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The Adorant

... It was in one of those towns, which were lying at the far most rim of the continent ... One of those town that were so far away from the inner lands of the continent that they were looked upon like a different world - apart from the wares coming from them into the towns.

These wares were the only connection which the “Lands of the Rim” had in common with the lands of the inner continent. So they stayed divided from one another, but there was more than that ...

In ancient times other creatures had found their way from the inner continent to the rims, too, and this is the story of one of these ...

Into a small, stone-made chapel went a believer. He was a poor believer, not a rich one, but he was content with what he had. There were people who were worse off than he was, and there were people who were better off than him. In general, he was a normal citizen.

Of course he didn’t earn as much as many others; to put with other words : He was located at the lower end of the scale. But he didn’t have as much needs as the decadent rich ones, so he was doing well.

Here he was now, and he wanted to speak his weekly prayer, being alone, like he had done for long years.

He stepped into the small, stone-made chapel. The walls were made of grey, non-plastered blocks of stone, and it was cool inside the chapel. The rather prolate entrance ended in an almost circular , small inner sanctum, in which the altar was located, accompanied by two big candles at the left and the right side of it. Above some small windows were opened in the stone-made dome, which was showed as much scantiness as the rest of the chapel.
The only decoration consisted of some paintings and some tapestries. The most valuable and most beautiful of them at the same time hung above the altar, presenting one of the most important key scenes from the life of the Goddess.

No, this was not the chapel of a deificated Heroine or a demi-goddess; this was truthfully the chapel of a truthful Goddess. But there was a difference to other gods : This Goddess had written down a book of her own life in ancient times. That had been before she had had decided to settle down here, at the rim of the continent. And this book was well protected : Protected by the Goddess herself.

With echoing steps the believer went to the altar, carrying a small candle in his hand, which he wanted to offer the goddess as a gift. He went to the candlestick with the many arms, fixing it there, next to the other ones. He lit his candle with the help of another one, and kneeled then in front of the altar.

Silently, he prayed. He prayed for himself, for his wife, for his friends, for all who were in need of help. He prayed for the Goddess.


The goddess knew, she sensed the difference between the believers and the believers. She was not the one to whom it didn’t matter who prayed there for her. She knew about her children - the inhabitants of the towns - knew their worries and needs. She knew.

Here now sat, no kneeled, a believer who had truly deserved the word Adorant. He didn’t go simplemindedly into the dark, murky chapel, no, he was with all of his heart here. He was veracious.

He didn’t pray for him, his wife and his friends because of some selfishness, no, he was there, praying because believed that this was right. She sensed that he had some premonition about who she really was, where she resided, and that she was actually here, and not a “transcendental illusion” that some of the more rich and decadent people said of her.

She was veracious, too.

She felt being touched by this prayer of this man , who was praying there with all of his heart and devotion. He didn’t notice his environment anymore. He was one of those who wouldn’t notice being slain by an enemies sword - also because the goddess would remove him from this mortal world, leaving his bodily hull behind - soon being scavenged by enemies. She had lived to see such a thing aeons ago, and only the gods knew when that had been. She was truthful. She worried about her children.

She decided to show herself.

Well, that was more difficult than she had planned : She hadn’t done that for several years - or was it centuries ? - so she had to remember how she had done it the last times. After a moment of thinking she remembered .

The man was too deep in(to) his prayer to notice the closing of the heavy chapel doors without a sound.

It became dark inside the chapel.

Only the candles spread light into the darkness.

A few steps beside to him something took shape like a whirl of air which was spinning around it self - or at least seemed to spin around it self - and then grew into some form or shape.
After a few minutes there stood the shape of a woman, looking like consisting fully of water, like consisting of glass, but as smooth and soft as water (or soft and wobbly like jam , the goddess thought).

She had to remember how she could communicate with him. Since she had taken a rather ethereal form (this was no water) she wasn’t able to produce sound waves. She had to invent something different.

She conceived a way - and instantly put it into practise.

“Stand up, my believer !” she “said”.

The man, still deep in his prayer, was taken out of his concentration before he was able to sense the voice. The goddess wanted to make sure that he was actually able to notice her.

Irritated, he turned his head and looked around him. In a rather dark edge of the chapel, at the right side of him, he saw the glass-like shape of a woman who stood there with her arms crossed, looking at him.
His logic failed. His healthy rationalisation said that a glass figure - no matter how lively it might look like - wasn’t able speak. As a result he looked around him once again. He searched for the origin of this strange voice. He couldn’t imagine that this “pillar” was able to “speak”.

