The history goes its own way, dizzying the minds of mortals in the dunes of pain, and there is no sweeter fruit in this vale of tears than for the soul - peace and the voice of destiny surrounding you.
Against the background of the lightning storms receding beyond the horizon, under the darkened rays of the sleeping stars, in the dust of aeons past, the living 'statue' was making its rounds in search of languishing fires in the pitch blackness. To any passer-by, even at arm's length, Ridia could easily give the impression of a lone column animated by some ancient spell of a sorcerer, which in an act of rebellion had left the vaults of majestic pagan and cyclopean temples, lost in the abyss of eternity forever. Appearing hot as desert sand on a starlit morning, bright red, almost ruby in colour, her beautiful long hair curled and danced in the wind, rare in these parts, following Ridia, usually stately after her mistress. Her mighty body and facial features glowing as if from within with a kind of devotional fire indicated a long period of time spent by the religious warrior in the endless storms and heart-chilling sandstorms of the Redoubt at night. Having found herself here at first by pure chance, Ridia soon, through various logical and not quite scientific speculations, came to the promising conclusion that there was a special living substance in the interior and aura emitted by this and other scattered planets in this region of the galaxy, which has no exact physical embodiment, but which contributes to the appearance of almost mystical insights and certain states of consciousness in representatives of various intelligent races, bordering on what, according to the definition of some ascetics, could be called - attraction to the unknown. Being herself not just an executor (read as a hammer) of the just and firm will of the time-forgotten church, but also a deep researcher of everything sublime and metaphysical, Ridia came to the resolution of a rather easy thesis, in this place, among the seemingly empty ruins of the cruel and bloody past there is a certain concentration of life fields and destinies of the greatest and most important representatives of the galaxy from all its ends and edges, which was explained by the countless attempts of the woman to leave this planet, each time going only deeper and deeper, approaching those marvellous lands and territories where she herself could become a part of such a crossing of views, stories and dreams. Gradually, the pre-dawn twilight was taking over, enriching and fringing the already mysterious landscape of Redoubt with new orbits and layers of colours and deep tones, giving it the incomparable appearance of the dreamlike tales so familiar to everyone from their childhood, young years. Irrationality and relevance of memories suppressed by consciousness and memory gradually, like cute tailed animals, swarmed out from under ravines, stones and thin grains of cooled sand with inclusions of engineering and artificial rubbish and various rotten edibles, claiming their rights to the wholeness and supposed staidness of our individual and collective worldviews, expressing the interests of the ardent opposition by striving to prove the primacy of the distant and past over the lost notions of the future and now.
With each passing minute, under the constant streams of sweat running down her body and the heavy plumage of her multi-kilogram armour, the two and a half metre tall figure of Ridia was still walking calmly towards the point of light - the attractor of life amidst the swirling chaos of the primal elements of the impending night. Her right, artificial hand gingerly rummaged through the deep pockets of her floor-length leather dress in search of miscellaneous religious food or something similar to food that she could share with those sitting around the campfire, in places vertically wavy and lightly sparkling flames of which were already gradually visible in the distance, adding to the woman's already somewhat weary but joyous state a touch of camaraderie and peacefulness that always precedes any many hours of companionship, especially in such an atmosphere as she was in at the moment. The huge blade occasionally struck the semblance of granite and gravel in some places, heralding a dozen metres ahead one of Ridia's professional fields of endeavour, which at the moment tended more towards religious and ontological teachings and their preaching to interested individuals and personalities. Before openly approaching and declaring her intentions, Ridia tried to look from her height at the state of her clothes, which could most easily be described in words of exquisite unkemptness, emanating from the very essence and nature of this environmental terrain, looking more and more like some hidden nightmare from the eyes of higher beings, a literary island of discussion of world dilemmas and near-philosophical dialogues, laced with well-timed jokes and not quite moral anecdotes.
The first people Ridia noticed were the figures of three men with their backs turned to the outer spaces of the omnipresent blackness, like theosophists from a young girl torn from her true youth, painstakingly spreading the material for a fruitful and slightly serious dialogue in the company of wanderers and their shadows - the embodied memory of days gone by. Having announced the surrounding company with a light rattle of metal armour elements, Ridia at first stood upright as a sign of respect and acknowledgement and bowed to each person sitting, and after carefully lowering herself took a relaxed pose from the style of contemplative life of a church monk, softly expressing agreement together with a light humour with the thoughts expressed aloud.
"Any speech, spoken or written, that has at its core the power of truth and history once happened will always ignite fire and interest among wanderers and travellers like us. Be the first and open to us such a wonderful treasure trove of history of tales, Mr Zel Sharratt."
Ridia said with a soft smile, setting herself up to chat until the early hours of the morning while the tinkling crackle of the burning log invited new storytellers to join the marvellous company of creatures amidst the mists of history and time.
(Wings are part of the art, Ridia doesn't have them)
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Zel Sharratt