Monday, 24 December 2012

Gilgamash

A clanking patchwork of clay and stone. The rough form of a man formed by a hundred hands*. The statue pieces that make his body are ruined scraps from the fallen idols of cities lost beneath the earth.

The hands arranged to strike down gods that eyes were carved to see. The chest a daemons, weirdly shaped. One leg of marble made to hold up worlds, the other treading snakes as ancient foes. The curling serpents carried still upon the toes, and worn with endless tread but writing still. The nose, patrician emperors the chin, a saints, the hair, arranged from naiads, nymphs and fools.

This creature questing endlessly and lost within it's memories halls. But filled with fiery purpose to some end, and knowing absolutely it was made for some great act. Or condemned for crimes it can't recall.

It may be right.

(mashed up collective memories of a dozen cultures could perhaps be useful to adventurers.)

*Ok, probably not a hundred.

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