FOLKLORE



The Angels' Throne

Volcano
Unclaimable, Barren, Volatile
There the angels sat, their wings iridescent as the molten rock beneath their toes and the burning sun at their back. Golden eyes reflected the blaze of distant stars, crooked smiles were jagged as stone beaches. Their perfume was that of sulfur, their omens the veil of ash, their kisses the burn of heat.
The gods smile and weave the spiderweb of divinity. The Mother gives faith, the Father gives guidance. The Shadow protects while the Crone guides. The gods are loved...

And that is because it is the angels that do their true bidding.

The volcanic lands are edged by snow-tipped pines. Soft grass turns to stone and ice as one moves toward the volcano's side. Harsh is the wind as it howls through the mountain passes. Distant are the wastes, the scar a warning to the mortals of a god's wrath. Treacherous trails wind along the volcano's side and those that find a foothold might draw near the top. However, as the mountain narrows, the snow begins to melt. Heat creates a mirage and plays upon the fevered mind.

Are you truly so brave? Taunt the angels.

Volcano
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