Towering before a grey-garbed gent is a sentient majesty. Twicefold the tallest peak of this world that mirrors the palette and spirit of Earth, it stands. The transition of atmospheres with all its body-grinding trauma does nothing to it. If need be, this colossus that can leave jaws dropped will repurpose the air to what it can and wants, as long as the deed is bound by cosmic law to be achieved.
Its aura can burrow into the senses of not just what and who sees it but also within no less than fifty miles from where it stands. It may rattle their nerves even if just the slightest persistent unease. The man in grey, despite his stoicism, also falls prey to the invasive ether that waltzes in his very cells. Such power. Many times, he still cannot get used to it. To be in the presence of a god.
Kiss the rocky cliff with a knee, humble onlooker of horrid hide. Such a ghastly visage belongs in some crypt, not for a hearty promenade across the known world; those wrinkles from forehead to sole are tragedies and regrets carved on such pitiful a being who used to be fair, handsome, a desire for sight.
No, vanity be damned. This man has no need for the allure he once had. This decrepit shell, stalwart as he remains to be, is a reminder that even with all of his efforts stretching lifetimes, he could not save the one true soul who he would give all the stars in the cosmos to spend bringing back. Even wage war with men, gods and Beyond alike. That may have been an actuality. A damn regretful one of cosmic proportions.
Enough tangents of thought. Give reverence to a visitor from domains never meant for mortal sight, let alone a foot to step onto, to gander upon. Gleaming red and green, the bulk of its armor of a skin. Rivers of sunset adorn the middle of its large limbs, its titanic torso, perhaps flowing energy of celestial vigor. Its four pairs of stars for sight are lifeless, but it conceals an acuity that governments would kill to seize as it can achieve global surveillance that their little machines can only do a laughable fraction of.
“Grey,” rattled with thunder this monolith with its mountainous feet dipped into the raging sea. But it is calm in disposition, only this realm can make it sound quite volcanic when even a whisper is parted.
“Dear friend to this Celestial. No need for this lowly stature to pay respects.”
Such kindness. The man, Grey, is heart-warmed that he is slighted, not in some sort of trouble. His heroism does entertain a commitment to sin from time to time.
“Rise, man reborn.”
Grey complies, slowly and aloft a strained knee and leg, his shoulders relaxed. Meadows quite dim are skyward to face the transcendent visitor miles before him in this great vivid swathe of a grand lush marble beneath sunlight and cirrus clouds.
“It has been some time, friend,” his gentlemanly bravado failed to challenge the roar of the waves and even the grinding aria of the cosmic for simply being there, making the air quake.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Grey followed his acknowledgement.
Silence for ten seconds.
“Forces are at work, my friend. Small and large, earthbound and ethereal. Dearest Grey of the Old Domains, there are those who desire to rekindle the flames of elder wars you and many brave others fought so valiantly to bring a thorough end to. Even yielding to such unimaginable cost.”
Silence for another ten seconds. Prasiolites peering up are doing their very best not to tremble and exclaim in frustration as he drunk this ill brew of an ill news. ‘Damn’ is fitting a word to vehemently bellow in the wailing silence of one’s mind.
“We need your aid to find them, dear friend. Convince them otherwise. Make them do something better of their time. Reshape their tomorrow into something fairer. Not proceed with the atrocious ambition. If not, their lives will be forfeit by the hands of others with cosmic competence... if not by yours.”
How bothersome. Not the task, but this revelation. Clench slowly, left fist of this man in tattered cloth of pale ash. The visitor is sincere, as it almost always is, only to jest every once per millennium.
A rebuttal so clear and concise is a must.
Produce a nod.
Waves keep on singing and dancing, some kissing the long strips of shores and tall walls rocks. Winged sailors go about their journeys in the high winds but with odd swerves every now and then from being near the astral entity even if tens of miles away. The salt of the wild blue fields can be indulged through the nose or the tongue.
The day is fair in this slice of the world. Truly so. But in other corners of this empyrean garden of galaxies and void, trouble is brewing. And if reason cannot win, Grey too must give the terrible tidings of trouble himself upon them.
Make known into clear sight as a spiraling black cloud on his back. His ally of twin edges becomes true for hold, snuggled onto him. A prophet of war, capable of unleashing gospels nothing short of heavenly and horrifying with a single swing or stab, if the occasion calls for it.
Huff a mild scoff and perhaps a smirk behind his cloth-mask.
“Show me the way.”