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St. Francis sat in his throne, drumming his fingers absent mindedly on the arm rest. On his shoulder sat a dove, cooing every so often and rustling it's feathers. The throne room was just the room for the high general: walls covered in green vines, a vaulted ceiling with large skylights, lush grass and and moss growing on the floor with a path leading from the door to the throne. Animals lounged and played in the grass. Fish shot through the small pond on the room's east wall. All was calm and peacefull in this tiny bit of serenity.
Just then, the old wooden door swung open on it's creaky hinges. Loud clacking of metal boots filled the room as the dark form entered. He wore a hood, his velumptious robe ash-grey and singed at the ends. 'Neath that hood was nothing but two slanted eyes, red and glaring. A sword in it's sheath was strapped to his back and his riding boots were loud in the stillness. Every animal became aware of the demonic presence, but they knew not to attack the figure. He was dangerous.
" Niilethill, what do you want of me, " Francis spoke cooly, his head rising from prayer. A strong, holy aura glowed from him.
" You know what I want, " Nillethill spat, it's deep, crackling voice came with a hint of persuasion, black magic, " Not catching on, are you? I want 10 goodly souls for my repenting 100 groveling minions. No denizens, only puny human souls. "
Francis digested what had been said. Before Niilethill had even come in, he knew what he wanted and was bargaining for. Ten of any souls from Heaven then corrupted were worth 1,000 of the evil souls from Hell. They could be a small platoon leader in a grand war. Either way, Francis knew that they weren't good terms. He laughed.
" You really must think an ancient like me hasn't learned anything over my years? I pity you for not even realising who you are bargaining with, in my quarters, in God's sanctuary, " he spoke calmly. He knew this would infuriate the demon.
" You are so calm, Saint Francis. You must think you have the upperhand, " he cackled.
" Upperhand in what, " Francis asked, already knowing the answer.
" Oh don't be so foolish, " he chided, " The war. "
St. Francis walked out of his hall and into the bright, clear day. A few puffy clouds swam across the vast expanse of blue. Birds chirped in the trees that hung over the pond that was brimming with cat fish. Foxes played at the base of an old oak. Francis pondered what Nillethill had spoken of. The coming war... this was new. Whenever a fight broke out between Satan and God, or a dispute was fueled, there was chaos on Earth. The bigger the fight, the worse things got for the people living on the planet.
This was going to be bad. With pain, suffering, and death usually comes corruption and evil. Both go hand in hand in survival on a terrible Earth while greater forces waged wars. And when an evil man died on Earth, he'd go right to Hell to fuel the fires of war. The Great Depression was terrible but it soon went away as the disputes did. World War 2, there's another heated arguement. This coming war would not be good for Heaven or Earth.
Macarius worked in the smithies. He pounded out the war swords that were ordered to be made in this upcoming war. Saint Macarius worked diligently, shaping each uniquely, then embuing it with his powers, making each piece of metal a rectifyer. That was what he named his favorite swords, the Rectifyer. It was long, about 3 feet long ( the blade ) with a pommel of a golden cross.
Edan Maedoc Modoc was the leading general. He miracoulosly managed to turn back the Saxon invasion and could made a hunted stag invisible from predators. Saint Edan was in the other room, poring over battle plans with his top advisors standing around the great table, pointing to where the soldiers would defend and invade. He wore a goatee, long blonde hair, and carried a battle hammer with a shield that had a stag painted on it in white and gold.
The battle preperations were going smoothly.
* note- All of these saints I am referring to were ordained in the Catholic Church.. soo...
Just then, the old wooden door swung open on it's creaky hinges. Loud clacking of metal boots filled the room as the dark form entered. He wore a hood, his velumptious robe ash-grey and singed at the ends. 'Neath that hood was nothing but two slanted eyes, red and glaring. A sword in it's sheath was strapped to his back and his riding boots were loud in the stillness. Every animal became aware of the demonic presence, but they knew not to attack the figure. He was dangerous.
" Niilethill, what do you want of me, " Francis spoke cooly, his head rising from prayer. A strong, holy aura glowed from him.
" You know what I want, " Nillethill spat, it's deep, crackling voice came with a hint of persuasion, black magic, " Not catching on, are you? I want 10 goodly souls for my repenting 100 groveling minions. No denizens, only puny human souls. "
Francis digested what had been said. Before Niilethill had even come in, he knew what he wanted and was bargaining for. Ten of any souls from Heaven then corrupted were worth 1,000 of the evil souls from Hell. They could be a small platoon leader in a grand war. Either way, Francis knew that they weren't good terms. He laughed.
" You really must think an ancient like me hasn't learned anything over my years? I pity you for not even realising who you are bargaining with, in my quarters, in God's sanctuary, " he spoke calmly. He knew this would infuriate the demon.
" You are so calm, Saint Francis. You must think you have the upperhand, " he cackled.
" Upperhand in what, " Francis asked, already knowing the answer.
" Oh don't be so foolish, " he chided, " The war. "
St. Francis walked out of his hall and into the bright, clear day. A few puffy clouds swam across the vast expanse of blue. Birds chirped in the trees that hung over the pond that was brimming with cat fish. Foxes played at the base of an old oak. Francis pondered what Nillethill had spoken of. The coming war... this was new. Whenever a fight broke out between Satan and God, or a dispute was fueled, there was chaos on Earth. The bigger the fight, the worse things got for the people living on the planet.
This was going to be bad. With pain, suffering, and death usually comes corruption and evil. Both go hand in hand in survival on a terrible Earth while greater forces waged wars. And when an evil man died on Earth, he'd go right to Hell to fuel the fires of war. The Great Depression was terrible but it soon went away as the disputes did. World War 2, there's another heated arguement. This coming war would not be good for Heaven or Earth.
Macarius worked in the smithies. He pounded out the war swords that were ordered to be made in this upcoming war. Saint Macarius worked diligently, shaping each uniquely, then embuing it with his powers, making each piece of metal a rectifyer. That was what he named his favorite swords, the Rectifyer. It was long, about 3 feet long ( the blade ) with a pommel of a golden cross.
Edan Maedoc Modoc was the leading general. He miracoulosly managed to turn back the Saxon invasion and could made a hunted stag invisible from predators. Saint Edan was in the other room, poring over battle plans with his top advisors standing around the great table, pointing to where the soldiers would defend and invade. He wore a goatee, long blonde hair, and carried a battle hammer with a shield that had a stag painted on it in white and gold.
The battle preperations were going smoothly.
* note- All of these saints I am referring to were ordained in the Catholic Church.. soo...