“Look at me !” He had to turn the head to one side (still kneeling), because the voice had come from this direction, but also because he had the urge to look into this direction, right of him.

He had the feeling as if this glass-like shape of a woman whom he knew from somewhere , and which looked like it was filled with water had cast a spell on him. He simply wasn’t able to look away from her.
She looked like a totally normal, rather thin, beautiful woman, with long hair, who was dressed in a perfectly normal gown, nothing extraordinary, only that everything - even her dress - was transparent. She seemed to look directly into his eyes.
In his mind something took a form ... a shape ... and then he knew from where he knew this woman : She had appeared in his mind several times, every time when he was praying so intensive like this, like now. He could see how her lips moved.

“Well, my Adorant, you have come to here to render homage to me” she said. “For that you receive my appreciation, because not all of the people in this town - no : in these towns ! - pay homage to me. But that’s the course of time.
I am and will stay real, no matter whether the people believe in me or not.” She came nearer, taking slow, dignified steps.

As she stood before him, she said : “Stand up !” Slowly - he was still kneeling, almost without move - only slowly he stood up. He trempled a little bit. She went to one of the rows of chairs and pulled two of them towards her and her Adorant. She sat down. “Sit down ! We have a lot of time here ... What do you want to ask me ?” She smiled friendly at him.

Slowly, a trembling a little bit more, he sat on one of the two chapel chairs. He was unsure what he should think about this all, and he wasn’t sure who this there was. “Who are you ?”

“Don’t you realise me ? I am the one - feel into your self ! - you sense it !”

An idea from far away manifested in his mind, until it was solid as stone. “You are my Goddess !?” he stuttered. “Yes I am your Goddess.” she said in a mild tone. She didn’t want to irritate and put more fear into him than he actually was feeling now.

That was something he had to digest. He simply wasn’t used to deal with Gods. Well, and he didn’t sit next to an actual Goddess all days either.

He inspected her from head to foot. He still found it quite extraordinary to be sitting next to a glass-like (or “water-like”) woman. “Why are you looking like you do now ? How at all are you ? ”

This question was quite difficult, and therefore hit her unprepared. Alas ! - the limitations of mundane languages ! ...

She thought about it. “I have given this form by my self. I wanted to appear suave to you, when I decided to show my self, and not frighten you with the form of a multi-shaped monster.” As she saw that he was silently nodding, she added : “ I can give my self any kind of form or shape I want to. For you, I have chosen this, rather human-looking, appearance. But I cannot look exactly like a human, for that I’m lacking some things.” She smiled. The Adorant wondered. Did the gods have such a different view of the world ? “Why not ?” he asked, still wondering. One should assume that gods were able to do anything ... “Well, “ she began, “I am a goddess, but I’m not almighty. There are limitations, limitations of the body, limitations of the form, limitations of the spirit, limitations of the being as such. I would have problems trying to exactly look like a human, because I’m consisting of a different “stuff” than you do.” “Really ? What are you actually made of ?” This question came like a shot. This man was curious, that was a fact. The goddess began to enjoy this human who was able to think, and not nodding to everything like too many of the people out there. “Well ... I consist of ethereal guise, so to say, if this means something to you. Imagine the air, you need for breathing : It is everywhere, but hasn’t any “real” form. Well, sometimes it can shape itself into some sort of form, have you ever seen a whirlwind, vortex or cyclone ? That is almost pure air (and water and dirt and some other things, too).
That’s the way like I am ! : I am everywhere, the people sense me, but I’m not physically here, so to say.” (She wondered where she might have caught these expressions, in which lane or study-room this might have been, and whether her Adorant could actually understand them.)

The Adorant nodded. Slowly the view of his Goddess cleared up, steadied, took form, and settled down. He asked himself (and her) : “But when you are not as a body here , how do I know that you are no illusion, no phantom ? How are you able to give your self a form when you said before you weren’t any form or shape ?”

Once again a question about which she had to meditate first ... “ I ... am ... and on the other hand I am not ... ” she murmured, meanwhile she considered how she could explain him her system of concepts. “ Oh ! I wished there were words in your language with which I could explain this (all) to you !” She sighed.
“Imagine you die. Then that, what remains, is your spirit or your soul. That’s like I am. I am not here as a body, but nevertheless I am here. You spirit / your soul is imperishable, is immortal, while your body will soon turn to earth, to dust. You are, then, but on the other hand you are not. You are, because you simply are, but you are not in any bodily form or shape. That’s like I am, too.”

