The Shining City

The Shining City. Heaven. The center of the boughs of Iggdrissil. The Shining City is the Prime Plane of the boughs. Smaller than helheim or the titanic-sized eden, but larger than the modern earth. Heaven is the shining beacon of the stars.   The rain of Iggdrissil perpetually falls upon the lower reaches of the plane, the distant roll of thunder sometimes heard from the fog. Rolling, thick, unbreakable fog and rain-soaked clouds blankets the lowest reaches of Heaven. Atop the rolling mass of clouds bounce endless sunbeams, the boughs of heaven plentiful with Iggdrissil’s light and heaven the glorious home to a golden, fleece-like floor that none but angels may walk upon.   The tall mountains and planes of heaven are partly synthetic. For heaven is a plane of order. A plane of functioning beauty, of vanity, of golden light and the purity of the sun and Iggdrissil’s rain. The angels having long ago carved the jutting mountains’ craggy surfaces into smooth, carving down to the ‘bone of the mountains. White marble and limestone brought to the surface and polished into a gleaming sheen so as to better capture the light of the heavens.   Atop these clouds, woven around these mountains of white, and covering almost all the planet, is the city. The vast roads, buildings, and spires an endless glorious anthem to the power of Angelic might. The gold and white gleaming in the eternal sun as the plane rotates. Ever does the shining city earn it's name, Ever is it gleaming   The tallest of heaven’s mountains was long ago culled for this ambitious project. Rocky titans so massive that they scrapped the abyss itself were cut at the knees. Their bodies became fuel for the burgeoning kingdom, their feet became plateaus of agriculture and clean, flat cityscapes. Only one titanic mountain remains. The cathedral of silence. The smallest of these mountains, it’s peak barely touches the abyss through the atmosphere, but the angelic priests within claim the entire mountain resonates with the silence of the abyss beyond their place in Iggdrissil.   Below this interwoven bough of endless corridors, paths, parks, fields, and walls lies the sea. Below this endless maze-like cityscape of buildings, churches, and schools of learning martial and gentle arts lay the unseen sea. For the golden clouds beneath Heaven’s spires hide what is truely below. And not since the spires were build has any angel willingly sought to go down and see what is below.   It’s said that were one able to find their way through the fog and rain, they might one day touch the oceans of heaven with their own feet. Few have dared try, all having been found hungry, tired, and rain-soaked by the angels from above.   For most of heaven’s denizens, the clouds are a beautiful backdrop to the shining glory that is heaven. The occasional rumble of thunder filling their feet with muted dread even as it is a normalcy of their lives. For in heaven, it ever rains underfoot, it ever shines overhead