Hall of Judgement

Coming into the Hall of Judgement was daunting - it was the size of a small stadium and the power in the air bore a high velocity that the elves were unused to.

Goober had tried to text Pepper a message to let her know where they were and what they were up to - but the reception in there was non-existent.

A guide from the Old Sphere approached briskly and asked them to be silent as they were shown to their places within the court. He was a fine-featured spirit with a long pointed nose, and chiselled ears – ‘more elf than elf’, Nervina thought.

The rows of seats lay in semi circles and there were hundreds of onlookers already waiting in the amphitheatre looking down at them as they walked passed.

At the floor level there were forty-two tall thrones sitting approximately six feet apart from each other. Every one was carved in a polished onyx, detailed with intricate reliefs that displayed acts of sin and misfortune. They were specifically the deeds that incurred banishment from the earthly realm, artistically rendered into the furniture. Nervina wondered if these reminders were really necessary. Forty-two were a lot to have to walk past and view.

More disturbing still were the forty-two judges who sat high upon them. All were women, and each one was draped with a sheer black tunic and veil to match, as dark as midnight. It was impossible to see through them, save for a shadow of a bosom, or profile beneath this costume. But as to their age or expression, or whether they found favor or objection, the dark material concealed this perfectly.

This was the court of the Immortals. Humans went to Hell, but the Demi-gods and Demons came for their Judgement to this lofty place of perdition.

This was not a fate for the petty or transitory offenders. For most beings there is a karmic compass to reorientate the will and want. No, this was the end road for the indestructible spirits who foul the ethers without conscience, causing the gentle inhabitants of the earthly world unnecessary harm.

Here they listened to the final rants of the powerful, insatiable insubordinates, who defied the cosmic congenialities, overstepped authorities, blasphemed against the great and the Divine, caused death instead of furthering life; and above all, had declared themselves as God.

Marc-Marsden-Forsythe had breached these laws, taking license where he should not. The question was, would the conciliatory grace of the Angels now save him? Puck had hoped not. He was bitter and beyond consolation - tired of the games evility used, amusing only to themselves.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series