“And why are you here with me now ?” the man asked. “Why do you try giving your self some sort of shape when you otherwise say this is so difficult for you ?”
She had to smile. “Because I wanted to make you happy with that. Look, I don’t do this every day. I wanted to honour you, because you have truly earned to be called an Adorant ! You are one of the few who are truthful. Who are truthful in their deeds and in their faith. And only I can decide this, because I am the one the people adore, no ?” She made a smile of sweetness towards him, to show that she had understood him. “By the way, something more to honour you : I want to make a sign to you.”

Now the man should blench now, she thought, but his unshakable faith retained him. He trusted her, because he was truthful, and he sensed that she was truthful, too. This was indeed a special man, she thought. His wife can be happy to have met him, she thought. Maybe I should pay a visit to her, too.

Slowly, carefully, in order not to give him the impression of a threat, she lifted her forefinger. With it she touched a point in the middle of his forehead, between his eyes and concentrated a moment. Then the sign was created.

“What was that ?” the man asked irritated, and touched his forehead. “You have touched my forehead ... ?!? Was that all ? Whenever the King makes someone a Knight, then everything is different ... more like a consecration, with all the pomposity, trumpets, church bells ringing and all this stuff ...” “Well, now you are comparing apples with pears !” she replied, a bit irritated and angry. She leaned back, pouting.
A pause appeared between the two. Meanwhile this pause the man touched his forehead several times and felt this area intensively where she had touched him.

After a few minutes she slowly pushed her head towards the head of her Adorant. Quietly she began to speak, almost whispering.
“Now you are here, in small, stony chapel, with very little light except a few small skylights high above and some candles, and next to you sits a real goddess. There is not much I can do, and this should be enough for you. Look around yourself !” She slowly withdrew her head again, giving him room to take a look around him.

He looked around, just like she said, but he couldn’t notice anything special, but after a while he noticed something. Some things were different now.

The candles didn’t look like candles anymore. Well, they still looked like candles, but something had come along : The shine of the candles. It was much greater now, and glowed in an orange-yellow aura with almost half a metre in diameter. Then he went on, looking around, and noticed his Goddess. She had now her own aura, too, but he wasn’t able to name her colour. He had never seen anything like this. Something bluish. Obviously there weren’t any words in his language to describe this colour. Sometimes it seemed to him as if this aura pulsated, sometimes it seemed to him as if it was solid. And at other times it looked like wuthering, like a fire or a wall made of mist. The only thing he could say for sure, was that this aura existed, and his Goddess within it.

“Thank you...” he stammered, because he wasn’t quite sure what this “sign” might actually mean. “What does this sign actually mean ?” he asked her.

“Well, this is the sign of my presence. You have got this by me, and only I can give you this sign. This sign is my sign, and that’s the reason why it is unique.
With it you will sense my presence everywhere you are, you will be able to pray to me, you will be able to get in contact with me, using the fortitude of your thoughts, wherever you are and I am.
And you will be able to recognise others by this sign, because they will have - you as well ! - a similar aura, a similar one as mine. With this , you will be able to perceive others of the same belief. That should be enough for you for now.
If you want to, you might because a priest one day. But that’s a thing I leave to you. Anybody who has received my sign can become this, so your wife might , too, if she will receive the sign one day.”

She made a pause.

“Is there anything you still want to ask me ?”

“Hm...” The man thought. “How did you come to this place ?”

She remembered. She remembered back in time, many thousand years ago, back to the times when she was / had been “young” (gods don’t grow old) , back to the times after her adventures, back to the times, when she had settled down to this place, when and where she had written down her Book, the place where much later towns had arisen. She sighed for a moment.

“Well, I was ... on my way , in this world ... and after a time of adventures - that was looong ago - I had grown tired of all these excitements and adventures, and decided to settle down here, where we are now.

I come from - like all the other gods I know of - the middle of this continent. It’s been aeons since we’ve lost contact - they and me.

But we know that we all still do exist, because we are immortal. We can give ourselves any form or shape, but we are immortal. No, we cannot be destroyed, because we are in a way connected to and with this Earth and between one another, so that it simply isn’t possible. Only when this Earth has ceased to exist, only then we will be free again, that means free (again) to move among the stars, to roam between the stars. Here, on this Earth, we are free, free to take any shape that suits us, free to move on this Earth, but we are still bound to this Earth. And even if we are free to roam between the stars, among the stars, we still are immortal, because we are Gods.

