It has been fifteen years since the forging of the Seals. A tiny fraction of my life, but one of the slowest to pass. Never have our duties been more numerous, nor more tedious. Despite the indisputable import, enforcing the Treaties across the realms has so far been… unchallenging. Settling innumerable border disputes, silencing the warmongers and breaking apart the ceaseless skirmishing—mission after mission of routine, repetitive work. The fall of the Nephilim has driven a healthy measure of fear into the hearts of the ambitious. Sometimes it is enough to appear within sight of the combatants in the pathetic conflicts I am sent to resolve, for them to disperse before Chaoseater gets a taste of blood.
The crowd cheers, rising from the seats of the marble colosseum in a blinding wave of white robes, whiter hairdos, and a flurry of white wings, as another challenger bites the dust.
Yeah, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Pigeons have their own version of the Arena. They call it “The Dueling Grounds”, and the list of rules is so damn long I got dizzy just watching the scroll unfold. The first one, of course, is that only angels are allowed to fight. Pfft. And he asks me why I feel more at home in Hell despite the heat. There is no place in all of Creation more inclusive than the pits of the Arena. Everyone is welcome to bleed and perish there, bird and bat alike. Here, you’re not even allowed to die.
Look at this. Just sit a while and look at it. It’s so good, it’s hypnotic! I cannot give it enough praise. Look at that phenomenal shade of blue on Strife, and the details on War’s decorations, his magnificent fur cloak and Strife’s smooth, gunslinger’s outfit. Look at how big and fuzzy and warm War is, and how sharp, detailed and cool Strife is. I love War’s fingerless glove and his sturdy hand with well-shaped nails. I love it that Strife has a third eye, a trait of his Riot form. Note the Horsemen symbol on War’s medallion and Strife’s belt, the frickin’ runes on the barrels of Strife’s pistols, and the sting-shaped ends of his scarf. Take a bit to appreciate how all War’s jewelry is round, and all Strife’s, angular. And the subtle inversion in the golden glow of Strife’s eyes and the chilly blue of War’s.
It’s a masterpiece. A thousand words would not suffice.
There was still tape stuck to Nihlus’s nose. Even then, the lines were unbalanced.
Disregarding all else, symmetry is the most important element for traditional insignia.
The light in the cockpit was too dim. It must be the light; Saren hoped it was the light, casting the shadow of a crooked smirk on Nihlus’s otherwise handsome features.
Do not apply more than two coats to the same area. Covering the designated area in a single stroke is optimal in practice.
The stripes over his cheekbones were too thin, but he dared not paint over them a third time. They would become thick and matte, like the ruined pattern over his left ear. A stifling coat that ill suited the texture of his youthful, scarless plates.
Saren leaned back and crossed his arms, inspecting his handiwork.
Nihlus’s body flopped into the navigator’s seat. Nihlus’s mind was still in the corridor; checking the VI’s notice board, turning down the lightstrips, salivating at the smell of lightly-burnt rations wafting from the miniature oven. Must have set it for a few minutes too many. Damn colonial models. Seemed like everyone out there ate their food raw, their kitchens all automated and sterile, like medical labs. No feral varren to fight you for your share on your way back to the hab, no need for fires to scorch away the dirt. Just as well. He’d never fancied the taste of ash.
The screens in the cockpit flickered like the flames in his memory, but without warmth. That came courtesy of the vents on the ceiling, roaring in overtime. A yellow ribbon fluttered in the stream. The thermochromic fabric had turned white at the knot, his favourite litmus test for the temperature of home. A pleasant 310K, long attached to a bill he couldn’t afford. He put his feet up on the console. And now? Who’s got the last hearth now?
