Necropolis Gully Ancient Fertility The only sound in the deep quiet of the crevice was the crunch of my boots on the debris-strewn ground. Towering stone walls, draped in vibrant green moss , rose on either side, making me feel like an intruder in a forgotten tomb . My matte-black suit , a product of a future this place could never have imagined, felt profane against the ancient rock . Then I saw it: a weathered, silent figure standing in the path. It was a statue of a woman , carved from the same stone as the gully but shaped with clear intent. Moss crept up its base and clung to its form like a second skin. This impossible artifact, an architectural anomaly in this raw, natural fissure , stopped me. My steady, determined posture belied the storm of questions raging in my mind. The statue stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes, a silent witness to a history I had just stumbled into. My mission was to find my crew, but this place, this silent, stone woman , was a new, un...
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Our Pagan of Progress Our Protector
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Our Pagan of Progress Our Protector
Story:
She stands upon the city's precipice; the unyielding light of progress illuminates her figure. The steel and glass towers rise around her like the skeletons of a forgotten forest, a testament to the relentless forward march of time. Beneath her feet, the streets pulse with life—a river of humanity flowing endlessly, each soul rushing toward a future we do not yet understand.
She, the Pagan of Progress, alone understood the intricate dance of forces at play.
Her form is ancient and new, shaped by forces that neither men nor women could comprehend. There is power in her, a quiet, unspoken strength that lingers in the fabric of her being, woven with the threads of time itself. Her gown, gleaming with the city's light, is adorned with intricate patterns—branches, circuitry, roots entwined with wire—symbols of a world caught between what once was and what could be.
She does not belong here, not entirely. Yet she is bound to this place, this city that had forgotten its roots in the earth, for when they summon her, even if unknowingly. In their ceaseless striving for progress, for dominion over the natural world, they created her—an embodiment of the wild energy they sought to tame. She is their guardian and warning, a bridge between the earth's ancient magics and their machines' cold intellect.
The city whispers beneath her, a hum of electric life filling the air. But beneath that, softer, more distant, she can still hear the voice of the land. The rivers that had once flowed here, the trees that had long since fallen, the wind that had carried the songs of a people who had known this place before it was a city. She remembers, even if the city does not.
For all her stoic grace, for all the mechanical precision in her movements, she was of the earth. The old magic flowed through her veins, grounding her even as the city's bright lights reflected in her eyes.
She stands as our protector, a figure high above, watching over us all. We do not mention her name or understand what she is, but we feel her presence in our hearts. A reminder of something we had lost but might still reclaim if we dare.
And so, the Pagan of Progress kept her vigil. She is neither friend nor foe, neither saviour nor destroyer. She is the balance, the fine line between the earth and the stars, between the old and new worlds. And as the city hums and thrives beneath her, she waits—silent, patient—knowing that her time will come, as has always, when the world needs her most.
Description:
This experimental piece is a discordant narrative inspired by the ethereal sounds of blending ambient cityscapes with fractured melodies. It explores the tension between modern progress and ancient roots, using haunting visuals and dissonant city structures to evoke a dreamlike atmosphere in a sprawling urban jungle.
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
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