If you want to, you can do a favour for me and go with your wife on a journey into the middle of this continent, to go on a search for the others of my kind, and tell them where I live and that I still do exist.


Well this should be enough for today : In half an hour the divine service begins, and the people are surely wondering why they cannot open the doors (if there is anyone so early out there) ! I must go now, and you better go on and sit on one of the chairs in the back rows. Maybe no-one will discover then that you’ve been here, talking to a real Goddess now !” She smiled at him, laughed at him, and winked at him with her eyes. He suddenly had to laugh, too. Now it was fun talking to such a Goddess !

Both got up, now, she put the both chairs back, and he walked to one of the back rows in the small, stone-made chapel.

Meanwhile he was turning his back towards her, walking, she turned back into the seeming whirlwind, and a few moments later ceased to be physically here.

Then the chapels door opened, and the first believers stepped into the room ...



(This translation of my story “Der Adorant” is dedicated to Enya and her songs “The Memory of Trees”, “Anywhere is”, “Athair ar Neamh”, “China Roses”, “How can I keep from singing”, “Hope has a place” and “Tea House Moon”.
I advice to listen to the Memory of the Trees meanwhile reading the actual meeting between the Goddess and her believer and to “Tea House Moon” when the Goddess thinks about her past.
(C) Alrik Fassbauer,
6-7 January, 2004)

Thank you Alrik, for a moment of peace and tranquility.

Although I am by nature agnostic, this story put some light on things that I have pondered for years,
Once again thank you.

Annotations / Notes :

The story takes place in my own fantasy universe I'm creating. There are some more stories (still in development), but they are all in German, and I don't think I'll translate them, just because the translation was hard work for me. [;)]

There is one continent inhabited by humans, dwarves, elf-like creatures - well, on first look like any other fantasy world. The continent has the Grasslands in the middle, north-west Woodlands, north-east a huge mountain-range (almost circle-shaped), and in the south the Wastelands with the Desert in the south.

This story - The Adorant - takes place in the farmost rim located in the west of this continent.

On second look everything is a bit more different, because I weave into my stories my own imagination, which is often (in recent times) fuelled by spirituality.

I don't know why it is so much fun to me writing about gods, but that's what I do. As you have seen, these gods are on one hand very "human-like" , and on the other hand they aren't. That's just the way it is in my own fantasy world.

Just an annotation on the translation : I had really great problems finding the proper translation of the disired word "wahrhaftig". I chose different words for that in the text, but I'm still somehow not satisfied. None of the words truly expresses what I wanted to express - at least I think so.

Alrik.

Maybe someone else could make the tranlations for you, someone who has english as native language.

When i have to translate english in french, it is not very hard for me because my usual language is french.
On the other side, i have a lot of difficulties to translate french in english, because my english is too poor.

Well, the more I do it, the more I get used to it. I was relatively fast this time : Almost the whole text was translated in one day ! That's fast for me !

No, the real problem is that the other stories are *much* longer ...

wahrhaftig => sincere?
kiya

I agree with you. Doing the translations you are making some progress in english.

For the other stories (much longer) we will wait that you have some free time to do the translations.

I like your poem in Divinity, did you write it first in german or directly in english ?

Almost both at the same time. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/delight.gif" alt="" /> That was a special thing for me. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

@Kiya : read it, and you'll find out. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

look out for the sequel in french language !!!

it's called ..... de' ordorant. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/evilgrin1.gif" alt="" />

Hi janggut

Do you speak french or do you just use every morning a french déodorant ?

Are we really talking about toiletries here....

No ! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" /> <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/biggrin.gif" alt="" />

@ barta ahaHAHAHAHA !!!!

wish i can speak french. it's a beautiful language. so's german. so are other languages. wish i can learn them all.

Same here. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Thank you Al for the wonderfull story. I like Enya very much and I have all her cd´s and you moved me with that story very much. Carribean Blue is my fav. song from Enya. Your story is really great. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/up.gif" alt="" /> reflecting the same atmosphere her songs do. Thank you again.

Hello, everyone.

I take the occation to post links to other stories I've written :

In the Fan Fiction Boards at TFN ( www.theforce.net or rather http://boards.theforce.net ) I've posted three Star Wars related stories in the past.


The oldest one is this one : Bib Fortuna's End - it's a story about duel featuring Bib Fortuna, the Majordomo of Jabba the Hutt's court.


The second one is still unique in many ways to me.
In Love with a Jedi - In Liebe mit einer Jedi


The Newest one is this one (only a few days old) :

The Light

All stories are available in German and English, with the newest story being written in English first, and then translated "back" into German. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/silly.gif" alt="" />
The others had been written in German first, and afterwards been translated into English.

