At the entrance to the world, in the far east, Ra appears and is glad that it is day again.
“At least the day is easy-going,” he thinks and enjoys his favourite part: bathing in the
cool dawn waters of the Red Sea. Afterwards, he eats his fill of seed and worms, the only
things his falcon mouth can process. Once full, he is ready for all that is to come.
Then he returns once more to his grand boat, prepared for another day’s work by the
priests of the east, and Ra sets sail for another day’s speedy administration. He devotes
one twelfth of the day to each of the twelve provinces- quickly flying over checking and
sorting, checking and sorting.
And it’s all so boring, the same routine paperwork to fill in and pass on to the relevant local
authorities. Anything exciting that is occurring gets dealt with by other Gods- those with
more time on their hands. All Ra gets is the bureaucracy - the least taxing part, allowing
him to keep as fresh as possible for the hell that forms each night. Yet it is also absorbing
enough to keep his mind off that hell, keeping him from getting too depressed and killing
himself. As are and do the views he gets of Egypt. These he never tires of. They seem to
make it all worthwhile.
At the end of each day, Ra lands in the far west and is attended to by his priests there.
Each day they make a new suit of armour and new weapons, fitting Ra out with these
before he draws a deep breath from the cold dusk air and enters the underworld once
more.
And then battle to return to the east begins afresh. A long and weary battle against the
forces of Apep that Ra has to come through alive each night for the next day to begin and
for the world to continue.
He fights hard every night against many thousands of opponents, felling all with his mighty
swords, hacking limbs, slicing throats, stabbing chests and running through thoraxes until
ankle deep in blood. Until he loses his swords and has to use a mix of stolen weapons
and bare hands.
On and on Ra has to force his way until he almost becomes too weary to continue- at
which point the exit will come into view and, renewed, Ra fights on until he feels the
dawn’s breeze against his face as he passes through to the start of the next day, relieved
to have made it once more.
Then and only then can he remove his bust-up armour and relax again, safe in the cooling
waters of the Red Sea, his wounds and aching muscles healed by it, allowing him to face
another boring day and lousy night.
“At least the day is easy-going,” he thinks and enjoys his favourite part: bathing in the
cool dawn waters of the Red Sea. Afterwards, he eats his fill of seed and worms, the only
things his falcon mouth can process. Once full, he is ready for all that is to come.
Then he returns once more to his grand boat, prepared for another day’s work by the
priests of the east, and Ra sets sail for another day’s speedy administration. He devotes
one twelfth of the day to each of the twelve provinces- quickly flying over checking and
sorting, checking and sorting.
And it’s all so boring, the same routine paperwork to fill in and pass on to the relevant local
authorities. Anything exciting that is occurring gets dealt with by other Gods- those with
more time on their hands. All Ra gets is the bureaucracy - the least taxing part, allowing
him to keep as fresh as possible for the hell that forms each night. Yet it is also absorbing
enough to keep his mind off that hell, keeping him from getting too depressed and killing
himself. As are and do the views he gets of Egypt. These he never tires of. They seem to
make it all worthwhile.
At the end of each day, Ra lands in the far west and is attended to by his priests there.
Each day they make a new suit of armour and new weapons, fitting Ra out with these
before he draws a deep breath from the cold dusk air and enters the underworld once
more.
And then battle to return to the east begins afresh. A long and weary battle against the
forces of Apep that Ra has to come through alive each night for the next day to begin and
for the world to continue.
He fights hard every night against many thousands of opponents, felling all with his mighty
swords, hacking limbs, slicing throats, stabbing chests and running through thoraxes until
ankle deep in blood. Until he loses his swords and has to use a mix of stolen weapons
and bare hands.
On and on Ra has to force his way until he almost becomes too weary to continue- at
which point the exit will come into view and, renewed, Ra fights on until he feels the
dawn’s breeze against his face as he passes through to the start of the next day, relieved
to have made it once more.
Then and only then can he remove his bust-up armour and relax again, safe in the cooling
waters of the Red Sea, his wounds and aching muscles healed by it, allowing him to face
another boring day and lousy night.
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