrupted Lord Broken.
“I'll do that!” said Scribe, “Give me the key to the shed!”
Lord Broken laughed and gave the key to his apprentice, who ran off to the shed where the lanterns were kept and began pulling them out. He lit each one and ran with it across the Broken City, climbing up onto the lower cogs and jumping from gear to gear, finding the handles and hooks where they could hang a lantern and placing the looped cord over it. Soon, everywhere would be lit, and the clockwork dolls could begin their night shift. They didn't tire, but they couldn't see in the dark. They weren't perfect, and each one had some small defect that lent a strange kind of creativity to their work. Quite often, Lord Broken's orders weren't taken entirely how he meant them to, but the cogs were always well polished and the world kept turning.
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Any background information:
Excerpt:
“The Dragon of Heaven and the Dragon of Earth,” Lord Broken told him, “Are the symbols of the Celestial and Infernal Offices respectively. They represent its timeless, cyclical nature, its authority over all planes of existence and its duty to preserve order above all things. The way that the dragons intertwine symbolises the relationship between the two Offices; apart, but together. Overlapping, but with their own separate duties. Often in conflict, but always ultimately working towards the same goals.”
“So, is it based on a real Dragon of Heaven and Earth, or are they just a metaphor?” asked Scribe.
“Some of the oldest Celestials and Infernals say that they remember the First Founding of the Order, and they say that the Dragons themselves personally directed them in their duties,” replied his Master, “Although it is unlikely that anyone alive today really remembers that far back. The First Founding was at the time of the very creation of the Universe!”
“We aren't immortal?” he asked.
“Nothing's immortal. Ageing isn't just waiting to get older, you know, we all do things that wear us slowly down. Everyone and everything wears out eventually, and they'll be replaced by something new. Some of us are very old, because we're very simple beings, when it comes down to it. We don't have the same freedom and choices that pull people's souls apart. But we can't last forever.”
“I wasn't there at the First Founding, but I was there after everything got built, and when the Laws were being decided,” added Lysander, “Now that was an exciting time!”
“Did you see the Dragons?”
“No, no, I was nobody important at the time. They'd never bother appearing in front of me!”
“I think I've seen them,” said Scribe, “And I know I'm nobody that important. Not on that kind of scale.”
“Well, maybe you just caught sight of them doing something unrelated to you,” he said, “What were they doing, by the way?”
Scribe repeated what he'd seen, and they listened with interest, and nodded.
“The Moon, eh?” said Lysander, looking up at the sky. Mostly they saw the cogs and wheels of the machinery that controlled the world, slowly turning. It was much the same view as the Infernal Plane, except that you could see the top, not the bottom, and there were less sharp, grinding things and there was no furnace, although you still didn't want to fall into the machinery. You could dimly see the Moon from between two cogs. Scribe hadn't realised you could see it from here.
“Its much larger here than back home,” he commented.
“That's because we're closer to it,” said Lysander.
“Time to put out the lanterns,” interrupted Lord Broken.
“I'll do that!” said Scribe, “Give me the key to the shed!”
Lord Broken laughed and gave the key to his apprentice, who ran off to the shed where the lanterns were kept and began pulling them out. He lit each one and ran with it across the Broken City, climbing up onto the lower cogs and jumping from gear to gear, finding the handles and hooks where they could hang a lantern and placing the looped cord over it. Soon, everywhere would be lit, and the clockwork dolls could begin their night shift. They didn't tire, but they couldn't see in the dark. They weren't perfect, and each one had some small defect that lent a strange kind of creativity to their work. Quite often, Lord Broken's orders weren't taken entirely how he meant them to, but the cogs were always well polished and the world kept turning.