The great gods came, stood silent sentry across the landscape. Brought great energy with them. Initiate your telescreens, they instructed with gentle telepathy. We did as bade, and from the murk came shapes, beautiful colours, together shifting in narrative synchrony. They hummed, the great gods, a throb amongst themselves, indecipherable tongues of power. Our attempts to decode the sounds, to find pattern in the silence around them, to impose on them the earthen drudgery of our painfully limited experience, were failures. A tongue of such nuance was not for us to grasp.
It was almost certain that the reach of the great gods extended far across the Anglerealme, but as is known we in this eastern quarter had long ceased to commune with the dastards west of the Isle of Ely, which had for centuries been home to the great gods that were and not the great gods that now are and are now come.
Twas not for the mans or for the womans to comprehend the great gods. They posed a danger within their latticed steel bellies. They had long mastered our feeble language and provided warning markers upon their persons, and pictographs for the illiterate many. Proximity to the great gods could engender full death. Miles of telepathic cabling bore tremendous lethal force. From safe distances we would encircle the brutes in humble genuflection and offer our thanks for the comfort of the shapes that our telescreens displayed.
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