An hour ago his city was a paradise. An oasis glittering like a jewel against a backdrop of endless sands patrolled by the endless ranks of the dead. The Five Gods watched over them, kept them safe from the terrors that existed beyond the city walls, and promised the people a glorious afterlife if they worked to better themselves.
Now everything around Thutesi is smoke, and flame and screams.
One of the Gods lies dead already. The magical ward that defended the city has fallen; chewed apart by a plague of locusts immense enough to blot out the twin suns. And the ravenous undead are closing in from all sides like a tide, every sand dune hiding hundreds if not thousands of desiccated bodies desperate to slake their thirst with the blood of the living. Hardened warriors he helped to train himself are on their knees grieving for their lost God, while others desperately attempt to rally a defence, ushering the children towards any shelter they can find.
A Cleric of the God of Knowledge, Thutesi feels a dread he's never felt before stir within his stomach. Before today he never could have conceived that one of the Gods could die. But now his heart harbours a nascent dread that the one in whose likeness he was born could be the next to fall. Such a fear is so deeply personal that it spurs him into action, for no amount of zombies or unholy insects can compare to the prospect of losing the one who is the closest thing to a father you have ever known. The living ideal of everything you aspired to become.
Descending the stairs of the temple towards a mass of retreating initiates pursued by a column of undead, Thutesi traces his fingers through the air in practiced motions. Though his emotions threaten to overwhelm him; dread, dismay, fury and the desire to protect; the discipline he was trained in is not one that allows room for such feelings. Instead he must clear his mind. The magic of hieroglyphs is very old, and set firmly in it's ways. He must draw the symbols carefully, pronounce every syllable properly under his breath, and do so while concentrating on the solution to the current problem in his mind's eye with crystal clarity.
With a finishing flourish the spell is set free- a river of glowing blue symbols streaming out from his palm. Like a serpent it speeds away from him, spiralling through the air towards the throng of risen zombies shambling down the street. The hieroglyphs collide with the undead and there is an audible sound of splashing; of rumbling water and the roar of a waterfall; the dozens of different words woven into the spell all carefully chosen to describe different aspects of the same phenomenon. A flood. As the great volume of water spontaneously bursts into existence, the undead are dragged back and slammed against one another. Tossed back and tumbling around like ragdolls as the sweeping current drags them in the opposite direction of the fleeing survivors.
The toll of casting the spell slices into Thutesi's bones like a cold wind. Quickly sapping away whatever satisfaction might have come with that small victory. The ibis-headed priest knows he doesn't have many spells like that left in him... and all across the city the situation is only escalating. He may only be delaying the inevitable. But spreading his wings and flapping them to dislodge the air around him of cinders and locusts, he takes flight and scans the city streets below for the next available opportunity to intervene.
His God had always taught him that knowledge was a beacon. In the midst of the Hour of Devastation, keeping that beacon burning bright is what Thutesi's faltering faith clings to. Someone must survive. Someone must remember this, write it down, record it so that in the future such a calamity might be averted. The history of their people, their culture and everything they achieved- it simply could not be allowed to die tonight.
*****
It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of MTG, one of my favourite settings to have come out of it being Amonkhet.
As such I was incredibly fortunate to be able to catch a stream from the lovely Pinguinolog , whose more menacing interpretation of my ibis Thutesi in his incarnation as a D&D Wizard was unintentionally perfect for being set during the events of Hour of Devastation! Back during the days when he was still a Cleric.
Now everything around Thutesi is smoke, and flame and screams.
One of the Gods lies dead already. The magical ward that defended the city has fallen; chewed apart by a plague of locusts immense enough to blot out the twin suns. And the ravenous undead are closing in from all sides like a tide, every sand dune hiding hundreds if not thousands of desiccated bodies desperate to slake their thirst with the blood of the living. Hardened warriors he helped to train himself are on their knees grieving for their lost God, while others desperately attempt to rally a defence, ushering the children towards any shelter they can find.
A Cleric of the God of Knowledge, Thutesi feels a dread he's never felt before stir within his stomach. Before today he never could have conceived that one of the Gods could die. But now his heart harbours a nascent dread that the one in whose likeness he was born could be the next to fall. Such a fear is so deeply personal that it spurs him into action, for no amount of zombies or unholy insects can compare to the prospect of losing the one who is the closest thing to a father you have ever known. The living ideal of everything you aspired to become.
Descending the stairs of the temple towards a mass of retreating initiates pursued by a column of undead, Thutesi traces his fingers through the air in practiced motions. Though his emotions threaten to overwhelm him; dread, dismay, fury and the desire to protect; the discipline he was trained in is not one that allows room for such feelings. Instead he must clear his mind. The magic of hieroglyphs is very old, and set firmly in it's ways. He must draw the symbols carefully, pronounce every syllable properly under his breath, and do so while concentrating on the solution to the current problem in his mind's eye with crystal clarity.
With a finishing flourish the spell is set free- a river of glowing blue symbols streaming out from his palm. Like a serpent it speeds away from him, spiralling through the air towards the throng of risen zombies shambling down the street. The hieroglyphs collide with the undead and there is an audible sound of splashing; of rumbling water and the roar of a waterfall; the dozens of different words woven into the spell all carefully chosen to describe different aspects of the same phenomenon. A flood. As the great volume of water spontaneously bursts into existence, the undead are dragged back and slammed against one another. Tossed back and tumbling around like ragdolls as the sweeping current drags them in the opposite direction of the fleeing survivors.
The toll of casting the spell slices into Thutesi's bones like a cold wind. Quickly sapping away whatever satisfaction might have come with that small victory. The ibis-headed priest knows he doesn't have many spells like that left in him... and all across the city the situation is only escalating. He may only be delaying the inevitable. But spreading his wings and flapping them to dislodge the air around him of cinders and locusts, he takes flight and scans the city streets below for the next available opportunity to intervene.
His God had always taught him that knowledge was a beacon. In the midst of the Hour of Devastation, keeping that beacon burning bright is what Thutesi's faltering faith clings to. Someone must survive. Someone must remember this, write it down, record it so that in the future such a calamity might be averted. The history of their people, their culture and everything they achieved- it simply could not be allowed to die tonight.
*****
It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of MTG, one of my favourite settings to have come out of it being Amonkhet.
As such I was incredibly fortunate to be able to catch a stream from the lovely Pinguinolog , whose more menacing interpretation of my ibis Thutesi in his incarnation as a D&D Wizard was unintentionally perfect for being set during the events of Hour of Devastation! Back during the days when he was still a Cleric.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Avian (Other)
Gender Male
Size 905 x 1280px
Listed in Folders
As usual, this work is truly glorious to behold, my friend. And your words weave a world of wonder, danger, adventure, and true character. I am deeply touched. I hope he finds success. And barring that, that his wish might be fulfilled of the truth being recorded for the future to avert such disaster repeating itself.
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