Down from the clouds the remnant of rebellious angles, whom cast themselves onto an ancient world, roam about like savages. The Nephilim - the celestial agents of old, transform to flesh, roam quietly in the shadows of a forest high up a steep alpine. They are the surviving rebels of the great deluge. Carnivores and scavengers they spend their days hunting for wild animals in a queer landscape changed by the slow elapse of time. Isolated and alone they call out to a god who has turned his mercy away from their misery; forever to exist in a queer landscape of vegetation and stone. They are wingless with overly long limbs, patches of dense hair running stiffly down their backs, and small eyes of blue-green set deep in their skulls. The genderless monstrosities, although hunched over with bent knees low to the ground, stand before the tallest tree chest high. Always reflected in their every gesture, their every move, fear. They hold a scrambled perception of a mortal hope, death, that will never come.


Like? Makes sense? (for those with a knowledge of the Old Testament, you should know these giants from your readings...this my imaginative view if some of them had they survived the Deluge)


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