Have fun ! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

Alrik.

Ground feeding - The feeding grounds - enhanced version for bulletin boards.

Keep your finger out of my eye while I write (dedicated to the lamb that lied down on the broadway). At least the butterflies can hear me - or are they gutterflies ?The sound is obsolete, because the Lamia cannot hear it. Only the sounds stay, but not for long.
As I walk along the passageway, I glance at a purple haze, something I had read about before. It seems to be a reminiscent of a person, as far as my eyes can see - it streches itself into the webspace and is called “Real” . So ... it is.

Following the sound of a broadway melody from 1974, I reach the top of a ravine, just in time to see the raven get fed.

The purple haze surrounds me, but I’m taken away into a cave - a cave that is lit by candlelight and filled with the echoes of youth. I begin spinning and keep on turning my self inside out.

Now, finally I’m a cloud - I’m wandering lonely as a cloud, seeing the strange Colony of Slippermen from above. They scream “Hellay” from down under,, but I decide not to see them. As I pass by, I can see Willow Farm lying in the far distance, being robbed, meanwhile an assault takes place, including a massive battery.
The smell of Supper brings me back home, where I rest uneasily on a seat, being treated by Hypgnosis ... err - I mean Hypnosis. A Squonk is the doctor, having replaced Doctor Dyper who’s out of business now. Specializing on removing windscreen-whipers doesn’t earn too much money nowadays.

As I awake - after an unquiet slumber - from a severe sobbing, a pool lies before me. There it rests. The Ripples on the water remind me of some company - the Lamia; again the Reality substitutes my memory.
As I look around me, I’m aware that I’m living in a City of Gold, being led by Ikhnaton and Itsakon, survivors of the Colony lying in the west. Nowadays they call themselves Earls of Mar.

Still I’m taken by surprise, being trapped in a talk by the supernatural Aneastetist and the guaranteed eternal sanctuary man , I do not know what to say, being irritated by their words (which, of course, come out of their mouth).

At last and least, the ghost of One-eye, the challenger of Fang, son of Great Fang, leads me into the mist. Switching our bodies, I realize why his name is “One-eye”. I am lost. The only chance of surviving is , to write my memories down , as soon as they are erased from my brain. Having my memories on paper instead of in my brain helps a bit, doesn’t it ?

Keep your finger out of my eye while I write (dedicated to the lamb that lied down on the broadway). At least the butterflies can hear me - or are they gutterflies ?The sound is obsolete, because the Lamia cannot hear it. Only the sounds stay, but not for long.
As I walk along the passageway, I glance at a purple haze, something I had read about before. It seems to be a reminiscent of a person, as far as my eyes can see - it streches itself into the webspace.

Following the sound of a broadway melody from 1974, I reach the top of a ravine, just in time to see the raven get fed.

The purple haze surrounds me, but I’m taken away into a cave - a cave that is lit by candlelight and filled with the echoes of youth. I begin spinning and keep on turning my self inside out.

The A.Kr.Project , August, 29th, 2000
Re-discovered on January, 24th , 2004
Shaken, not stirred.
With small corrections and additions.

(C) The A.Kr.Project

Notes on the text :

The first edition had some small mistakes I corrected. Also I added a few things.

Changes made :

- Earl of Mar was originally in singular form.
- The intention that the robbery at Willow Farm included an assault has been stressed; also, the word “inclusive” was changed into “including”.
- The original text read : “A SQuonk is the doctor, having replaced Doctor Dyper”. Nothing more.
- The words “Still I’m taken by surprise” have been added.
- “Challanger” was corrected into “challenger”. A common mistake.
- Note : The repeated is kept as the original form. The missing words were already missing in the original text. I assume that this was made by intention by me.
- Please note that Eglish is not my natural language. So don’t be surprised if you notice errors both in Grammar and in Spelling.

Dedicated to Genesis and Peter Gabriel.

Hopefully some positive critisism:

The concept of using a conversation of a Goddess with a devout servant, in essence has a lot potential. But I don't think it is reached here. All that is being told, is that she blesses him and sends him on his way. You could have spiced up the story, if you'd have thrown in some more characterization. All we learn of the "Adorant" is that he's truthfull, and devout. He seems rather two-dimensional. Also, his truthful worship of his Goddess seems to show some cracks, when he complains her blessing isn't accompanied by trumpets and church bells.

