Pride of the Clouds
Author's Note: Enjoy the poem and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Magic: The Gathering.
Summary:
The tale of the Azorius Senate's elemental cats and their wayfare through Ravnica's night sky.
The clouds…Tonight they seem disturbed
Something is amiss; it can be seen in the stars
The twinkle fades, the storm parts, and one can hear
The roar, which echoes as the beast pounces through
The open sky of fairy dust
Like an illusion, the cat casts its vapour-like shadow
Over the calm-swept megalopolis below
It is a good omen
It is a sign that there is order somewhere in
This world of warring guilds and infested streets
The Majestic, it is joined by its kin
Racing playfully with one another, tails curling
Against the wind, It is
For once, the epitome of silence
Their ferocious appearances are softened
By the blue and white hues of light
Their manes, golden and free,
Loose themselves upon the peaceful atmosphere
This is a figment
A figment that cannot be understood
The ground is a dormant heath
That swelters with an adjudicator's wrath
Razed by purity
Only here, in the pinion-filled air, do those
Held by circumstance
Slip away unnoticed and asleep
The thighs of the first lion
The paws of the second
The muzzle of the third
They are ghosts to Ravnica, spirits like any other
Nothing is out of the ordinary
They are a common sight
But not these, They are the Senate's gatekeepers
The Sphinx's inscrutable words of wisdom:
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff."
By the hallowed fountain, she normally rests
That was a long time ago
Now she is as hidden as they
While she conceals herself amongst the bell towers
The kings are shrouded in brume
The birds accompany them across the mindscape
Feather hitting fur, beak hitting jaw
Fly away!
A single chord, twin intervals, and a triad
Drifting into the unseen sea
Abhorred by the Pact
Here is the land prior, the shores of upheaval
No sewers of secrecy, no churches of tithe
No citadels of angels, no cathedrals of filth
Running unchallenged
The plains, still abundant with wheat
The waters, still fishable and sleek
Come back
Utvara cries out to you
The kuga bellows as it saunters past
The riddle again:
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff."
By the floating ridge, she sits
That was moments before
Now she refuses to speak as she did
She praises, It is unlikely
They refute, It is implausible
The birds sail into thunder-wrapped squall
Wing hitting whisker, wingtip hitting claw
Fly away!
Three voices, one hymn
Into the district of Agyrem, the incorporeal quarter
The fall to dissension
Here is the plane prior, the epicentre of reverie
No conclaves of endearment, no campuses of intuition
No cults of violation, no laboratories of creation
Swooping unobstructed
The maze of marble, still gleaming with esteem
The corridors of opal, still retaining a pearlescent sheen
Come back
Azor grants you counsel
The Grand Arbiter whispers as he shuffles past
The conundrum is told in its entirety, The puzzle is revealed:
"I am advisor, advocator, yet I bluff. When the clock strikes three, I shall be off."
By the fields, she governs
That was decamillenia ago
Now she is quiet, stately and statuesque
While she proclaims her message from high atop the city architecture
The lords are already dream-borne
The birds glide through fabrication
Prey to predator, logic to law
Fly away!
A dirge is sung in waking terror
Peeled from reality, Entering the Husk
Here is the terrain prior, not yet charred by the Peripatetic Eye
No signatories
No associations
Hasten the odyssey
The Schism, still exposed and bringing shudders
The savage wasteland, still clicking with the conversations of squatters
Return
To that lifeless region
Forty-seven years in the past
An emboldening decree:
"To soar as high as hope, to dive as swift as justice."
The twisting of the trinket, a miniature key
A ballerina dancing to a faint melody
A trio of lions sifts through the winds and into the sky
The music stops
A forecast of things to come
