I’ve often wondered how man came to be this way: mechanical, artificial, blasphemous. I’ve often simply sat in my home after my sermons and asked myself how so very many people could be led astray. They were to be pitied, and corrected. They are the students who must be taught by those privileged enough to understand, and those gifted enough to hear the voice of Gaia as it floats atop the wind.
But I digress. It was time for action, not deep thought. My brethren and I moved silently through our beloved forest, flitting past the trees, great monarchs of the wood. The city, a vile scar upon the courtly visage of Dear Mother, shone with wicked luminescence. I cringed at the sight of these false stars, the mocked moon. Only they would attempt to create such things, to hold the power of the sun in the palms of their hands. They disgust me. We darted out of the cover of the sacred trees, and our feet, some clad in cloth and others not, quietly graced the unforgiving pavement. These streets, these ugly black rivers of stone, were as foreboding as the city itself, with its spires of metal and spears of what was considered the trappings of that which is so loosely called “civilization.”
There were men among us, boys, women, and daughters. All are equal in the eyes of Gaia, and our strike parties reflect this. I myself was impressed at the agility with which some of the women moved. I had not seen such grace bless anything except the most nimble faun. They hurled small stones at the streetlights, ensuring our nocturnal procession would not be detected. I myself ran ahead of them all, my spear held close to my body. It is my most trustworthy weapon, though I detest the need for them.
Like an ebony snake, our devout parade slithered into alleyways, moving through the city as if it were our own home. We knew through reconnaissance alone what areas of the city were most populated and night and which were not. As the brisk wind, the holy breath of Gaia, caressed my bare shoulders, I quickly admonished myself for not wearing slightly heavier clothing. I feared that wearing too much would weigh me down, and resigned myself to wearing solely pants, a vest, cloth shoes, and my quiver, my bow hanging at my side.
We reached our destination: a tall building, the name of which I can never seem to remember. It was an act of sacrilege against Mother Nature, almost a challenge to her to construct something larger. Seemingly unbeknownst to them, such a model of artifice could hardly compare to the vast canyons and trenches Gaia has so deigned to give us. They are fools.
We were to infiltrate this building’s lowest quarters and there plants the seeds that would sow the building’s destruction and the beginning of our campaign. It was for the best. We would be assisting the humans in their renaturalization, and spread Gaia’s seed further across the world.
Praise be unto Gaia, and glory unto Her world.
~Baru, Son of Gaia
But I digress. It was time for action, not deep thought. My brethren and I moved silently through our beloved forest, flitting past the trees, great monarchs of the wood. The city, a vile scar upon the courtly visage of Dear Mother, shone with wicked luminescence. I cringed at the sight of these false stars, the mocked moon. Only they would attempt to create such things, to hold the power of the sun in the palms of their hands. They disgust me. We darted out of the cover of the sacred trees, and our feet, some clad in cloth and others not, quietly graced the unforgiving pavement. These streets, these ugly black rivers of stone, were as foreboding as the city itself, with its spires of metal and spears of what was considered the trappings of that which is so loosely called “civilization.”
There were men among us, boys, women, and daughters. All are equal in the eyes of Gaia, and our strike parties reflect this. I myself was impressed at the agility with which some of the women moved. I had not seen such grace bless anything except the most nimble faun. They hurled small stones at the streetlights, ensuring our nocturnal procession would not be detected. I myself ran ahead of them all, my spear held close to my body. It is my most trustworthy weapon, though I detest the need for them.
Like an ebony snake, our devout parade slithered into alleyways, moving through the city as if it were our own home. We knew through reconnaissance alone what areas of the city were most populated and night and which were not. As the brisk wind, the holy breath of Gaia, caressed my bare shoulders, I quickly admonished myself for not wearing slightly heavier clothing. I feared that wearing too much would weigh me down, and resigned myself to wearing solely pants, a vest, cloth shoes, and my quiver, my bow hanging at my side.
We reached our destination: a tall building, the name of which I can never seem to remember. It was an act of sacrilege against Mother Nature, almost a challenge to her to construct something larger. Seemingly unbeknownst to them, such a model of artifice could hardly compare to the vast canyons and trenches Gaia has so deigned to give us. They are fools.
We were to infiltrate this building’s lowest quarters and there plants the seeds that would sow the building’s destruction and the beginning of our campaign. It was for the best. We would be assisting the humans in their renaturalization, and spread Gaia’s seed further across the world.
Praise be unto Gaia, and glory unto Her world.
~Baru, Son of Gaia
