The House of the Rising Sun

All mortal men stand in awe of celestials and fiends, and rightfully so. Beings from above and below are proof to most that whatever their particular faith teaches them right from wrong, the struggle of good/evil is real, is divine, is sacred. Of coarse, celestials and fiends alike know the truth and power of the gods, for they are indeed one step closer to them, and may, by their nature, live among them. But an overwhelming number of them do not live in the presence of gods, and few indeed ever stand in Their company for even a brief instance. But some do.

It changed them all, they who knelt before Her. The seven hound archons, as one, fell to one knee, crossed their magnificent greatswords over their hearts, and bowed their heads deeply to Saranrae. Their minds were as sure of Her Divine Presence as their hearts were devout in their eternal love for the mistress they had served for eons, but only now had met her.

"Raise your heads, and look into my eyes, so that I may know your faces" She commanded silently.

They did, and She cupped each of their cheeks, one by one, ending each gentle grace with the softest of scratches in all the worlds under each of their chins. Each glowed with the brilliance of daybreak after her touch, and the heroes watched as the glow shrank into each of the Knights, the glow intensifying as it shrank to a brilliant ball of Holiness that hovered just above each ones heart.

"I thank you all" She said aloud in the language of celestials. When she said the words, everyone in the shrine felt the vibration of heaven's harps, and watched the balls of light vibrate into the hearts of the Knights. Tears streamed from the eyes of all the mortals as they watched these Knights become truly mythic servants of Her. One Knight stood and grasped Her Hand and kissed it.

"I am Sir Rolf McCulloch, Lt Col Marshall of the Golden Bulwark of Charlabu. We seven are now The House of The Rising Sun and we shall guard this reclaimed Shrine for You"

Rolf had marked that day, and would now celebrate it every year here. Not even weeks had passed, and he knew She was moving against the Horde in the World wound. He was worried, and was deep in prayer, for the past 20 hours. She answered, but from far away, as if she had to strain or make effort against other forces. And so he quit praying for answers, and instead turned to prayers of service, pledging his blade against any foe. He began to sweat and pant and . . .