It seems as if you are really afraid your readers won't get what you say. So you keep repeating it, over, and over. The fact that the worshipper is devout, and truthful, is hammered in to the point where it becomes annoying. The same with the form of the Goddess. You only need to tell us once she looks like water and/or glass. And it would be best if you'd make up your mind. Water, or glass.

I'd like to advice you; insert more action, less description. Or at least, less redundant description. The pace of the story is really slow, and the fact that very little actually happens in the story doesn't help it much.

Now, if you were willing to edit this story, I would suggest you insert more awe into the servant, and a lot less ignorance in the Goddess. She seems rather.. childish, for a Goddess. And it isn't exactely clear why she choses this one disciple. Perhaps you could give examples of his piousness, where the Goddess was watching, and have her now commend him for it? And I don't mean just praying. Surely, lipservice enough is not enough to please a diety.

Okay.

First thing first, I detect certain resemblances between the Adorant and the narrator of In Love with a Jedi. Both seem to be exceedingly passive males who just sit there, twiddle their thumbs, and worship the women who step into their lives. For the Adorant, it is the Goddess; for that narrator, it is Shaak Ti. I have no objections to average characters, but come on, they have to at least try and do something.

The whole story hinges on the dialogue between two people -- essentially, rather dull dialogue bogged down by repetitive descriptions, most of which serve no purpose. Nothing happens. Nothing is particularly exciting. It's great if the reader shares your view of things, but for me -- am agnostic, can't give a fig about religion or spirituality -- it is extremely prosaic. Now, this kind of things can certainly be communicated well even if the reader isn't religiously inclined. However, it is hard to do, and quite frankly, your story ends up being preachy, vague, and seems to get nowhere. The characters, to me, are no breathing, living things on their own. They're just there to convey a tedious sermon that's riddled with padding and contains little substance.

Please try and get a beta-reader who can speak and write English fluently. Employ dictionary often; some words don't mean what you think they mean. (And definition of vocabulary is simply not a place to take a stab at "artistic license." Hint: look up "friendly," among others. Just because a word ends with a "-ly" doesn't make it an adverb.) Your sentence structure is often quite screwy, as well, and you sometimes toss in an adjective instead of an adverb.

You have a tendency to describe things redundantly. "Omit needless word" is one of the most useful writing tips I've ever heard. Another thing is that you heavily depend on a single sense: visuals. One way to spice up your narrative is to engage all five senses if possible: the reader should see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. The chapel may smell of some incense; the stone structure may keep the place cool; the character may feel the texture of the ground upon which he’s kneeling. And so on, and so forth.



He was poor; we get it. There's no need to pad the sentence with "not a rich one." Being poor, by definition, makes him not rich.



You know, these sentences are basically just repeating each other. Move on; go onto the next thing. There's no need to beat the reader over the head.



Stone-made. Made of blocks of stone. Stone-made dome. Tell me again why the reader has to be told thrice.



Oh, peanuts. How about just "This book was protected by the goddess herself"? Wouldn't that, by definition, imply good protection? Why is there a need to repeat?



That "candlestick with the many arms" is called a candelabrum.



He is praying with all his heart. Great. Most people would get it the first time, believe me.



Okay. That's three times you've said that the goddess is truthful. Flat out unnecessary. As I implied, once is usually enough, especially in a short story.



Pick one thing and stay with it. Water, or glass. They have vastly different viscocities.



Try "no matter how lifelike it was." Take it from me: "lively" is not the same as "lifelike." It just ain't. “Lively” isn’t correctly used in this context, anyway. To say that something looks like something else requires a simile, and a noun to go with it, not an adjective.



Since you didn't indicate that he's stood, readers are likely to assume that he's still kneeling. Is there really a need to belabor the obvious?



Uhm. So the man's being touched by his goddess -- something that should be seen as a great honour -- and he's whining that there's no fanfare? Okay. Is he suicidal, hopelessly materialistic, or both? I thought was just a humble believer? Pick one personality and stay with it?

Well, I didn't want action, and I didn't want a passive male and a non-passive goddess.

This is no typical tale ... this is rather a kind of "symbolic" story. The main theme is Truthfulness. Not anything else. Apart from the fact that it shows just another Goddess from my continent. There are more, any this is not a "normal" story, one that is appealing to the reader because of action, deep feelings, and so on. It's just a short tale, presented by a tale-teller. There is nothing deep in the story, there is Truthfulness in the story. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

Consider this story rather like a nice painting than a "real" story. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" /> Hope this helps. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />