“The dauntless druid Malek walked the land, A mighty druid with no living peer, From suncast golden prairie to blue ocean grand, Walked this pilgrim without fear.
With him he bore a simple cane of oak and yew, And a cloak white as purest snow, As he strode confident through sun and morning dew, Content to watch the forest grow.
He spoke to deer and snake and wolf and bird, Friend to all of the living things, A kinder voice than his has yet been heard, Carried on the wind’s wings.
But upon this day not all was well in the land, A foul evil in the forest spread, None other than a massive, wicked robber’s band, Breaking root and tree as animals fled.
Malek walked through brush with nothing but a smile, He had never seen warriors causing pain, Unknowing of the force that encroached to defile, And establish their greedy, wicked reign.
And through the trees came the foe, a truly horrific sight, With crooked blades and clubs of stone, Painted armours of leather and sorceries of blight, They let arrows loose from bows of bone.
And the arrows they fell as rain during a rugged squall, But Malek remained still without dread, His eyes eyes filled with courage, unaware of the cabal, Even as an arrow fell straight for his head.
But just as the arrow fell from above in the sky, Either by the eight’s touch or by luck, Malek saw his doom and thought he would die, Just as the arrow caught on a passing duck.
The robber baron drew his crooked blade and shouted to attack, And his band charged with a thunderous sound, Malek wide-eyed with surprise, he gasped and was taken aback, As a wicked raider pushed him to the ground.
The bandit grinned and pushed down Malek with his weight, As another approached with a terrifying frown, You can call it misfortune, divine intervention, or perhaps fate, The friend stumbled on a rock and cut the bandit down.
Malek crawled through mud and into dense forest ran, As the band of raiders followed with a shout, And Malek hid deep in the woods to come up with a plan, Blind to the drake that found him with its snout.
The drake leapt with claw and tooth, a predatory brute, As Malek turned to see the raiders were in tow, Our hero tried to run but fell as his foot caught on a root, And the drake sailed over him to strike his foe.
Malek continued his escape, but it was all for naught, As the chieftain caught up to him, The crooked sword swung as the warrior had been taught And Malek’s prospects turned dim.
But our hero was blessed by gods of nature and prosperity eight, On a cliff above them landed a single dove, And as the chieftain lifted his sword to seal Malek’s sordid fate, A loose boulder fell and crushed him from above.
And though our hero had no lifted a single blade, And never intended any harm, Nature rose around him to come to his aid, And returned him safely to his farm.
Malek may be gone today but his legacy lives on, In his word, kindness and deed, For as sure as we shall see another dawn, Nature will always be our creed. “
A song from the Boreal Highlands, performed by Eòghan.
It details the misadventures of Malek, a (very) lucky druid!
The sun had barely risen over the walls of Ketrefa, yet the Court of Flames was already bustling. The shanty of stone houses in disrepair and stacked gutter houses had families milling out onto the streets. Not unlike the misnamed market-turned-red light district that was the House of Ambrosia, the Court of Flames had fire neither in the heart of its residents, nor had any noble of esteem paraded the length of its two streets intersecting into a small square in many decades. The square - once a grand shrine to Evandra - had been preserved out of fear of displeasing a god, but the adjoining temple structure had long since been usurped by animal handlers that converted the spacious area into a makeshift stable.
Today was different, however. A well-dressed procession had garnered interest in the early light, and as the residents realized that the visitors were setting up food stalls and cook pots, the word had spread like wildfire among those who struggled to make ends meet. A single man in moth-bitten garb allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, and approached the service. A young oaken-haired woman dressed in almost regal finery intercepted him with a warm smile. They talked for a brief moment, before the man was given a bowl of stew, a ladle, and a piece of bread. It didn’t take long for a line to form after that.
The routine was simple, each hopeful commoner met the young brunette, who told them the Great Goddess Neiya loved them all, and that it was House Akellos duty to look after all who the Goddess loved. They received their food and praised the goddess together, before the next in line had their turn. It continued like that for the entirety of the early day, until finally, one man in the line mustered the courage to strike up a longer conversation.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I-... Someone down the line said that you were also offering work to the willing?” He mustered with an unsteady smile, pulling the leather cap from his head humbly.
The woman smiled warmly at the man. “You can call me Mira, child. We are equals before the Goddess,” she began with a sweet tone, then turned to gesture towards a handsome man standing by one of the cook pots, dressed in finery as her, far beyond that of a cook. “When we’re done here, you may return and speak to my husband Kalet, over there. Make sure to let others know, there is food and warmth for all who wish to work.” She continued, as the man was offered a bowl, ladle and bread by one of the others preparing food. Mira turned back to the man. “Praise the Goddess, and her eternal love,” she said, and the man repeated it with thankful glee.
Another long day in Ketrefa’s convoluted bureaucracy was about to come to an end, as the sun finally finished it’s journey over the Walled City, starting to invite the twilight as it dipped under the top of the wall. Matan, tired from a long day of house-calls, impromptu meetings and instructing an endless stream of messengers, slowly dragged his feet over the streets of the city, weaving between the houses of minor nobility until he found himself deep into the terrace that housed much of the upper class and overlooked the older parts of the city.
Weaving around a last corner, he finally sighted his last destination for the day - the once luxurious Akellos estate. It was sizable and grand, but forgotten in the bustle of everyday life, much like its inhabitants. Or so Matan had thought until a few days ago. He made his way towards the entrance, a stone arch that someone had vandalized with symbols and crude attempts at murals - most of which made no sense to Matan. Most prominent was the heart-symbol of the love goddess, though someone had further ruined that by drawing what looked like six spikes, or horns, around its edges.
Matan found himself stopped, idly viewing the extent of the damage defacing the front of the estate. Perhaps it was recent, and they’d not yet gotten around to fixing it. No prominent noble would allow this vicious destruction of his property, surely.
Movement from the entrance beyond drew Matan’s attention back to the real, and not many moments later a young man dressed in plain, but certainly upper crust, clothing stalked out of the arch to nearly bump into him.
“Oh, I apo-...” The man began, but chuckled as he recognized Matan properly. “Matan? Are you all the way out here? At this hour? The denizens of the House of Ambrosia must be missing you.”
“Yaren,” Matan replied with a growing smirk. “What can I say? It’s been a long day, justice never rests, and all that.” He sighed quietly, examining his comrade. “We missed you and your brother at the ceremony last week. You know Kelet can’t make his way through the Blessing of the Five to save his life without your piety to guide the way.”
Yaren laughed warmly, and gave only a small shrug in defense.
“And what’s this, not wearing the symbol of the Five?” Matan inquired further, smirk still lingering on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and become one of those heretics who deny the gods, now.”
Again Yaren laughed, offering a smirk back at his inquisitive friend. He patted at his neck theatrically as if to look for the item in question. “Not at all. In fact, this last week I’d say I feel closer to the divine than ever before. I must’ve just left it at home.” He smiled at Matan, looking him up and down. “What’re you doing all the way out here, anyway? Got business with Old Man Akellos?” Matan nodded and sighed, running a hand up to scratch at his own neck. “Aye. Guards’ been running around all day beating down poor folk and beggars raising hell all over the fancier districts. Ripping symbols off of people’s necks, breaking shrines and vandalizing murals. A few of them said two nobles affiliated with House Akellos put ‘em up to it.”
Yaren made a face and shrugged once more. “News to me. Sounds like someone’s trying to smear my Great Uncle, honestly.”
“That’s what I thought,” Matan agreed. “But given how the Old Man has been talking in the courts in the last two weeks, riling nobles up and stirring up old piety laws - well, the magistrate is worried he’s making an attempt for his position.”
Yaren frowned, the youthful man stroking at his chin briefly in thought. “Well, he has been more devout as of late. I suppose you should come on in. The Old Man is busy right now, but I’ll let him know you’re waiting.” He affirmed with a nod, and gestured towards the entrance. Matan nodded in turn, and the two men walked through the arch to enter the old estate.
Matan had not seen the Akellos estate from the inside for at least five years, yet nothing seemed to have changed in that time. Opulent chandeliers, rich weave curtains and mats, and embellished cushions and artwork littering every corner of the grand entry hall. Yaren smiled back at him, and gestured up towards the ceiling. He offered a quick “I’ll be right back then,” and scarpered up the nearby staircase to vanish to the upper floors. Matan took his time looking at the rich and old valuables that stood for open viewing. Old busts of Ketrefan nobles and saints that had not been relevant for many years. Carvings of old legends now caked with a layer of dust. Come to think of it, the estate was very quiet. Matan glanced around, but there was not a servant in sight. No errant slave-girl, no cooks making the last round back to the kitchen before evening meals. No servant waiting in the hall to see to his own needs. Were they so forgotten by Ketrefa that they no longer could support themselves? He drew a finger along a seat cushion, and it came away with a thin layer of dust. Frowning, Matan idled in the silent entry hall waiting for Yaren.
But Yaren did not seem to be in any hurry to return. Perhaps he had been forced to wait, out of respect. It made Matan restless all the same, and his inspection grew in range, as the Magistrate’s assistant began to pace about the room, eyeing new details. He was just about to turn back towards the stairs when an open archway at the end of the hall caught his eye. Normally covered with a regal cloth that had been tied to one side, Matan could just barely spot another room at the far end of a small hallway. Even from afar, he saw what looked like an altar.
Matan glanced back towards the stairs and listened. He could not hear Yaren, nor anyone else, approach, and in that moment he decided to go on a small journey. With surreptitious grace befitting that of a bureaucrat, he slunk in beside the tied curtain, and walked down the short hallway with newfound curiosity. A few steps later, Matan stepped into another room - and what felt like another world. The walls were covered with strange murals of blue, black and silver. Strange symbols not unlike those outside, complete with hand-painted drawings of horned women and grotesque depictions of what Matan could only imagine were some kind of vile ritual. In the midst of the room, with a blue hue cast over the entire scene thanks to the paint, stood an altar of sleek marble. A few candles stood quiet on it now, burned down and melted out over the stonework. Matan moved further into the room, and glanced down when he noticed his feet touching something. All over the floor were cushions, pillows of fine make and a multitude of covers. One could sleep in here - nay, host an entire party. Finally, on the far wall beyond the altar, the unmistakable symbol of the Love Goddess Neiya was painted with a rich blue colour. From afar it looked almost like a river bending in on itself to form a heart.
Matan exhaled shakily, steadily walking towards the altar as he eyed the spacious shrine. The murals filled him with a growing unease, and none of the symbols looked anything like what the clergy would sanction or spread. Were it not for the Love Goddess sign, he would have immediately considered it heretical. A gnawing worry deep within still did. Matan stopped at the marble altar at last, and ran his fingers along the stone. His fingers came away clean, and he scrubbed them against each other to be sure. No dust in here. Some of the paintings looked recent as well. He glanced up towards the symbol of Neiya once more, and noticed that even this large blue painting had horns embellished on its sides, barely visible in the gloom. Narrowing his eyes, Matan walked closer to the back wall, running his hand against the grotesque symbols and figures as he tried to make more of it out in the poor light.
He stayed like that for a longer time than he had first intended, each new carving intriguing and revolting to his pious senses in equal measure. It was inherently captivating, yet deeply disturbing. Unlike any chamber or shrine he had seen in his time. Then, from out of nowhere, a sharp breath and a voice from behind made him stiffen with surprise.
“Ah, there you are. We thought you had left out of boredom.” a man’s voice spoke with warm tones. Matan spun around, and found himself looking at two new faces; an oaken-haired young woman in a finely spun silk dress, and a handsome dark-haired man in dress clothes. They both smiled at him warmly. “When Yaren said you waited below, we thought he meant the entrance hall.”
Matan breathed a shaky sigh, scratching at the back of his head and hurrying out from the back of the shrine, walking into what little light gleaned into the room. “Heh, I’m-... I’m sorry. I got curious. Have we met?”
The man shook his head and smiled, stepping forward with powerful confidence to extend his hand for Matan to shake. “I am Kalet Akestos, a minor branch house of Akellos,” he introduced himself with a gleaming smile as Matan shook his hand, and then twisted to the side to gesture to the woman, who greeted Matan from afar with a warm and comely smile. “This is my wife, Mira Anestra.” Matan nodded to her with a small smile and she curtsied, tugging on the silk dress to let her complete the motion.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Matan breathed with a little relief, though still unnerved by the room they were in. His brow furrowed soon after. “Isn’t Anestra also a branch house of Akellos?” he questioned, and Kalet chuckled warmly.
“You’re right! Our union ended a many decade-long feud. We are thankful to the Goddess that she brought us together so wonderfully.” He offered with a pleased grin, and Mira looked equally happy in unison. Matan nodded and adjusted his shirt. When silence spread, his attention fell on the grotesque wall murals once more.
After a moment’s hesitation, he cleared his throat and spoke. “What, ah, what is this room, exactly? I’ve never seen anything like it?”
“Oh, this?” Kalet returned with a confidence undeterred by Matan’s returning doubt. “This is a shrine to Neiya, who touches our hearts with her divine and eternal love.”
“I see,” Matan replied, a brief frown at his explanation. “It doesn’t look anything like the shrines I’ve seen before. There are some… artistic liberties, I think.”
Kalet simply laughed, and his wife smiled in the background. “Just because the clergy have an image that we follow, my friend, does not mean it is right. We hold all aspects of the Goddess dear, and close to our hearts.”
Matan nodded, glancing back at the murals in thought. He was about to speak when Kalet interrupted his thought, another chuckle as he tapped his forehead. “Ah, yes! I almost forgot. We were supposed to tell you, Master Akellos will be unable to see you this evening. I’m afraid he’s stuck dealing with a family matter. He will see first thing at dawn.”
“Oh,” Matan shook his head, and forced a small smile. “No issue. I did arrive unannounced after all.” He waved a hand to dismiss the issue, clearing his throat. With a last smile, he took a single step to the side to move for the exit, but Kalet stopped him with a lifted hand.
“No, please, my friend. Yaren told me how far away you live. I would not force you to walk all this way again on the morrow.” Kalet took a few steps back himself, smiling warmly. Almost mischievously. “I insist that you let us house you for the evening.”
Matan offered a sheepish smile, and felt a chuckle bubble loose as he scratched the back of his head. “Yaren is always thinking of others, huh.”
Kalet and Mira both smiled at each other before smiling at him. “You’ll find that in this house we try to spread the love to all who deserve it.” Matan nodded and offered a brief word of thanks. It seemed however, that Kalet was not finished. He slowly took his wife in hand, and together they once more approached Matan, who cleared his throat.
The couple came to stand a few short paces from him, and Kalet gently led Mira in front of him, facing Matan. She offered him a soft, if a little shy smile. Matan stood silent, watching the two with a gentle tension resurfacing. He could not help but watch Mira as she stood displayed before him in her silken dress. Kalet grinned from behind his wife, and finally broke the silence. “Let us show you hospitality worthy of the one true goddess, Matan,” he voiced calmly, before his hands lowered to her back. With a single well-placed tug, the straps loosened, and the luxurious dress fell to the ground, disrobing the woman in one fell swoop. Matan stared transfixed in disbelief as Mira gingerly stepped across the cushion-covered floor to close the distance between them, hands already moving to lay against Matan’s chest. Matan stuttered a few words in confusion, taking a single step back as Mira pressed against him.
“I am not sure my affection is enough for such an upright man. Husband?” Mira spoke with soft words, that alone seemed to make Matan shiver with anticipation. Behind her, Kalet smiled, already undoing his shirt as he walked towards the both of them.
Matan began an unsteady protest, but before more than a syllable had left his lips, Mira’s finger was upon them, shushing him with desire in her eyes and a firm touch. Her other hand wandered down over his chest, as Matan felt Kalet run his hands over his shoulders.
“Let us show you how we honour the One True Goddess.” Mira whispered in his ear.
Matan felt their hands roam on his clothes, and he offered a slow nod.
The Magistrate could wait another day for his report.
We open in a poor-man’s district in Ketrefa, where Kalet and Mira from the Cult of the Horned Goddess are feeding the poor. One man checks on a rumour that they are offering work, and Mira suggests that they will offer a job for anyone who wants food and warmth.
Later the same day, Matan, a beleaguered magistrate’s assistant is travelling to the Akellos estate to check on some rumours about them hiring people to wreck shit in Ketrefa. He meets Yaren, who he knows from before. They talk for a bit before Yaren invites him into the mansion and leaves to go talk to the head honcho. While he is gone, Matan goes on a spy mission and finds a weird-ass shrine devoted to Neiya.
His ass is caught by Mira and Kalet, who he quizzes on what the truck this shrine is. They tell him Akellos won’t see him today, and he tries to leave. Kalet and Mira have other plans, and get him to stay the night.
The hiss of squirting blood took over as the dominant sound next to the wind as the gurgles of the fresh carcass subsided. With a dull sigh, Twilight pulled the blood red mask, so coloured by both paint and blood at this rate, off its owner to behold the grotesque face underneath. He had collected quite a few of these over the past day or so, and the sack which he had been putting them was filling to the brim. He dragged Tsukigami-no-Kokoro through the muddy grass of the swamp floor, not quite sure why he expected that to clean it. Using the hem of his robe instead, he managed to clean it at the expense of his clothes. That was the only time the sword had actually cut something, though - the majority of the masks in his sack had violent cracks and dents from the fact that, most of the time, Twilight had been forced to employ his weapon as a club. This last bandit had been fortunate, really - encountering Twilight in the middle of a moonbeam had sealed his fate quick and (probably) painlessly. He kicked at the spear the bandit had wielded.
Why couldn’t Gibbou have made him an actual viable weapon? Tsukigami-no-Kokoro was absolutely useless here - swamp trees covered the skydome three fourth of the journey, and the last fourth, it was either day or overcast night. He would’ve been satisfied with anything - anything other than this. Bashing in someone’s head with a weapon not designed to be used as a club was hard work - even for someone of divine might. He fell to his knees and cast his arms outwards, facing the sky:
”Why can’t I have a weapon like them, huh?! Am I not good enough?!”
There was a brisk silence as his words rang out into the swamp. In the distance, a lonely crow offered its pity with a single caw. For a few precious seconds, the world mocked him with its distant loneliness. Then, the wind seemed to brush against his hair and clothes, and the air grew thick with a distant presence. For a simple simple mortal it might have seemed like an especially cloying gust of wind, but on some level Twilight could feel there was more to it.
A few seconds more, and a gentle voice rang out in his mind. ”Life is not fair, is it?” it whispered with a seductive tone. ”What ails you, my sweet?”
Twilight sucked in a deep breath and pursed his lips. ”That’s something I haven’t smelled before. Who are you?” He eyed the trees and the foliage around him.
Beyond the lone crow giving him the stink-eye in the distance, there wasn’t much of note happening in the swamp any more. Still, the voice continued. ”I am Neiya. Goddess of Love,” she voiced with some notion of pride. ”Your plight reached my ears, and I suffer it with you. Though, something is different about you, is it not?”
”Neiya, goddess of love, huh?” mumbled Twilight with some resemblance of a cocky smirk. ”My, oh my, what kind’a plight did I have to call upon your beautiful presence tonight?”
”If I remember correctly, my dear, it was something about your equipment not being good enough,” the goddess offered with a honeyed voice. ”Do I have that right?”
”You’ve got that right,” muttered the avatar. ”I asked Blueberry for a weapon in the heat of the moment and she gave me a club that might sharpen up if the moon’s out. Like, who does that?”
”Blueberry? Moon?” came an initial question. A pause followed, silence spreading as the presence remained, but no sound followed. Almost as a tease, when Twilight was almost entirely certain no more words were coming, the voice spoke again. ”Truly a mystery, my sweet. Perhaps she wishes for you to fail? A mistake? A cruel joke? You’ll find no such malice with me, whatever the purpose may be.”
”Probably. She’s dumb, slow, whiney and has no idea what she’s doing. Wouldn’t surprise me if it was an outright mistake, honestly. She didn’t even correct it, though. That’s just who she is, though - as reliable as a bridge of rotten wood.” He eyed the blade and then the skies again, stuffing the sword into its sheath. ”Are you saying you would make me something better?”
”Happily,” the voice responded. The sigh that followed was more of a seductive exhale, and seemed to brush against his hair. ”If that is what you truly want. I wouldn’t want you to suffer needlessly.”
Twilight felt an urgent need for a cold bath. ”What, uh, what’d you have in mind?”
”Anyone important enough to have met my kin is important to me. I want you to be safe,” the goddess replied with a consistently sweet voice. ”To know that you are in my heart, as I hope I shall be in yours. My love is eternal.”
Twilight offered a long whistle. ”Are you like this with everyone you meet, or just me?”
There was a half-scoff rung through their connection, a brief and fleeting amusement. ”You wound me. Perhaps my affection would be best served with another valiant who appreciates my love.”
Her words made Twilight physically chase forward a few steps. ”Woah, woah, heeeey, I didn’t mean it like thaaat, beautiful. Old Twilight here’s just playin’, y’know. Hey, you didn’t leave, right? Neiya?”
There was another brief pause before the voice returned. ”I’m still here, Twilight. I would never abandon you in your hour of need.” In the distance, the crow offered another solitary caw. ”I’m happy to offer you something that would display our shared affection. Something that shall protect you, when all you have is the memory of our meeting.”
Twilight smirked. ”And what would that be, beautiful?”
The wind grew in intensity around Twilight not long after his question, whipping the ground and tugging at his clothes. Whispers of all manner of languages forced their way into his ears, a chorus of mortal wants and needs, a maelstrom of voices and emotions. Then, as soon as it had begun, the wind stilled, and the voices grew quiet. Everything was the same, except for the stout black and silver shield now strapped around his arm, and the jingle of metal around his neck - an arrowhead of silver holding a blood-red ruby.
Twilight eyed the shield with saucer-like eyes. ”... This… This is beautiful. What’s it made of?” He turned his arm around, and the shield, by extension, admiring its surface and colour.
”Nothing short of my affection would do, my sweet,” the goddess replied modestly, neglecting to directly respond to the question. ”It shall forever keep me in your mind - and in return, I shall forever extend my protection. It will keep you safe, no matter the quality of your blade.”
”It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh, what did I do to run into such an angel such as you? Did I die and go to paradise? Am I finally free from her squeaky nagging?” He brandished the shield in different poses and blew a kiss to the skies. ”You’re the best, babe.”
There was another pause, before a more straight-laced tone returned to her voice. ”I’m afraid you’re stuck for now. Keep me in your thoughts, and you’ll never be alone.”
Twilight smirked and swung the shield over his back. ”Oh, babe, I won’t forget you ever, I promise.” He paused. ”So… Wanna, maybe, meet up some time? I met this great guy back on Toraan who I’m sure could lend us his cave for the night.” He paused. ”Oh wait, you probably can’t make it down here, like Blueberry. Hmm… Hey, you got a spare cave, by chance?”
”Such an enticing offer.” the voice replied with barely contained frustration. There was another pause, another sigh. ”Alas, I cannot give my heart to someone yet unproven. When our bond is unbreakable, I will offer you the paradise you seek, my sweet.”
”I’ll be counting the days, babe.” He smooched the air. ”Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go test this shield in my love’s honour. Toodles!” With that, he set off into the swampy woods with a whistle on his lips.
The goddess did not reply. The wind seemed to still for a moment, and the connection was broken. At last, it was just Twilight and the nosy crow, who insisted on his continued folly with a lonesome caw.
Meanwhile, somewhere far, far away…
... That... Mother… FU--!”
Twilight hates sword. Asks for better thing. Lovegirl says she will give better thing. Twilight hasn’t gotten his rocks off for 2000 years and instantly agreed. Receives Shield of Fragile Manhood and Necklace of Power(bottoms). Chads his way out when he really virgined it hard. Neiya’s not too impressed, but secretly super into him, totally.
Meanwhile, Gibbou’s jimmies are so rustled that they can be heard across space and time.
Neiya Starting MP/DP: 2/5
Created: Eternal Shield - Artifact This black and silver shield appears to be made of a steel-like, reflective metal.
Eternal I: (The shield reforms and rebuilds itself slowly after being broken.) -1 MP Love Fortress II: (This shield is stronger than most materials and take a massive beating, but only while the wielder is thinking of Neiya. While not thinking of Neiya, it's no stronger than a pane of glass.) -2 DP
Heart's Compass - Artifact A silver arrowhead with a blood-red ruby in its midst, this medallion hangs on a silver chain.
Guided Love I: (The ruby and metal arrowhead at the end of this necklace points towards the fielder's deepest love when laid in the palm.) -1 DP
The preparations for next week’s harvest celebration was in full swing, and with it came visitors from all over the land. Farmers and traders, eager to participate in the event of the season and form new connections to the growing population of their little settlement. Every year, prospective travellers fleeing the scourge of Ketrefa, the wasps and beasts of the east, or in search of the growing legend of Ha-Dûna, came through their humble village nestled on a piece of arable land amid the hills. Every year, a few more seemed to stay behind, entranced by the charm of the simple life in the sun and relative safety of Àite-Tàimh, and most families welcomed them with open arms. More people meant easier work, safer work. Each white-cloak moving through towards Ha-Dûna was a blessing, and even one deciding to stay for a month or year was a miracle in disguise. This year, they had two; A crusty but jovial old crone who spent all her time looking after the women in Àite-Tàimh - especially Lucrais, with her third child on the way - and her young apprentice Aoife.
Ever since she had first walked into the village, smiling with a warmth of a thousand summers at Eòghan where he had sat on his fencepost, watching them both approach, he had been smitten. Aoife was the perfect storm. Her flowing red hair, a fire that could not go out. Her blue eyes, and the dusted freckles on her cheeks. He lay awake at night thinking about her happy waves from across the village as she trailed her tutor, about that mild-mannered laugh when he told her his latest story. Her words were like a song, a song he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, stop listening to.
That was why, on this day with a sleepy sun making the last preparations before sinking beyond the horizon, and a gentle wind, it was with extra distaste that Eòghan watched the wonderful Aoife being tricked into spending more and more time with Cailean, Old Claib’s son. From his usual perch he watched the two frolic about the village, Cailean dancing around her like a hill snake coiling around its prey. His smug, dumb face locked in a grin as he harassed her with silly jokes, and pointing out things around the village that she surely already knew about - after all Eòghan had made a point of showing her around after the first day of their arrival. For some reason he didn’t understand, Aoife seemed to be full of mirth, laughing at Cailean’s jokes and skipping around asking questions of her own. The butterflies in his stomach grew to a strange churn, and eventually a boulder that seemed to catch in his throat. Aoife was going to leave after the festival, and all she’d remember was that dumb Cailean and his stupid grin. Unable to watch anymore, Eòghan headed home with a head full of worry.
A week passed in no time, with the whole of Àite-Tàimh abuzz with a variety of chores. Eòghan’s father had him help with seating - they’d hewn long tables perfect for the outside feast, and the farmers from the hill across had dug fire pits on either side to keep them warm long into the night. Tons of families had come together to make wreaths, effigies, and different charms for the many gods, greatly helped by Aoife and her tutor. It was shaping up to be an amazing celebration, remembered by the village folk and gods alike. Eòghan was dressed in his best clothes, and his sister had knitted him a personalized hair pin that looked like a rose surrounded by lilies. When she’d found out that Aoife loved flowers, she’d made it just for him to give as a gift. She’d also snickered a lot. With the hair pin in hand, he made his way to the center of town, eager to find the girl of his dreams, and win her over once and for all with this memento of her time in the village. She’d spent a lot of time with him over the week - that much was true, but each time he had hoped to talk to her alone, Cailean had come and ruined it all. Spirited her away, or given Eòghan a bigger workload. But this time, he could not be topped. That dumb boy wouldn’t ruin his time together with her anymore.
As Eòghan reached the village center, he glanced around for her. Her red locks were easy to spot, and his smile grew as he picked her behind the crowd of milling visitors. However, his heart sank like a stone in water not a moment later. Across the way, by the chicken gate, who was taking up Aoife’s attention from afar if not Cailean. Worse, he had some kind of intricate instrument that he was managing to fully ensnare her with. Eòghan pushed through the people, saying hello to those he knew, determined to fully scope out his competition. Even from afar he could hear the twangs of music, a few discordant notes off-key in a song that Cailean had obviously practiced at least for a while. He knew he could handle a flute, but this, this was something else entirely.
He stared at the musical procession from afar, and tried to make out what the dastardly instrument was. A nearly round shape of wood and animal skin, with strings running up the middle in a loose net. Almost like a bow drawn back far beyond its limits. Cailean’s fingers strummed on the strings, and music flowed forth in delightful, taut intervals. Eòghan stared at the instrument in disbelief and saw Aoife nodding her head next to him, enjoying the miniature concert. It was the last straw. Seeing his chances shatter in front of him, Eòghan stormed forwards towards Cailean and his dumb instrument, and pointed at it sharply as he interrupted the performance. ”What is that?” he demanded, and immediately regretted it when he saw Cailean perk up with a smug smile.
“Oh, Eòghan, hey. Didn’t see you there. This here is a lyre, you know. M’dad got it all the way from the Prairie-folk in the west, he did. Says it’s all the rage. I been practicing for this lovely lass here. Yes, you.” Cailean replied, and winked towards Aoife, whose cheeks burned with a summer fire.
Eòghan was speechless, and felt a despair and rage well up within him. How could this be how it ended? Cailean had been practicing on some exotic instrument, and the world had never intended for Eòghan to have a chance. It wasn’t fair. He mumbled a brief compliment for Cailean’s instrument to not lose face, and walked off with all the self-control he could muster. Between tears and the urge to hit Cailean, wrestle him for her attention, he clutched the hair pin in his hand and mosied over to his old fence post instead, away from the bustle of the celebration. Alone at his perch, he glowered over towards the now distant Cailean as he continued to play for Aoife. In his head, he cursed his own luck, and his inaction. How could he compete with something like that? He held his head in his hands and thought the worst of his life. Cursed existence. Felt like he could scream. Finally, he prayed. There was nothing else left to try. He called out in his head, asking for guidance, for salvation, and for love. He had never truly cared much for the gods and their tales, but it couldn’t hurt to try. He knew from his mother’s stories that there was such a thing as a love goddess. So why should only Cailean get her blessing? To his surprise, Eòghan felt a stifling presence wash over him, a whisper in his ear, though no one was there.
”You call for me, Eòghan, son of Baltair and Muire, and I answer,” the voice whispered, seductive and intrusive in tone. ”Your pain is my pain, my sweet. Truly, the world is wicked.”
He stood breathless for a moment, gaze flicking from side to side as he tried to sight the voice, but no one else seemed to hear her. It was a miracle. He looked up to the sky instead. ”Can you help me, goddess? I-.. I cannot compete with his exotic instrument.”
”Is it competition you wish for?” the voice asked with a whisper.
Eòghan nodded firmly, eyes moving back to stare at the far away Cailean. And her. ”I would do anything to win her heart. He doesn’t care about her, he’s always like this. What I wouldn’t give to give him a dose of his own medicine.”
There was a lingering pause. Were it not for the presence still impacting on his mind, he would have thought he was alone again. ”As you ask, so shall it be. Anything for you, my dearest. The sweet music of love shall forever run through your veins. Enough to win any battle.”
Eòghan heard a sultry exhale, and felt the wind briskly grip and tussle his hair. Before he could speak, the haze had lifted from his mind, and he blinked vigorously as sound and sensation came back from the world around him. Had he dreamed? He didn’t feel different. He lifted his arms as if to weigh them and inspect his own clothes. Nothing had changed. Perhaps he imagined it. Somehow.
His eyes trailed back to Aoife and the dumb, stupid scoundrel with his equally dumb instrument. Only this time something felt strange. He straightened himself out and narrowed his eyes, gaze falling on the distant lyre as Cailean played on. Slowly he found himself walking back towards the two, watching Cailean’s fingers as they strummed on his exotic instrument. As if elevated to new understanding, Eòghan began to see the pattern he created as he played, and how it could change through simple rhythm and motion. He saw what Cailean did wrong when he created his errors. He knew he could do better. He felt it in his bones. No. He had to do better. ”Can I try?” Eòghan forced out as he found he had stamped all the way back to them both. Cailean stopped playing his sedate tune and eyed him with a mixture of surprise and smug glee.
“Of course, Eòghan. Go easy, though. It’s harder than it looks. Wouldn’t want you to have to buy a new one!” he remarked with his typical attitude, and slowly handed over his lyre to Eòghan. From his expression, Eòghan knew he expected him to fail.
He wasn’t so sure he could do it either, but he felt compelled to try. Eòghan glanced to Aoife, who gave him a smile that made his cheeks warm. He had to. He hefted the instrument like Cailean had, and settled his hand against the strings. Then he began to play.
At first, he played the same tune as his idiot rival had. Gentle and unassuming. Knowing how it worked from watching Cailean, he corrected the mistakes his rival had made, and the song flowed with gentle ease. Aoife clapped happily, and Cailean looked both dumbstruck and impressed.
But Eòghan didn’t feel victorious. It wasn’t over. It was too easy. It wasn’t his instrument. He had to wow her, no, wow them both! He paused in the gentle rhythm, took a quick breath, and closed his eyes. Tried to focus on the songs he had heard sung in the past. He settled on one, and began to play anew. His fingers moved as if on their own, well-learned and graceful on the instrument. It was a pleasant melody, one that deserved the lyrics he had heard before. And so, to the already awestruck two listeners, he sang.
”Ask not the sun why she sets, Why she hides her light away. Or why the moons in the sky do raise, When night turns crimson gold to grey.
For quiet falls the tired sun, As day to dark does turn. Instead her sister climbs her peak: Her light cast for us to yearn.
She watches from above, Worry not my darling sun. The moon guards us in the night, Shielding from fear and blight.
Gentle sun, go to rest, The moon has come to us again.
As his hands came to a rest, and Eòghan once more opened his eyes, he was stunned to find a whole crowd of villagers nearby, stopped in their tracks to listen. There was a brief pause, before two of the Kinley boys started applauding, which in turn brought on a deluge of approval from the others. It felt like the whole village was there to adore his words, his tunes. A hand slammed into his back with sudden, if manageable force. Cailean forced himself into view, grinning like a madman. “Wow! You’re a natural, Eòghan! You gotta teach me! I’ll tell Father for sure!”
Eòghan smiled back, relief and pride washing over him as even Cailean seemed genuinely touched. He had truly done it. He was blessed by the gods. He glanced around for Aoife, and found her crowded out by the approaching villagers.
His green eyes locked with her blue amidst the commotion.
She gave him a gentle smile. He smiled back, and her face dusted with summer red.
He would give her the pin after all.
It’s harvest party time in the northern highlands! Eòghan is a local kid who is seriously crushing on Aoife, a druid apprentice in town over the festival. They get along well, and Eòghan is building up confidence to express his emotions properly. Unfortunately, local jerk Cailean is also all up in Aoife´s face, and worse; Aoife seems to like him too! Oh no!
As the festival arrives, Eòghan has a plan to fix everything and express his affection; he will give her custom bling to win her over! But as he arrives to find Aoife, it turns out that Cailean has used the power of parents to acquire a devilish new instrument, and he is in the midst of wooing Aoife with his demonic (not really) powers!
Eòghan is drained of confidence, and curses his existence. He prays to what little he knows of the love goddess for guidance, and to his surprise, she responds. After he accidentally words his request to Neiya without knowing it, she grants his request and gives him cool learning powers - which he promptly uses to beat Cailean the Jerk at his own game! Music battle!
He smiles at Aoife, and she blushes.
Starting MP/DP: 5/3
Consecrated: Eòghan - Hero Unbeknownst to Eòghan, Neiya worded her blessing very specifically. His musical blessing is eternal, unlike him. As such, his heroism is passed on as a Bloodline in the event of his passing.
Compulsive Rivalry I: (Whenever this hero hears music, singing or folk tales, they are compelled to outperform them.) - 1 DP (3/5 towards Envy)
Idea Thief II: (This hero has an innate talent for mastering new instruments, singing techniques and cultural niches of musical entertainment, but only if they see someone else performing it.) - 2 DP (5/5 towards Envy)
Washing off along the coast and seeking the heat of the prairie had been a desperate, time-sensitive affair. When Sanya finally entered the warmer lands that the sunlit and pleasant prairie offered, pockets of civilisation and bountiful game - life quickly returned to some semblance of normalcy. Eager to put the recent past behind her, she’d made a beeline towards her homelands in the Highlands. She made short stops at small villages or tribal settlements, trading what little remained of her equipment from her northern excursion for food or information, gleaning snippets of what had occured since last she passed by. Following the same trail as she had before, some villagers along the way even remembered the dark-haired stranger that stopped by last time. Those days she had slept under actual shelter.
It took her over a full cycle of the moon at her pace to sight the highlands properly, another two days to climb the majestic hills and enter the heavily forested terrain that made up her homeland. She continued up cliffs and hills until she could spot the two massive mountaintops that signalled the start and end of the highland river respectively, and found herself somewhere between them - far from both the northerners and the vile eastern city. That was enough to orient herself, and Sanya moved with renewed purpose towards her old stomping grounds, the tribe she had taken over so long ago - even if they remembered neither her nor their heritage.
She spent another full day watching a group of foragers as they noisily went about their business, following them as they trekked back to their village, and observing the local settlement from afar. When she was sure she hadn’t seen any weapons beyond basic hunting equipment, she slung Sorrowsting over her back with a rudimentary sling and wandered back into civilisation. The villagers were suspicious of the sudden evening arrival, but unlike both the far north and much of the western Prairie, Sanya both understood and spoke their language, even if their dialect was atrocious to listen to. She could make her case as a traveller, returning from the prairie. As was the norm, she traded her stories of the land beyond for a meal and a roof over her head. At the next sunrise, the kind old couple that took her in pointed her in the direction of the next village over, and Sanya set on her way again.
She sighted the next settlement before nightfall. A slightly more populous place, with a small palisade built out of sharpened poles no longer than a leg. Even in the evening, it was full of life, the people seeming at ease thanks to their ridiculously tiny barricade. Sanya effortlessly pushed between two poles to enter the village, and wandered up to the center, catching suspicious glances along the way. She made a concerted effort to not make eye-contact, and instead sought out the biggest cottage among the many. A few knocks and an explanation later, and the dark-haired lady was invited into what turned out to be the cottage of the village leader. He was a balding man beset with age to the point that the thick chain denoting his status seemed to be an active problem for him to carry. A young man, no older than fourteen, took Sanya’s pack and carried it inside. The old man showed her to a seat at his table, where another three people, a man and a woman, and a very young girl, had already started the procession that was a family dinner. The old man made introductions, but none of the names really stuck. The young boy could be Sabba, she thought, with a little more muscles and a stronger face. She repeated her journey to the gathered crowd, and so began the cycle of stories and food anew.
That’s when something stood out. For the first time in over a month, something ripped her out of her normalcy. A sentence. Just a few words.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Sanya asked, pausing in her free meal to stare down the adult man across the table.
“Uh, well, it’s just a rumour. Avel tells a lot of tall tales,” he began. “But he came in this midday, talking about a raiding party out of Ristwick. Said they were carrying a type of person he ain’t never seen before. Dark skin, strange tattoos.”
“Those folks out west are fairly tanned ain’t they?” his wife cut in.
Sanya pushed up immediately, feeling the rush of dread and adrenaline push back into her system after weeks of lounging. “Is he still here? ...Avel?” she quizzed with a building ferocity.
“Uh, yeah, I think so. He holed up in the barn overnigh-”
“Thank you for your hospitality.” Sanya offered quickly and whipped around to leave the table. She collected her things - most importantly her weapon - and left the cottage to the brief, and surprised, protests of her hosts.
Finding Avel wasn’t difficult. The barn was simple to find, and inside there were only animals, two men tending to them, and a lounging man idling in the hay. Sanya spoke the name aloud, and the idling man looked up, having the wherewithal to look worried when he looked upon the dark-haired traveller. Sanya knew - she felt it.
“This raiding party you spoke of. You said you saw something you’ve never seen before. Describe it to me.” Sanya barraged immediately, moving forward at a pace that made the man crawl back in his resting spot. The other two men worriedly stopped working.
Avel hemmed and hawed for a few moments, before clearing his throat and offering his story. “Yeah, I was out checking on the nests down by the stream. On the far side there, them Ristwick folks were out and on the way home, I reckon. We pay ‘em off here, see, so they ain’t never come this way when they looking for folks. We produce ‘lotta food and Ristwick don’t.”
“Get to the point, Avel.” Sanya almost growled, and the two men in the back tinged her mind with their growing anxiety. Avel raised his hands.
“Fair dues, lady. So, they got a small trail of folks, see. Captives, or what’cha want. One of them is well different. Real dark skin unlike anything I’ve seen, golden tattoos all over, and real pretty hair.”
“A woman?”
“Uh, yes. Y’know of her?” Avel intoned quizzically.
“Tell me how to get to Ristwick.” Sanya pressed, frowning deeply at the man. He relented after a few moments and gave her basic directions on how to get to the stream, cross it, and follow their regular path up to the settlement. Before he could prod any more about who Sanya was, she left the barn, and the village, behind.
The journey turned out to be longer than Sanya had estimated. By the time she reached the stream, the last bit of twilight was replaced with a moonlight starry sky and growing clouds in the distance. She stalked across the shallow stream with only minor difficulty, and then wasted what felt like an eternity looking for a beaten path in the dark. Finally, in a snaking path leading beyond a nearby hill, grass turned to gravel and dirt, and Sanya trailed it southwards in search of this new settlement.
Ristwick turned out to be a mostly walled settlement nestled in a valley between two large forested hills, with torches lit to keep a watch during the night. Even from afar, the sounds of animals and shouting men gave Sanya all she needed to know. As Sanya approached, she started to feel a growing fear, panic, resentment, all radiating from the place like a flame drawing insects. The cover of night gave the dark-haired woman an uncontested approach, and she finally unslung Sorrowsting as she moved up against the wall. This close to the village, the stream of fear, anguish and rage was overpowering, clawing at her mind like an overdose of Evening Bells. She felt her face contort with emotions that were not her own. Soon it wouldn’t matter, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
Sanya swung around to an entrance in the tall palisade, and found it guarded by a single man with no real interest in watching the land beyond. When he turned to look inwards, Sanya stalked around the corner and into the settlement. She slunk behind a kennel full of nasty critters, the source of all the noise, and moved behind a smaller house to try to get a vantage point from inside. Not that many men active, most of them huddled in the centre of town, full of revelry. When she saw the opportunity, Sanya followed the stinging sensation in her head straight to a large building not unlike the barn in the last village. A single man guarded the tent-like curtain hanging like a sheet over the entrance, and Sanya quickly stalked forwards to bring Sorrowsting’s handle over his throat, simultaneously dragging him backwards into the shadows and choking him out. She dragged him out of sight - presuming she’d have at least a little while before anyone came looking. With the guard out of the way, Sanya entered the one building that seemed to radiate agony beyond all reason.
What she saw disgusted her. Crude cages of people in various states of dress. Slaves to be sold or discarded. No matter how many thousands of years passed, the rot of humanity came right back to the forefront. Sanya stepped forwards, walking amongst the cages to stare inside. Nothing. Highlanders. They cringed away from her on approach, no doubt assuming she was a slaver like the others. She re-checked the cages in desperation, but there was no one matching the rumours. Sanya sighed, about to sling her weapon once more when a creak from above stopped her in her tracks.
She looked around, catching sight of the small staircase in the dark. With nowhere to go but up, Sanya ascended the wooden stairs to move onwards. A single burning candle on a table, and a lone man sat eating a late meal with nothing but a knife, his eyes on something beyond Sanya’s view. She stalked up the stairs gingerly, almost entirely upstairs when the floorboards gave way to her weight ever so slightly and released an ominous creak. The man spun around swiftly in confusion, and Sanya swept Sorrowsting’s handle at him hard, cracking him over the temple with the black hilt and sending him sprawling to the ground with a thud.
Sanya moved across the room, and her heart stopped and pounded heavily at the same time as she laid eyes on her quarry at last. A dark-skinned shape sat in a small room of her own, gagged, blindfolded and tied up tight with rope. Even now the golden tattoos made it impossible to mistake her for anyone else. Sanya rushed across the room, settling herself down before the captive woman. She wore a rugged brown shirt and grey pants that were ripped. A moment of digging in her pack later, she brandished a small knife. The woman flinched reactively. After a quick cut to split the gag apart and take the blindfold off, Sanya set to the task of simply cutting her free. “Lucia,” she breathed. “When I heard the words, I couldn’t believe it was real.”
A small smile broke out across Lucia's face. "Sanya…? Sanya! Hey, this is a surprise! What brings you here?" she asked, almost too happily.
Sanya seemed stunned by the reaction, enough to force a pause in cutting the woman loose. “I’m-... I heard of the raid. The townsfolk said they saw a-.. Saw you,” she breathed out with a murmur, trying to redouble her efforts to finally cut Lucia loose. “I came to find you.” There was a last hesitant pause, still thrown off by her chipper attitude, but eventually the dark-haired woman managed to ask; “Did they hurt you?”
Lucia rubbed her wrists as she looked at Sanya again. "Yes and no. Not physically but well… I hate to see what they do to others, Sanya. They're no better than trolls." she spat. Her tattoos shimmered with anger as they constricted and expanded. She then sighed, she looked tired but a small smile remained. "I'm glad to see you, old friend. And come to my rescue no doubt!"
Sanya nodded grimly, caught in distant thought for a moment. “...Guilty as charged. I was in a bad place-.. I thought the worst,” she replied with a sigh, standing up and offering a hand to pull Lucia up off the floor. “After all this time, I never considered you’d be captured by raiders.”
Lucia gave a look of concern to Sanya as she took her hand and got up. She then sighed again, her tattoos shrinking in embarrassment. "Well you see… I had the bright idea that if I got captured I could help the people below. Then they took me up here and I was going to wait until they brought their leader to me. Or me to the leader." she then stood a little straighter. "I could have escaped at any time I'll have you know." she smirked.
Sanya didn’t look as pleased at that notion, but managed a grunt at the very least. “So you,” she began, moving a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. “You chose to sit here blindfolded and tied up. Of course. How foolish of me to intervene.” Her voice was borne out of deadpan frustration, the stir of negative emotions from below still visibly playing havoc with her. “Whatever would you want to meet their leader for? He’ll be no more of a man than the others.”
"Well to kill him of course, maybe find out why he's doing what he's doing. I don't know. Other then the killing part." she said sadly. Lucia then set a hand on Sanya, healing her of any physical wounds and offering a reassuring touch. "Thank you for rescuing me, Sanya. It's always good to see your face. Now come on, I can tell this place is messing with you." Lucia said, walking past her.
Sanya stood quiet for a moment, managing a half-smile. “There’s no good reason to do something like this,” she eventually offered in turn, whipping around as Lucia walked by her. She lifted her left leg slowly, testing and flexing it a few times before nodding with pleasant, if mellow surprise. “People like this - they’ve given up their humanity for pleasure and profit. They play gods with other people’s lives.” Sanya simply trailed after the liberated Lucia, lifting Sorrowsting to lean on her shoulder.
Lucia looked back and said, "I know and it sickens me. Now, how do we get out of here? I'd like to free those people and heal them but that'll probably cause a scene. Think we can handle them all?" That coaxed a scoff out of her dark-haired rescuer, who gestured to the unconscious man sprawled on the floor and the staircase beyond.
“You tell me. I’m not about to let these people stay in cages,” Sanya offered back, rubbing at her face with a sharp sigh to follow. “I visited a village to the west. If we get out, we can go there. If you’re worried, we could rally a revolt. Fighting and dying is better than being sold.”
”I just don’t want them to befall further injury, they’ve been through enough. I say, we take out all the men first then free them. Sound like a plan?” Lucia asked.
“Fine.” Sanya replied with light resignation.
Lucia nodded before leading the way downstairs. A band of solar energy flares up in her hand before she uses it to tie her hair up into a ponytail. Then from her hand erupted a short sword of condensed solar energy. She whispered, "It's night out but it'll have to do for now."
Sanya pressed down the stairs after Lucia, watching the cowed captives huddle in cages around them as the bright weapon illuminated the barn with a soft glow. She lowered Sorrowsting to grip it with both hands. “With any luck, your tricks of light will make them think we’re witches of phenomenal power.” she replied, not quite with the same caution. As the sounds of revelry and talking penetrated the curtain from outside, however, she grew quiet.
Lucia peaked through the a hole in the wall to see the revelry in full. She gritted her teeth as she spun around and walked over to the curtained door. "Tricks! I'll show them tricks." she then paused before it and looked at Sanya again. "You ready?" she asked, staring into her eyes. Sanya stared back at her grimly, her grip on her black spear visibly tightening. A quiet nod followed soon after.
Lucia nodded, turning to the curtain again. She pushed it aside, the glow of her weapon its own source of light in the dark, drawing attention to the two like bees to honey. As the men shouted and scrambled for their weapons Lucia focused and spoke in a melodic fashion as she outstretched her freehand.
"Grow a fire in my hand, Let it burn oh so bright, Make the world explode where it lands, Shining as bright as my Mother's Light!"
And from Lucia's hand a flame grew to the size of her head, rippling with power and illumination. When the verse was completed, she reeled her arm back and lobbed it at the group of men. It hit one directly and exploded into a torrent of flame, consuming three more in the flame and licking two more. The blast also knocked most over and blinded those that remained standing. The world then erupted around them as people and animals went into a frenzy of screams, shouts and guttural noises. Lucia then charged forth into the fray, not wanting to let the moment of chaos go to waste.
Sanya was right behind her, features locked into a grim and aggressive frown brought on by both her own emotion and that of the captives - and now, their captors. Having scouted past the animal kennel housing a great deal of the now anxious and angry animals previously, the dark-haired woman sprang sideways to cut off any attempt from the blinded slavers to reach their contained beasts. Sorrowsting gave of an ominous vibration in her charge, and the first man within range, still partially blinded by Lucia’s flames, became a victim to its divine edge without Sanya doing more than shifting the handle in his direction. So the battle began on two fronts.
Lucia cut down a man with her sword, as the smell of burning flesh began to permeate the area. She felled another man in quick succession but as she brought her sword down for the killing blow on another she stopped, her eyes going wide as she looked up into the sky with a look of surprise.
"M-Mother…?" she said, star struck. It was then the man who she was going to attack saw through the blindness and pulled a dagger on Lucia. Her tattoos came alive to protect her, wrapping around the man's neck and burning him with a fraction of the sun's heat. He struggled in vain before going limp. The tattoos melded back to Lucia's skin before she could even react to what had occurred.
“Pay attention, Lucia!” Sanya called from across their little battlefield, fending off a blunt club with the handle of her spear. Another quick slash of the weapon later, and the club-wielding man fell to the ground, clutching at his shoulder in agony. The dark-haired warrior made her way towards Lucia as the remaining men in their little circle seemed to pick up on her daze. Save for one, who came rushing at Sanya instead, stopping her in her tracks and putting her on the defense as she was forced to parry a crooked saber.
Lucia seemed to hear Sanya, for she whipped her sword around and met a bronze dirk that dented the blade from her heat. The man crumpled as her tattoos took his legs out from under him. Lucia then delivered the killing blow through the man's heart. She then looked up at the sky again, tears staining her face. "This is what humankind has become! Slavers and murderers!" she said meeting another man's sword. "I'm sorry you have to see this but this is reality." she cried out, her tattoos wrapping around the man's sword arm. He screamed out in pain as his sword dropped. Lucia then stabbed him in the chest and screamed herself. "This is who I've become! Who I was forced to be to protect those that can't protect themselves! You have to understand mother!"
Sanya swung to the side as the saber came bearing down towards her, then quickly retaliated with a harsh smack against the man’s face with the hilt of her spear, sending him careening backwards with a pained grunt. He crawled, dazed on the ground, but Sanya didn’t let up, swiveling Sorrowsting in her hands and sinking it into his chest. She awarded Lucia a short and confused peer, before looking around the camp in the midst of their little settlement. Beyond the mad howling of the kennel, the battle seemed to be over. One man on the ground seemed to move and groan, but his burns made certain he’d stay down for now. A last challenger arrived from around the corner of the furthest house - the guard from the entrance. Short blade in hand, he took one long look at Sanya and Lucia, and the men sprawled on the ground around them, before lifting his hands apologetically, and simply turning around to vanish back around the corner as quickly as he’d appeared.
With that, Sanya took a long breath and finally turned to look at Lucia properly, locked in her conflict with the stars. Her resolve giving in, Sanya found herself also glancing up at the sky.
”Let me show you.” Lucia said, breathing heavily before running back to the barn structure. She pulled back the curtain and said aloud, ”You see… I- We had to free them, mother. They would be slaves, those men could not be reasoned with. They see life as a useful tool and not the precious thing you taught me it was. I don’t relish killing, even those who deserve it.” Lucia then went silent for a long time, as children cried inside, adults trying to shush them.
A golden light then descended from the heavens and blanketed the barn in an aura of warmth and life. As quickly as it came, it vanished without a trace. ”Thank you.” Lucia said, turning back to Sanya with a sad smile. ”Come on, let’s get these people free.”
Sanya stood frozen, the brief proof of divine intervention enough to grip her with an instinctual terror she did not know she possessed. The presence of a god. It was majestic in its simplicity, and over before anyone was the wiser. She stared at the sky in awe and disbelief. Beyond the claims of naturalists and the priesthood of the wicked city, miracles were not something she had seen in millenia. Her last brush with a goddess still churned inside her. Shaking the thoughts away as Lucia patiently watched her, Sanya nodded at last and moved to assist. Her senses felt dull now, as though nothing mattered. With that tense distance she followed Lucia inside.
They got to work, quickly freeing the captives. Though their physical wounds were healed, it wasn't hard to notice many sad eyes amongst the hopeful smiles. The two women worked in concert with an understanding that only comes with time; Sanya prying and breaking open the flimsy metal and wood cages with Sorrowsting as both leverage and a brute force tool on the one hand, and Lucia cleaving through chains and ropes to free and talk to the prisoners with quick words of guidance on the other. The freed prisoners touched Lucia and heralded them both as saviors. Many of them asked questions of who had healed them, others were certain it was Lucia herself. When the last person was freed, and all waited outside for guidance, Lucia took Sanya's hand. "She wishes to talk to you, Sanya."
Sanya once again seemed to freeze up, watching Lucia with an anxiety that wasn’t entirely caused by the residual emotion in the area - even if it was no longer a storm of panic and fear - playing havoc with her mind. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, each worse than the last. Was this the next act of divine punishment? The sun goddess had ignored her in the past, what had changed now? ”I-... are you sure?” she asked of Lucia, receiving a gentle nod back. The fear of abandonment, the terror of her punishment, all grew in the back of her mind. Yet she still nodded back to Lucia, hand in hand.
A warm presence arrived somewhere in Sanya's mind followed by a gentle voice. "Hello Sanya. It's nice to meet you, friend of my daughter. I will not delve through your memories, this I promise. I simply wanted to talk to you. Would you like to talk for a moment?" the voice asked.
Gripped with brief indecision, Sanya kept her focus on and near Lucia, even as her thoughts made her distant in the present. She nodded unsurely, before being uncertain if gods could see a mortal nod from their divine seats, and croaked out an incoherent sentence. ”...Goddess.. I.. Alright.” The warmth played tricks with her, made her feel safe, even in her dull panic.
"Wonderful Sanya. It's been far too long since I've talked with a mortal and for that I apologize. When the gods left Galbar, most worked from their divine realms but I was forced to sleep. If you've ever tried to contact me during my absence then I am truly sorry, Sanya. How are you? Are you hurt? I saw the battle and even though I abhor violence and death… Your cause was true." the Goddess spoke, her words sounding completely genuine.
The words made a certain bitterness well up within Sanya, though she offered no more thought to it than a revelation to reflect upon later, dominated by the divine presence that quelled the worst of her worries. ”Our ‘cause’ has been ongoing since the dawn of time,” she spoke with a bitter sadness. ”The injuries I’ve suffered will never heal. I-..” Sanya briefly glanced at Lucia. ”We have watched whole settlements, tribes and devotees rise and fall. There is always cruelty. We are doing what you will not.”
Sanya paused then, at first awaiting a reply, then filled with a surge of panic that was decidedly her own. She remembered clearly what happened the last time she let her temper rule her conversation with a goddess. ”That is to say-.. I… I didn’t mean any offense, Goddess. I have seen and felt much suffering. I am compelled to act.” she added with considerably more humility to her tone.
"No offense was taken, Sanya. I have failed you, as I have failed Lucia and the rest of the world who needed my help." the Goddess said sadly. "I am here now and I have seen things both cruel and kind. I will help those in need anyway I can. But first I ask you for forgiveness. I've let you suffer in silence, scared and alone. For that, I am truly sorry. Even if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, I wish to help you." the Goddess spoke with humbleness.
Another pause, as Sanya let the words sink in properly. Millennia of self-taught hatred. She imagined all gods to be the same. Could she forgive someone who abandoned her? All of them? Had she ever forgiven anyone? She wasn’t sure. Humbled yet by the Goddess genuine words, she nevertheless made a mild concession. ”I will look ahead, instead of at the past,” Sanya threw another glance to Lucia’s look of encouragement. ”I will accept your aid. It would be foolish of me not to. I have made enough goddesses angry in my time. I wish to believe you are beyond such cruelty, Mother of the Sun, and that is why I accept.” she continued, but squeezed Lucia’s hand in a moment of internal doubt. ”I remember a time when your name was spoken with warmth and love borne of memory, not tradition. I want to believe you are still that Goddess.”
Lucia said nothing but squeezed her hand in return, a small smile on her lips. Oraelia then spoke. "Very well, I shall give it gladly." another beam of light shot down and held itself outside, illuminating the world beyond the curtain. "Step outside and into the light Sanya."
Her attention drawn immediately to the sudden beam of light and the surprised murmurs of people outside, Sanya hesitated for a few moments before nodding a last time and breaking away from Lucia to move towards the curtain. Despite her worry, the closer she came to the light, the more her determination took over, and the dark-haired woman dragged the curtain aside properly to step out into the small yard among the confused masses of rescuees staring in awe at the miracle before their eyes.
She took a few preparing breaths, doing her best to still her nerves. Suddenly the battles against trolls and flesh-tearing monsters in her past didn’t seem quite so daunting. She looked at the gathered crowd a last time, and then walked straight into the pillar of light illuminating the dark settlement.
The light wrapped around Sanya as if she was an old friend. It was warm and full of energy, bubbling with the feeling of life. The light did not obscure her vision but she could see nothing but a rainbow of color flowing around her. The Sun Mother then spoke, her presence all around Sanya. "I bestow upon you two gifts. Your body will now be able to heal itself faster so that you might always be able to help those in need and I give you a piece of me, so that you will remember in your darkest moments, that I will be by your side. Use them well Sanya and remember, if ever you need me, pray." the light then faded away, leaving Sanya standing before the people. For but a moment she glowed as intensely as the sun, a halo of light appearing over her head, before fading away. Lucia grinned happily at Sanya from where she stood, before a beam of light fell upon her as well.
A few of the released captives threw themselves on the ground at the miracles taking place before their eyes, prostrating themselves equally to Sanya as well as the sheer divine presence of the Sun Mother. Sanya herself watched her surroundings with a breathless exultation, a moment of bright warmth filling her body and spirit. She felt at ease, stilled to safety in the embrace of the goddess. Even as Oraelia’s light faded, Sanya felt a new spring in her step, as though new vigor had come from hitherto unknown wells deep within her. As she moved, she felt a gentle weight grip around her neck, and lifted a hand to examine the new sensation. Around her neck was a light chain the colour of brass, and from it hung a medallion - a smooth and round topaz encased in a ring of brass, with small tendrils of metal reaching out as the rays of the sun. It glowed softly in the dark, illuminating Sanya’s hand and clothes as she lifted it up. A piece of the Goddess indeed, Sanya ruminated with renewed purpose, and directed her attention to the crowd - and finally back to Lucia.
That light that had enveloped Lucia expanded outwards in a wave, touching all gathered. Lucia remained behind, a halo of golden light, in the form of a medium band (the same color as her tattoos), hovered over her head and did not fade away. She looked back at Sanya with a tearful smile before walking over to her, and embracing her into a hug. ”She’s back.” Lucia said. ”I didn’t think I’d see the day. But she’s back.”
Sanya raised her hand to return the embrace with a gentle measure, releasing a quiet sigh. She found a solemn satisfaction in the moment, a rare smile creeping up on her features modestly as she comforted her friend. ”Perhaps this spells a new dawn for humanity,” she replied with a thoughtful tone, calm and introspective in the afterglow of the sun goddess’ miracles. ”I’m happy for you, Lucia. I know how it has taxed your spirit.”
Lucia pulled away and held Sanya’s hands gingerly as she did. Her tattoos pulsing rapidly in the dark, shimmering and binding and pulling apart all over her. The smile on her face made it apparent she was happy, but her tattoos gave it away. ”I truly hope so, she has a lot to do, but she can do it. I know she can. Now, we should probably get these people to safety huh?” Lucia asked, looking at the men and woman, even children, who looked at the two with eyes of awe.
The dark-haired warrior looked back to the crowd, suddenly overcome with a sting of embarrassment. Exhaling sharply in the cold night air softly illuminated by Lucia and her own medallion, she took a moment to consider each person she could make out in the night, each face that they had rescued. By divine showing, or their imagined safety with the two of them, she could no longer feel that pressing anxiety, or fear. They felt safe, or at least better. ”I know of a village a small journey away. We’d be there before dawn. I think we all could do with watching the sunrise far away from here.”
Sanya travels back to warmer lands and passes through the Prairie into the Highlands. She meets folks and eats by telling stories at local villages. A rumor catches her attention and this leads her to go on a quest to find the truth and save some people. She arrives at a village and silences two men, finding where the raiders had imprisoned people- a barn like structure. There she finds people in cages, most likely to be sold as slaves. She goes up the stairs and finds the source of the rumor, Lucia! The two chat, and it is revealed they’ve been friends for a very, very long time. Lucia got captured, or let herself be captured in an attempt to help the people below but they then isolated her. The two then go on and totally annihilate the raiders as Oraelia talks to Lucia in her head (which isn’t shown because this is Sanya’s POV). Oraelia then heals all of the captured folks after Lucia shows her the cruelty of man. With the raiders all dead or incapacitated, Oraelia talks to Sanya and she apologizes for her absence. She then gives her a couple gifts and does the same for Lucia. The post ends on a high note, and the two take the rescued people to safety.
Oraelia 2MP/4DP
-2DP for the title, Inner Sun II: (Sanya has been imbued with the warm healing energies of the sun goddess, allowing her to rapidly naturally recover from injuries that would leave others bedridden. It is limited to her natural healing metabolism, and does not allow her to regenerate.)
-2DP To level up Lucia’s title, Sun Forge to rank III (Total Title Weight now rank 7)
-1DP (Reduced to 0 with Sunlight port) for the Artifact, Sun Medallion. Beacon of Light I: This artifact is able to act as a light source. The more it levels up, the greater and brighter the light becomes. (Think of a flashlight)
-1DP (reduced to 0 with Sunlight Port) To bless Lucia with a Halo of Golden Light, the mark of Oraelia.
-1MP (reduced to 0) To give a mass heal to a bunch of people.
Ending 2MP/0DP
Lucia = +25
10k Chars = +5
Lucia = +30 Prestige
-15Prestige to rank up her title ‘Healing hands’ to rank II (Total Title weight = 8) -15Prestige to rank up her title ‘ Dermoglyph II’ to rank III (Total TItle Weight = 9)
The flickering light from the flames licking the sconces hung along the wall bathed the gathering in a warm glow. The occasional murmur and bustle from the streets of the district penetrated the thick weave curtains from time to time - the sun had gone to rest, but Ketrefa was just coming to life. So too for the two dozen gathered around the long table in Akellos grand estate, feeling the warmth of spirits and fire alike as the celebration continued.
Yaren glanced about the table, recognizing only a few faces in his extended family. Akellos was such a distant relative he wasn’t sure they were related by anything but tradition tying their minor house to the rich noble line, yet his father had received an invitation all the same. The opulent mansion was unlike anything Yaren had experienced before, with a massive staff of slaves to fill their plates and goblets the moment they weren’t filled to the brim, to entertain and sing, and provide a tasteful ambience with light and appealing dress that matched the regal curtains of red and gold. The merriment was total, and they were coming in on their sixth hour of celebration now, as Cousin Elerik and his two officer sons launched into their third raucous song about the ‘virtues’ of a marriage.
The bride-to-be at the far end of the table looked none too pleased, thought Yaren. Then again, neither did her future husband, squirming awkwardly next to her. Their families however, about as related as Yaren’s house was to Akellos’, seemed to be caught up in the revelry, happily singing along, laughing, and chatting. It was an infectious feeling to be sure, to be surrounded by such luxury and excess. It was easy to be happy when the curtains were closed and the food kept coming. Davit, his brother, slapped him on the back and laughed, and Yaren was pulled along in the celebration, head dizzy with spirits.
And so the feast proceeded, merry and in high spirits, for another hour. Akellos’ contacts in the markets had ensured he had many exotic meals to offer, and one by one delicacies from distant lands were placed upon the table for the excitement of all. Yaren had never eaten so well in his life. As his goblet was being refilled for the eleventh time, the master of the house stood up and quieted his guests with a jovial gesture. The laughs died down slowly but surely, as mirth-filled faces drew to Akellos himself. The comfortably rotund man grappled briefly with his oiled mustache before animatedly sweeping his hands in rhythm to a grand speech.
“Beloved!” he began, with a grin like a lord surveying his lands. “I must thank you all for coming to this delightful feast. Never before have all branches of our grand house gathered under a single roof! My father said it was impossible, but I - I dared to dream!” He paused for applause and cheers from his distant family, most of whom were happy to oblige. “But this end to old animosity is not the only cause for celebration, nay, I dare say it is but a minor event to be noted. Indeed, let us not all forget the true purpose of this most wonderful of feasts,” Akellos grinned warmly under his bushy mustache and gestured down to the other side of the table, where both bride and groom smiled sheepishly and tried their best to shrink out of notice. “The majestic and downright divine union of Kalet and Mira! With their endless love bound together, the houses of Nikuet and Nakun shall become one, as they were so long ago. We have put the legacy of the feuding brothers behind us, and we shall enter a new era of Akellan success in Ketrefa! A toast!” Akellos raised his goblet, as did all the others. Yaren smiled briefly at a slave-servant topping up his goblet before raising his own to join the crowd.
Akellos took a moment to smile around the table. “To the strong and hearty Kalet, and his beautiful bride Mira. May the love goddess herself come down from the sky to bless your most holy union!” A round of agreements, and a solid five seconds of hearty drinking. The scrawny old woman sat next to Akellos leaned his way and murmured something to their host, and the rotund man agreed with a heavy nod.
“My beautiful and wise mother has come with a suggestion befitting of this most holy of days! Why don’t we all come together and pray to Neiya? For her blessing for this most beautiful of couples!” Akellos roared with vigor, and all around the table were sound agreements. Yaren smiled warmly himself, touching at the symbol of the Five hanging around his neck. Their host cleared his throat as loudly as he could, and to the snicker of a few around the table, dramatically raised his hands towards the sky. “Great Goddess Neiya,” he boomed with melodramatic intent. A few others intoned after him. Yaren’s brother jabbed him in the side, and Yaren repeated the line himself. “Reach down to us from your palace among the stars! Join us in our festivities for a moment, and bless these wonderful lovers with your divine wisdom and unity. For a long life together, forever bound by your eternal love and devotion!” The crowd chanted in union, smiling down at the couple, who were now starting to find warmth in each other’s presence. “Show them the endless reaches of your divine grace and affection, so that they may follow your example!”
“And the rest of us, while you’re at it!” Elerik chimed in at the end of the prayer, to the grand amusement of the table. Akellos reached for his glass to offer his cousin a jovial toast.
Then, something whispered in the room, cutting all chatter to an immediate silence. The flames flickered and wavered unsteadily, and a heavy, imposing presence began to lay over the room. Yaren found it hard to keep his eyes open, and saw others struggled with the same. Then he heard it. A beautiful, gentle voice crashing into his mind like the ocean rolling onto the shore. ”As you ask, you shall receive. My love for you, Yaren, son of Kaster and Irla, is eternal.”
Yaren could no longer breathe, and before his eyes streamed thousands of shapes, colours and lights. He heard screaming, felt the pain of a thousand blades stab into his every limb, saw the true depravity of mortals all across Galbar. A horned apparition, extending her arms. Hollow cries for help, a never-ending longing for those lost, an unshakable hatred for those who took your beloved from you. There was peace, happiness, joy. A fleeting and intermittent holdout in a torrent of endless suffering. It made him want to claw his eyes out. To rip his goblet from his hand and cut his heart out with it. There was no escape to the madness, no respite, no end. Somewhere in the timeless abyss of pain, he came to want that brief peace. That joy of a relation that would soon crash and burn - just not yet. The embrace of the horned one. Devotion. Eternal love.
Yaren’s breath returned, and reality crashed in around him. Around him the voices of his screaming relatives filled the room. He heard only the siren song of the voice in his head. ”I have given you my love, my beloved Yaren. You have shared in my pain, and now we are as one. Will you be mine, as I am yours?”
“I-..” Yaren breathed heavily, staring at the brief mirage of her beautiful, obsidian-horned visage. “I am yours forever, goddess. We shall always be together.” He replied with newfound devotion, his shocked face twisting to a warming smile. Around him, he heard others say what he had said, or pledge themselves in other ways.
”Then we shall always be together, my love. So long as you do not break my heart. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Don’t disappoint me, my dearest.”
He parted his lips to speak, but the goddess was gone from his mind. A pain gripped his soul, an intense warmth spreading throughout his body. The goddess was with him, and he felt relief. He would never disappoint her. As his gaze moved across the room, he saw that others were recovering as well. Some had fallen, their hearts given out or lives taken to end the pain. They had not been worthy of her love. Even the slaves were dragging out of a deep daze across the room, having pledged themselves to the one true goddess. No - slaves no more. Kin, in her eternal love’s embrace.
The jingle of metal caught Yaren’s attention, and he glanced down to the symbol of the Five hanging around his neck. A deep frown spread across his features, an intrinsic disgust rippling from within. He knew only the goddess, as she did him. With a quick rustle, he freed himself from the religious symbol, and discarded it on the ground. Again he looked around, and Akellos gave him a confident, stern nod.
He would never disappoint her.
All is well in Ketrefa! Well, maybe not everything, but for the Akellos noble house, the entire noble estate and their many branches have gathered to celebrate a very special day - a union between a man and a woman from two previously feuding branch houses! There is much feasting and celebration, until Akellos gets the idea to pray for Neiya to bless the couple-to-be. Due to poor wording, spite, bad timing, or all three, Neiya imparts a deluge of visions upon all gathered in the house, be they slave, noble or citizen, showing them the true extent of mortal emotion and suffering. Unable to cope, their minds attach themselves to the goddess, who promises eternal love as long as they do not disappoint her. The Cult of the Horned Goddess is born!
Starting MP/DP: 5/5
Created the Cult of the Horned Goddess - Holy Order Eternal Love II: (Neiya has shared a sliver of her affection, and in turn the affected love her unconditionally. Their devotion to the cause extends beyond mortal loyalty, and as such they are resilient against corruption, betrayal and interrogation.) - (Free with Devotion Portfolio)
Green-eyed II: (Loyalists are compulsively drawn to stealing possessions treasured by others as well as defacing religious symbols, and are blessed to act with increased skill and guile when doing so.) -2 DP (2 towards Envy Portfolio)
The storm didn’t let up for almost a week. The wind and snow washed over the tundra like a tide of white, except that no gravity was there to draw it back to sea again. Every day, the Weike would wake up to find the telt curtains resting on their foreheads from all the weight of last night’s snowfall, and all would quicken to life and hurry out the tent flaps to dig themselves out again. By the end of the week, snow could no longer reach the tents themselves, as it couldn’t get past the heaping walls of that which had been shoveled off earlier in the week. Rammed, packed snow walls ringed every tent, and while that kept the storm out, they made the camp cumbersome to navigate, especially when the carcasses of the hunt were brought back. The storm brought loss with it, too, as the cold killed two villagers and six of their reindeer pack. The weight of the snowfall packed itself so tightly and heavily over the ground, too, that even the resilient, powerful reindeer snouts struggled to reach the moss, lichen and grass hidden away underneath. This left the pack starved towards the end of the week, and the tribe lost another two calves.
The air was heavy in the central lavvo, which had been erected to be as short as possible, so the wind wouldn’t carry with it the tent walls. The grim silence left a creeping anxiety in everyone’s bellies as the chieftain rose to take the word. Sanya still struggled to make out most of it, but the context made it clear enough - as did the lacking contents in the reindeer stomach cookpot over the central fire. They were out of food, and now that the storm had stopped, they had to move on, lest their herd would die and as would they.
The sober reality of the situation had worn down even Sanya, the fire with which she had waited the first two nights for the storm to abate and head back out to finish what she’d started replaced with the solemn grief the villagers influenced her with. Worse, the building anxiety had begun to disturb her thoughts enough that she noticed herself worrying about simple things like the survival of the tribe. She didn’t want to admit it, but the people had started to grow on her. That made her feel guilty. She’d drained their resources. The apparent terror with which the tribe had continued to treat the subject of the troll when she tried to bring it up made her wonder if she should have just helped them with the reindeer. Now it was out there, and the blood trail was gone since long ago. Even if she made her way back to the best of her memory, it meant abandoning these people to their fate - even after all they’d done to keep her from death’s door. Sanya gritted her teeth at that. She couldn’t even die without bringing ruin to others.
She wasn’t even sure the troll was alive. It had been so stormy, there was no telling how deep her cut was. It could have bled out. She could be tracking a corpse, and end up lost and alone in the cold again. All for nothing. Worse, she’d abandon the tribe after all this. After their hardship. The thought of the lost villagers made her bitter, even though she knew it wasn’t her own emotion. Or perhaps it was, now. Either way, Sanya thought to herself, it’d be foolish to venture after the troll with nothing but the weapon to her name. And she wouldn’t ask them for supplies. She couldn’t do that to Lehtta. It was different, now. At least until they were safe.
She felt a soft pound on her shoulder and Sabba’s sister, Aile, sat down next to her and offered her a pair of hide mittens, saying something which could be understood as “you cold”, only in an imperative sense. Sanya accepted the offering, brought out of her haze briefly as she instinctively flexed her fingers. She gave Aile a smile, though she knew it wasn’t as genuine as theirs had ever been, and thanked her for the gift with a phrase in their language. She was fairly certain by now how to say thank you, she could do that much, even if she butchered the dialect with every attempt. She exhaled on her hands in short order and busied herself with trying the mittens instead.
Aile giggled at the response and repeated it: “Giittus,” she said with a smile and stroked her cheek amiably. She then said something else, though it was unclear what she meant. Judging from her tone, it could be anything from a motivational speech to an order. However, she didn’t get to finish before Sabba came over and sat down opposite of Aile. She rolled her eyes at her brother’s conduct, and Sabba scoffed back, turning instead to Sanya with a broad smile before thumbing towards the tent flaps and asking something in a giddy tone.
Sanya quirked a brow, trying to follow Sabba’s question and deconstruct it in her mind - it was no use. Even after two weeks he still had no mind to slow down his speech even a little bit. She followed his gesture instead, trying to deduce what he could mean. He knew - more or less - that Sanya had taken every chance she got to bring up the troll. Was that the news? Perhaps he simply wanted to show her something. She realized she’d kept them both waiting in demure silence for a little too long, and simply nodded at him. There was one way to find out. Sanya pushed up from her seat slowly, hand immediately searching for her valued weapon.
Then, as quickly as she had risen, Aile grabbed her by the hand and gently pulled her back down, looking at her as though she was being ridiculous. Then, she burst out shaming her brother and Sabba’s expression offered several eye rolls. He then rose up and walked away again. Aile shook her head and took Sanya by her hands, nodding slowly before clicking her tongue. Her following sentence contained a word Sanya definitely had heard before: “Stupid.”
The reality of the situation began to dawn on the millennia-old woman. A chore perhaps? Another of Sabba’s attempts to learn her footwork? Would Aile keep her from tracking down the troll? No more than any of the others would, she thought. She frowned to herself briefly. This wait - this powder keg - was making her second-guess herself. She didn’t like that. Sanya breathed a terse chuckle to ease the tension, shifting in her renewed sitting position as she glanced after Sabba briefly, before finally offering a small shrug of her shoulders to the girl. “Stupid?” she questioned in turn. She doubted she’d understand the answer, but Aile seemed comfortable around her. If only they knew.
Suddenly, the chieftain spoke a sentence and everyone busied themselves with packing up. Aile nodded all around and patted Sanya on the knee, thumbing over her shoulder while saying something along the lines of ‘it’s time’. Then she crawled over to her own part of the tent and started fiddling with her packs. Others began taking their belongings out of the tent, and the tent walls were loosening and pulling inwards as the bone splits holding them to the ground were pulled up. Sanya in turn rose from her seat for good this time, making sure to grab Sorrowsting and what little belongings she had been assigned over the course of her stay, as well as the pack with what meagre supplies remained of her initial journey. Mostly trinkets from a bygone age and forgotten places. She should have thrown it all out a long time ago. Still, she did her part, grabbing the heaviest gear she could find to haul it outside. She wasn’t that strong - two-thousand years of fighting had certainly taught her that, but on a good day she still rivalled most of them. Sanya wrapped what passed as cover around the lower half of her face and stepped out into the snow with plenty of gear in tow.
In less than an hour, the whole village had been packed on pulks, which were both strapped to people and reindeer. Everyone strapped snowshoes or flat wooden boards known as skis on their feet. Sanya had received her own pair of snowshoes earlier in the week, fashioned from bone, sticks and straps of reindeer skin. Due to her strength, the chieftain entrusted her with a pulk of her own, grinning and praising her all the while. When all was prepared, they set out. The direction which they were heading was unclear, though they were heading away from the mountains. Whenever Sanya would ask where they were going, she’d get the same answer: “Lulli.” The word was unfamiliar, but it gained meaning as they approached the woods and Sanya saw which side the moss was growing on: They were heading southwards, away from the mountains...
And the troll.
The mere thought filled Sanya with a deep dread. If the beast was - as she suspected - still alive, would it strike again? If not this tribe, then surely there were others. She had the chance to make sure it was dead, that mankind as a whole had won a lasting victory in the endless war in at least one godforsaken land, and she had thrown it aside because what? She was tired? Cold? Worried about people she didn’t know? Their shared bitter sorrow and anxiety still lingered in her heart, but whether their own hearts lightened with the journey, or the physically taxing work gave her something else to focus on, Sanya felt at least partial relief from her torment. They were heading to safer ground, for their survival. That would have to be enough for now. She did after all, have all the time in the world to come back. Hopefully they’d give the mountains a wide berth until she did. She fought the urge to stop and head back several times, keeping her eyes on the others. Reminding herself of what she pledged so long ago. It wasn’t just about her. It had to be about them.
As they got deeper into the forest, the snow cover lessened, most having been caught by the pine tree wall at the very north. Here, the reindeer could eat the frozen moss and lichen, as well as the birch bark from the rare few specimens that could grow between the imposing pines. They had already been travelling for two days, though, and the cold and starvation had forced them to put down another reindeer cow, just so its flesh wouldn’t go to waste. They had few left, now - twenty heads for a village of eighty people; if they managed to maintain those, it still wouldn’t last them the winter. The chieftain sent out orders again, to herders, hunters and Sanya alike. The context made them clear as day: Seeing as calving still was months off, they couldn’t rely on the herd to replenish itself naturally for now. They would have to fill their satchels with stockfish and dried meats from other beasts - species didn’t matter; this was life or death.
The herders spent the day making fishing spears and hooks from bone, and fishing lines and nets from what sinew they had; the hunters took to the wilds in search of game, though their hopes were mellow in this part of the woods. Having spent the better part of her very long life stalking the world for all manner of prey, and owing to her own constitution, hunting was the natural choice for Sanya. With her help, she reasoned, they’d have a much better chance. She didn’t have the patience to sit still or fight the water, either.
Just as the hunters had feared, though, the woods were barren of game - it had either trekked southward already, or moved further east to avoid the Weike. They found something else that perhaps was more concerning - it was a shewolf, battered and broken, with blood spilling across the snow as though something had squeezed it to death. The hunters knelt in closer to inspect the corpse, disgusted by its brutalised manner.
Sanya gripped Sorrowsting tightly as she approached, undaunted by the gruesome sight. Not many things could disgust her anymore, but they could certainly worry her. A quick inspection from afar was all she needed - a predator dead in such a grim manner meant only one thing - the woods were barren of game for a reason. Something else lingered here. That burrowing dread from before niggled at the back of her mind as her eyes skimmed the forest and the ground instead, letting the hunters draw their own conclusions. It wasn’t as though she could form a well-reasoned argument for them, but she could use what she had learned to keep them safe.
The hunters shook their heads at one another. Sabba, who was among them, looked at Sanya and said in a grim voice, “jiehtanas…” and Sanya had heard that word before - specifically it was the herders that had shouted it in panic as the troll the reindeer herds attacked last week. They would have to move further south before nightfall, lest the troll would doubtlessly be upon them as soon as the sun dipped under the horizon. The forest was eerily dark, however - a troll could potentially hide from the sun in as thick a forest as this one. This made only the hunters tenser, and the pace back home went from a walk to a jog. Whenever Sanya would turn back to whence they’d come, it was almost as though the wolf’s blood trailed further into the woods, almost like that one time in the mountains.
She caught herself breathing heavily, and for a moment she was unsure whether the anxiety she felt truly came from those around her. She was so close. A million thoughts rocketed through her head. How large were the chances she’d stumble upon the troll as it laid in wait for the sun to set? What would the vegetation do for her chances? If it wasn’t the same troll as the one they had run into previously, was it larger? She found herself looking forward to Sabba and the others. Who would pull her load if she left them now? Could they get to safety if she stalked the woods? Perhaps if she remained behind, they’d have a greater chance. Whether she liked it or not, Sanya rolled to a slow stop, struck by indecision.
The hunters except for Sabba continued on, and the young man walked up to Sanya and sighed, saying something along the lines of “coming?” He then held out his hand for her to take. Sanya looked him straight in the face, wracked with a building guilt. She had run away, all that time ago. This felt like running. Another chance at reprisal vanishing like sand running through her fingers. Stupid boy. Why did he have to look at her like that? Why did he care if she stayed? She wouldn’t. Would she? A deep frown grew on her features, tormented by her thoughts, her inability to see a straight path even now. It always ended in pain. And yet… Sanya hesitated for a moment, then reached out to take his hand with one of hers, a firm grip on her spear with the other.
Sabba nodded and started pulling her along after the hunters. His pace was even quicker than before, as they needed to catch up, but his hand held onto hers firmly, saying more than any manner of words ever could: You’re one of us. Her eyes were affixed on him as her thoughts continued to plague her, letting him guide her back towards the camp more passively than she would have normally allowed. For a moment, it was nice for someone else to take charge. Was that what she had been doing this entire time? Weeks spent assisting a small tribe in no man’s land? Was she helping, or just avoiding what she had come out here to do? She’d wanted to die, yet she found herself avoiding it at every turn, even now. Had her time with them gotten to her that much? For a few days in the middle there, she had been content to just be the helpful stranger. That mattered. Sanya increased her own pace a little, keeping up with Sabba as they trailed the other hunters. They’d taken her in despite their own meagre lives.
The least she could do was repay that debt.
They arrived at the newly erected campsite and the hunters quickly shared their findings with the chieftain. A harsh argument followed, during which Sabba seemed to scold the chieftain for something, whereas the chieftain remained steadfast and unmoving. As Sanya looked around, she saw how weary the Weike were, how exhausted the journey had made them. An arm hooked under hers from behind and she turned to see Aile wearing a frown. She pulled her away from the commotion and over towards a small gathering of women, who were in the process of knitting nets. The fishermen had in contrast been very successful, and a few small baskets of fish had already been caught. They would need time to dry out and smoke properly, though, and it was clear that Aile thought stocking up on fish was a better bet than prowling the woods for non-existent game.
Sanya watched the tribe in their work, letting Aile drag her where she wanted her to go. She knew she’d never be able to convince the chief to move, she’d already lost her temper once in the first week when they tried to take her spear away during a minor job. No, the best chance they had was that they came to any realization on their own. If they stayed - she would have to stand guard through the night. But it’d be a small price to pay. Sanya followed the direction Aile gave her, but her eyes followed the commotion, and the tree line. She was promptly sat down on a heap of snow and given a length of sinew. Aile squatted down next to her and tried as delicately as possible to show Sanya how to knit a net the way the other women were, all while explaining the process in their incomprehensible language. The stream of words did not help. Sanya did her best to follow the instructions, but between the need to keep herself aware and the bad mood she felt streaming from other places in the camp, it was hard to focus on banal work like this. All it took was a moment’s distraction, and she caught herself missing a step in Aile’s demonstration. Long gone were the days when she’d spend all day picking berries and fruit with her mother.
“Cadien’s fist,” she muttered to herself, trying to refocus on the surprisingly intricate process, and her new job for the day. This adrenaline she felt, this dread, seemed like it would never settle. Aile sighed in mild frustration, but it seemed more aimed at herself than Sanya. She reached out and squeezed her shoulder with a mittened hand and pointed to the waterbank, where two fishermen sat with rods in their hands and hooks in holes in the ice. She said a short sentence, which Sanya was certain contained the words “go” and “there”, though it seemed uncannily long for that to be its whole meaning.
Sanya relented as swiftly as Aile allowed it, rising from her seat among the women. She did have the presence of mind to at least look apologetic about it, but internally she was relieved to be rid of such frustrating detail-work. She’d lived forever, and even then there was not enough time to bother with it. Still having issues taking her eyes from the forest, she mosied over towards the fishermen instead, spear in one hand. She should have stayed in the forest. She was a liability here.
No one looked particularly surprised, either, and a few of the women snickered before Aile shut them up with some mittened pointing. The fishermen followed the source of the commotion behind them to Aile, and then saw Sanya approaching. One of them thumbed to a nearby bone pick with which she could chip her own hole in the ice to fish through. A fishing spear, also fashioned from bone, already laid ready by the pickaxe. Sanya set to work without delay. She’d never ice-fished before, but she did have very many years of experience wielding a spear. Sorrowsting fortunately could not be jealous, she hoped at least, and she didn’t really want to sully her weapon with water and fish. Looking over to the two fishermen’s example, she carved out a hole without much issue. The banality of a new chore ahead. She counted the time it would take to run to the forest from here in her head. Considered how many trees breaking she would hear before it was too late to intercept.
Considering they had given her a fishing spear for ice-fishing, the task was much harder for her than for the rod-fishers. The fish weren’t plentiful enough for her to just be able to stab it into the water and pull up her bounty. The two fishermen would occasionally snicker between them when she went at it, only to pull up an empty spear. Sanya did her best to ignore them. Her concern was with the safety of the tribe, not this pointless attempt at making the best of a poor situation, or the jollies of a few men she could kill in their sleep. She frowned to herself, shaking that particular thought away. It wasn’t the first time they’d had fun at the strange foreigners' expense. She’d just rise above it. Repay her debt.
She stabbed at the water again, but even her reflexes were not enough to salvage her half-baked attempt. The frustration made her arms itch, made her grip the spear harder. Why didn’t she stay in the forest? She could have dealt with this on her own terms, instead of wasting time. Every time she tried to compromise, it felt bad. Even after all this time. She sighed, resigning herself to repeating her attempts at landing at least a single catch.
She kept this up until nightfall, and the fishermen’s expressions went from mocking smirks to gingerly frowns as Sanya never seemed to stop, no matter how rarely the fish bit. In all, she managed to catch two, but it had taken her four hours and the sky was black as the abyss under the ice by the time the second one was foolish enough to swim underneath her speartip. Now the fishers had packed up and left, leaving only Sanya by the lake. The camp was starting to grow drowsy, and the chieftain was selecting the night’s shift guards. Sanya collected her things with a stifled yawn, ready to call off her efforts as the water relinquished its’ latest bounty. She waddled back towards the camp with her two fish and the equipment, felt anxiety come creeping in, and quickly moved back to pick up Sorrowsting as well. She wouldn’t ask to sit watch. She didn’t need their permission. Sanya moved to drop off the fish in the first and best place she saw others working with fish, trying her best to eavesdrop as she went about returning to camp properly.
She couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but she saw that Sabba took first watch. Sanya shuffled over quietly to be part of the general group, just in case they acknowledged her, but her mind was set already. If a troll came barrelling through the woods, she needed to be ready. Sabba was a hard worker, usually, but she wasn’t about to leave the fate of the tribe to him. He shouldn’t have to carry that burden. Sanya frowned again, trying to focus her thoughts by counting the steps to the forest.
A hand grabbed hers, and as expected, it was Sabba, sounding giddy in his voice as he pulled her along to the campfire. The chieftain rolled his eyes meanwhile, but didn’t protest, heading instead inside his tent as everyone else did. The young man pointed at the forest and said something about the “jiehtanas” again as he ground his fist against his palm, laughing proudly. Sanya huddled together, doing her best to look jovial in response to his revelry, though she lifted and held her spear close in idle preparation. It didn’t matter what language they spoke. She’d heard the bragging before. The false confidence before chaos and death came rolling in. They told themselves they could do anything, or this time would be different, or that just this once, the gods were watching. Sanya stared at Sabba quietly, knowing the truth of the matter after millennia of experience. There were no gods watching. If they were, they didn’t care about people like him. If they did, it was random, and fickle. It was pain that ruled the world, and men with eyes like Sabba’s were never ready until they had seen death already.
The watch started rather uneventfully, with Sabba seemingly telling endless stories that were finalised by that same proud laughter. He tried to use his hands to make them come to life, and the stories pretty much boiled down to, “I killed this, too, by the way.” Occasionally, he would also huddle in close and excuse himself by saying “cold”. Sanya bore the brunt of it with stoic grace, and on one occasion felt herself genuinely grateful for a bit of human contact. After centuries of depraved individuals trying to make life miserable for others in any way they could, the attention of one passionate village boy was extremely tame in comparison. And not so surprising. The Weike weren’t exactly brimming with choice - not that she’d really been looking. When he got too enthusiastic, she neatly intercepted with questions about the language, or picked out a word in his story to make him explain. All the while, she could keep an eye on the woods.
Eventually, Sabba got bored, however, and focused his gaze upwards at the sky instead. Occasionally, he would mumble things to himself (or to Sanya - it wasn’t always clear), but after a while, his eyelids got too heavy for him and he eventually started nodding in and out of sleep. The woods were silent, with the odd nightingale singing sourly to the moon. Sanya fought to stay awake. Sabba’s spirited stories, meaningless as they were, had contributed a great deal it seemed, and now that he turned silent, she felt the fatigue of the day roll in as well. Only the crisp air did any part in keeping her focused. She jabbed Sabba with the blunt end of the spear once, but gave up on keeping him in any reliable state when he went straight back to his half-sleep. As soon as the sun was up, they’d be safe for another day. She stared towards the woods, lifting a mitten to stifle another yawn.
Then, movement in the woods. Sanya’s body sprung awake as the unpleasant dread of being confronted by the unknown washed over her. Even now, her hairs stood on end as though she was still scared of the dark. She blinked several times as worn eyes tried to confirm the presence before she roused an entire tribe, grip around Sorrowsting whitening her knuckles in her mittens. Oh, how she wanted to see in the dark. Add this to the list of times it would have helped everyone. Sabba was kicked awake by the reaction, staring into the forest with her. Something approached - something massive. It was larger than what Sanya had fought before.
And it quickened its pace.
The dark-haired woman trudged slowly through the snow, now no deeper than a light cover around her feet. Heavy, ragged breaths plagued her as she pushed onwards, the fatigue of drained adrenaline put all her remaining focus on moving one foot in front of the other. Sanya brought her unprotected hand to rub at her face, immediately regretting it when she felt herself drag blood all over her skin - again. She tried to wipe her hand on her clothes, but that only made it worse, and the blood-soaked warrior resigned herself to simply keep moving.
She limped through the snow in silence, kept company only by her own breath and her spear, following the trees and the water south. It was best not to think. Best not to worry. The cycle of pain and death followed her wherever she went. Sabba’s proud laughter ran through her mind as his nonsense stories replayed in her mind. Aile’s welcoming attempts to make her one of them, despite Sanya’s own best efforts. Lehtta’s no-nonsense attitude and proof that not all power was physical. Sanya felt the bitterness begin to swallow her heart. She hadn’t been with them long, but the Weike had left a permanent stamp on her soul. Even when they snickered at her different ways, they did so without true ill intent. For a while, she had felt like she could belong. In that respect they were more human than any tribe she’d met for hundreds of years. They didn’t deserve to house a monster like her.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, throwing it’s warm light on the woman to counter the crisp and cold air, Sanya took a few moments to catch her breath and watch the sunrise. The light gave her a new opportunity to examine herself, and just how deeply soaked in blood she was. Even Sorrowsting was new hues of red and black.
Sanya frowned, and then continued her slow, limping journey towards warmer climates.
After fighting the troll during the snow-storm, Sanya and the tribe are forced to wait out the storm for nearly an entire week, leaving Sanya’s prospects of going after her intended quarry very grim. As the Weike face a dwindling food supply and a need to resettle, Sanya faces the choice of abandoning the people who took her in and nursed her back to health, or helping them make the journey. She struggles with the choice before choosing to go with them, unable to simply abandon the tribe.
They make the journey south, putting more distance between them and the injured troll. When they make camp to hunt and fish for supplies, Sanya chooses to aid the hunters and they head into the forest. There they make the discovery of a wolf crushed to death, and they fear the worst: another, or the same, troll prowls the area, explaining the lack of game in the woods. Sanya struggles yet again with the choice of stalking the woods to see if she can follow the troll, or returning to the Weike. Sabba convinces her to return with him, and she puts in a token effort of helping the tribe in other ways until nightfall.
Ending up on the first watch during the night with Sabba, Sanya keeps an eye on the woods. After nearly succumbing to fatigue like her jovial companion, she spots a rustling shape in the forest. A massive troll - larger than the last, made its way towards the Weike.
After an intense off-screen battle, a blood-covered Sanya staggers alone through the snow. She is resolved to return to the Highlands, and muses on her time with the tribe.
The dizzying expanse of Antiquity left Neiya breathless. All around her were features that she had not created herself, sounds of activity and bustle from what she could only assume were others of her kind. She glanced movement in the distance, coming from a decorated tear in creation not unlike the one she had crossed through - and instantly felt a pang of anxiety wash over her. Neiya decided - in a fit of cowardice brought on by isolation - to drift to the right instead, hovering silently over the ground away from the immediate chaos unfolding closer to her own little portal. She’d explore in peace, and threw a last brief look the way she’d seen movement before pressing on. Her peace did not last long at all however, as the goddess carelessly drifting forwards without looking found herself nearly colliding with two other shapes that she missed in her initial daze.
”Eep-” A tiny squeak came from the smaller shape, which scrambled into a green blur as it hastily hid behind the larger, luminescent one with her leaves rustling in time with what one could assume to be her incredibly fast heartbeat.
”Oh? Hello there.” came a Goddess’ voice.
Neiya skid to a halt with a sharp breath, gripped with confusion and a brisk rush of panic brought on by isolation. She regarded the two of them as she collected herself, a child of a kind she had never seen before and the most luminous being she had ever seen - not that Neiya had met that many gods. After backing just a little bit in the air, she touched down on the ground slowly, turning the dirt beneath her naked feet ashen in colour. ”Oh,” she began, collecting herself. ”...I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. This is all… very new to me. I thought I was alone.”
The illuminated goddess smiled warmly. ”That’s alright. I’m Oraelia, and this is Genesis. Nice to meet another sibling. There seems to be a lot of them.” she said, the little green girl peeking out shyly from behind the bright goddess, staring up at Neiya with wide eyes.
The names resonated with the horned goddess, who searched her memory for the few encounters she’d had in the past. She had repeated it in her head enough times to burn them in for eternity. Her uneasy frown mellowed out, unable to present an immediately worried front as she glanced down to the girl. ”The God of Truth told me of both of you… long ago. Though in my head… I imagined you would be less… spry, Genesis,” she replied to them both, looking up again to nod at Oraelia. Indecision followed, and she followed her comment with a little more built-up confidence. “I am Neiya, Goddess of Love.”
At Neiya’s introduction, the girl perked up and, while still hiding behind Oraelia’s leg, asked. ”Love? Genesis likes Love. She loves the Sun. Wait… Sun is Ora.. Oralia?”
Oraelia patted Genesis on the head as she looked at Neiya again. She laughed, ”Sorry, I might have mentioned what Love was to Genesis. I was unaware we had a Goddess who embodied it, however. You’ll have to forgive me for stepping on your toes.” she finished, twirling her fingers around one another.
Neiya watched the two serenely during the exchange, the initial worry that had lingered now slowly dissipating as the conversation went on. After affording the little tree due attention, she followed Oraelia’s features and motions with her eyes as she spoke. Her head tilted ever so slightly, ice-blue eyes searching for the sun goddess’. ”I have confidence you gave it more than adequate representation, Oraelia,” she intoned in a confident reply. ”Have you been in this... valley... long?”
Oraelia looked around for a moment, then looked back at Neiya. ”Nope! Just got here really. You’re the sec- no, third God- No, fourth god I’ve met here. Technically Genesis doesn’t count, because she found me in my realm, but I caught up with Gibbou and then I saw Cadien. So, not long. Did you just arrive?” she asked.
Genesis whined and hugged herself close to Oraelia’s leg, ”Genesis counts!” Oraelia giggled and rubbed Genesis’ head again. ”Of course you do, how silly of me!” she said happily.
Neiya stiffened briefly, glancing around what she could see of Antiquity in a brisk lookout. Was she here? She afforded herself a sharp, centering breath as the two were distracted amongst themselves, and did her best to look dispassionate as she twisted halfway to gesture at her little tear in reality, just barely showcasing the bleak plains and ever-wilting trees beyond. ”...Yes, I came out of there, just now. It’s just been me for a long time. Well, and the mortals who remember me. I had their woes to keep me company.” She glanced back to the both of them, clearing her throat. ”You two make a very pleasant pair.”
Genesis grinned, but that grin disappeared as she took a closer look through Neiya’s portal, then shifted her gaze to the pale goddess of love. ”Neiya’s trees are sad and sick. Why? It is very sad, Genesis likes it when trees are happy and green. Not gray!” She said with a hint of a pout.
Oraelia tilted her first at Neiya, then to her portal, then back to the love Goddess. She put a hand on Genesis’ shoulder. A somber tone filled her voice as she spoke. ”Just like my sister… Alone for so long. I’m sorry to hear that Neiya, I can’t imagine what that would feel like. But wait… You could hear them? The mortals?” she asked perplexed.
Neiya pursed her lips in a soft frown, shifting her shoulders as the conversation invariably turned to her realm. She nodded to them both before turning to Genesis, a hand lifting as though she was about to launch into a lecture. ”You see, little Genesis, these trees bloom with the most beautiful petals. If they were like that all the time, we would not appreciate it as much.” Before anyone had a chance to delve deeper into the logic of her statement, she turned to Oraelia again. ”At first I was cut off from the-... emotions of mortals. As I began to feel their presence again, so too did I begin to hear those who called out to me. If I understand it correctly, there are groups of them who exalt our names, and ask for our favor. You-..” she extended her hand towards Oraelia briefly, as if to reach for her face, but caught herself in the act and retracted it towards her chest. ”You could not hear anyone?”
Oraelia’s eyes opened a bit as Neiya’s hand approached, then she shook her head as the Goddess withdrew and asked her question. ”I was unable to keep myself from falling asleep. It felt… Smothering. I only woke up again now, realizing that the world had moved on for two thousand years…” her voice full of sadness and regret. ”Perhaps if I had been awake… Well, no use dwelling on it now, I suppose.”
Neiya watched with renewed fascination, nodding slowly and with a measure of understanding. Her own tone was gentle and comforting, shutting out the roil of emotion from inside. ”Bottling your thoughts up is never healthy, in that manner we are as mortals. If you ever need a listener, Oraelia,” she began, tilting her head. ”I would be honored to be there for you.” She turned to Genesis, thinning out the small frown that had dominated her features, doing her best to appear friendly. ”That goes for our little friend here, too. You’re welcome to visit me any time.”
”Oooah! Can Genesis see the trees bloom? Please, pleaaaase! She likes flowers and petals!!”
The sun Goddess smiled warmly at Neiya. ”You’re so kind, dear. I’ll remember that, I promise. And the same can be said to you. If ever you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.” she said, putting her warm hand on Neiya’s shoulder. The touch was enough to make Neiya hesitate briefly, certain the sun goddess would be imparted with at least a miniscule taste of the turmoil that the horned goddess seemed to radiate.
Still Neiya put on a brave face, nodding to them both in turn. ”When next the trees are in bloom, I’ll make sure to come find you. Both of you. We’ll enjoy a moment of peace together.”
”Yay!” Genesis celebrated, hopping in her spot.
Oraelia withdrew her hand and flashed another smile. ”It was nice meeting you Neiya! It fills my heart with happiness, getting to know more of my siblings. Don’t be a stranger now.” she said charismatically.
”I wouldn’t dream of it.” Neiya offered with a soft tone, as tranquil as she could manage in the moment. As if to draw the conversation towards its end, the pale goddess lifted back up off the ground, toes dragging along the dirt briefly as she resumed her hover. ”When the petals bloom, then.”
”When they bloom.” Oraelia waved.
Neiya hovers out of her portal into Antiquity for the first time. The idea of meeting others after so long spooks her, and she evades the first other gods she sees, only to blunder into Oraelia and Genesis like a fool. Introductions ensue - and Genesis FINALLY learns Oraelia’s name. The three gods exchange some information about their current situation and their time in their realms, and the sun goddess and tree kid peer into Neiya’s realm and find it very bleak and troublesome. Neiya is like “haha no it’s only like that because it’s mega pretty later you just missed it i swear”, and changes the topic to her connection to mortals. Oraelia and Neiya offer each other a future shoulder to cry on, and Neiya invites the pair to come see the trees in her realm when they are in bloom. They resolve to reunite in the future.
The chill shook her to the bone; a biting wind howling over the tundra that seemed to pierce through her furs and cloth. Sanya trudged forwards through knee-high snow, struggling to pull her feet forwards, staking out a path ahead by sticking Sorrowsting’s shaft deep into the white wasteland and leaning on it as she walked. It was long past the point of return - there was no way she’d make it back through the canyon on what meagre supplies she had left. However much conflict her heart stirred in the moment, the building worry of facing death at long last - it was too late to change her mind. There was nothing here on the northern edge of the land, no villages to whisper from afar, no sorrow dancing on the wind to distract her.
Just snow, and cold. She exhaled a crisp, painful breath, watching the last heat in her body evaporate in a cloud in front of her. Her fingers gripped her spear - unchanged after all this time - hard, the pain from her forceful grip the only sensation left in her fingers. She wouldn’t last much longer now. The hollowness would finally go away. Her crimes paid for. Forgotten and alone. It was for the best. “You win, goddess,” she muttered to herself, knowing no one was listening to her. If the goddess had ever heard her prayers, she had never shown it.
She trudged like that until the sun glared from it’s highest perch, followed by the sound of snow crushing under her fur-wrapped moccasins. The sun blinded her with unyielding light, bright white snow cutting into her eyes. The slow build of warmth she felt was a lie - she knew that much about surviving in the cold. The fact that she could barely feel her legs told her all she needed to know. Still, she came to a slow stop. Breathing quiet, as her eyelids battled both fatigue and the sharp light bouncing from the snow. Perhaps she’d just lie down right here. Just for a moment. Catch her breath. Perhaps the goddess would finally let her rest. Let her die.
With that, the dark-haired woman fell backwards in the snow, knees giving out to fatigue and her spear failing her. She’d just rest a little while. Or forever. Sanya managed a half-smile, as she closed her eyes.
A warm sensation brought life back to Sanya’s body. When she opened her eyes, she saw the ceiling of a tent curtain, likely fashioned from animal skins. The air was humid and soothing, and colouring the soundscape was the pull of an outside storm on the curtains of the tent. There was also a small bubbling sound from the centre of the tent, from which a flickering light danced across the ceiling.
Was this the afterlife? The thought passed her by only briefly, as her head tilted to watch her surroundings. No - the afterlife wouldn’t bless her with a headache, of that much she was certain. Sanya did her best to sit up, exhaling sharply in the humid tent. Confusion ran through her. “Where-...” she uttered with a hoarse throat.
Next to the fire sat an old woman, hair as white as the snow outside and face as wrinkled as a raisin. With surprising agility, however, she shuffled over to Sanya and shook her head, gently pushing her down while mumbling something in a language Sanya could barely make out. The words were similar to southern tongues, and yet so terribly different. There was one word that stood out, though: “No.”
Sanya groaned in frustration, yet neither her body nor her willpower found purchase enough to battle the old woman in any more than token resistance, and she fell back down under the administration of the crone, too fatigued to make a fuss beyond a sharp exhale. She hadn’t known there were people here, hadn’t felt anything. Had she been so caught up in her own woes? Again? “...Where am I?” the dark-haired highlander managed after a few moments of thought, and immediately regretted it as her throat felt like it was being raked across a stony beach. “..Water?”
Sanya fanned her right hand outwards slowly, and her head twisted slowly when she could not find Sorrowsting loyally awaiting her embrace. Anxiety began to bubble in her chest, delirious breaths growing quicker.
The old woman had retreated to the fire at the centre of the tent, over which a reindeer stomach sack was suspended from a bone hook hanging from the ceiling. She scooped a wooden bowl into the “pot” and pulled out a bowl full of some sort of stew, which she brought over to Sanya and offered to her, saying something she again didn’t understand, though it sounded imperative. To further indicate what she was saying, she pointed five fingers into her mouth with her opposite hand and repeated the word she had spoken: “Hapmat!”
The woman’s insistence wore down Sanya’s defenses quicker than she had expected, and Sanya found herself weakly accepting the bowl as she watched the woman’s gesture. It wasn’t the first time she had come up against a dialect she couldn’t understand - it was becoming all the more regular as a matter of fact. Some gestures, despite some regional changes, always meant the same. Sanya glanced down to the stew, gently wobbling it back and forth and watching small chunks roll back and forth with brief apprehension. She’d had worse. With that in mind, she lifted the bowl to her lips slowly, and tilted it to taste the offering.
The warm stew left a glowing heat filling her with a little touch of life from inside. Sanya tasted it again with a little more gusto, it was only now she realized how hungry she was. If they had wanted to kill her, they’d have left her in the cold. Had she collapsed? She struggled to remember now, in the heat, and the comfort with food in her hands.
The old woman gave her a reassuring nod as she started drinking. She hobbled back to the fire and continued stirring around with a long femur bone. Then, in a blasting breath of wind, the entry flap of the tent flew open, revealing an entering shadow which grew into a young man, cheeks red and bare from the cold outside. The old woman immediately started chewing him out, and the young man looked humbled by the scolding. In his hands, he held a number of pelts which seemed to be wrapped with sinews around something long and thin. After the old lady seemingly calmed down, the man trod over to Sanya’s side and said his greetings in their unfamiliar tongue.
Sanya paused as she tried to follow the scolding. It was no use, too many of their words seemed like a strange jumble unlike anything she’d heard in decades, spoken much too quickly for her to catch anything but snippets. If she had to guess, there were a few borrowed phrases from the waterfolk in there, but that too was entirely a shot in the dark - she hadn’t seen one of them for at least… she wasn’t sure any more. Hundreds of years? What did a waterfolk even look like, again?
Sanya shook out of her daze as the man spoke to her, looking over at him as he stood by her side. Her eyes fell to the furs he carried, before she looked back at the expectant man. The humid air was making her tired, the hot food was a blessing just to hold in her hands that somehow still managed to ache just a little. “...Hello,” she managed in a polite murmur as she lowered the bowl, trying her best to sit upright without jostling too much.
The man looked somewhat confused at what she said and turned to the old lady to ask something. The old lady offered a somewhat loud answer and the man nodded understandingly. He laid the long object on his lap and pointed to his face. He shook his finger a little to make sure Sanya was paying attention before saying, “Sabba”.
There was certainly no mistaking that gesture, she’d been exposed to it countless times as village dolts tried to introduce themselves. She hesitated and studied the young man for a few moments before raising her left hand and pointed at him with her whole hand. “Your name, Sabba,” she repeated clearly, and moved her hand to lay it flat against her own chest. “My name, Sanya.” She wanted to ask more, but stopped herself. She doubted they’d understand. She’d let Sabba think he was directing this meeting.
The man grinned and pointed at her. “Sanya!” He then turned to the old lady and boasted something fierce, mentioning Sanya’s name once or twice. The old lady hummed coarsely back as she gave the stew another taste. The young man then turned back and gestured to the item in his lap, which he began to unpack. It quickly became clear that Sorrowsting laid within as he plucked off the sinews and pelts. Once it was all unwrapped, he pointed to it and then to her and asked her a question.
Sanya felt her heart skip a beat, eyes transfixed as he unveiled the black-and-silver weapon that had followed her through the millennia. Her hand immediately shot out half-way in an attempt to reach it, but the attempt died down as she reconsidered their hospitality, and she cleared her throat, looking up at the young man properly. With no mind to comprehend his question beyond his pointing, she nodded, and repeated his gesture instead, speaking as she did. “It is mine.”
The young man nodded and laid it down between them, saying some additional words with a smile. With that, he rose up and exited the tent, likely saying farewell to the old lady as he left. The old lady let out a hum in his direction. After a moment, she hobbled over to Sanya, took her bowl, brought it back over to the fire and refilled it. She then hobbled back and offered it to her again, shouting the same phrase: “Hapmat!”
Sanya stroked a few fingers over the spear, watching it in thought as the bowl was taken away from her. The bitter memories of an eternity of crying, hate, and vengeance nagged at the back of her mind. She should have thrown it away long ago. So why didn’t she? Not even when she came out here to die. She accepted the new helping of stew with a forlorn smile, painting over her morose thoughts. Sorrowsting was as much part of her as her arm, now. It drank deep of her pain, and she carried it to ever new bloodshed. No one else should be enticed to wield such a wicked weapon. Goddess’ favour indeed. She scoffed to herself as she lifted the bowl to her lips once more, closing her eyes to immerse herself in the stew instead.
The warmth was enough to relax the worst of her anxiety. The onslaught of worries could come later, she was tired. She had food, heat, shelter. And the whispers were quiet. However many lived out here in the middle of nowhere, none of them stained Sanya’s presence with pain. Perhaps they had found happiness in a desolate place like this. Sanya relished at the thought as she put the bowl aside, leaning back and laying a hand on the hilt of her spear. Maybe she could learn the language.
A week passed like it was nothing to a two millennia old woman, and the tribe she had taken refuge with quickly grew to appreciate her combat prowess. She picked up a few words, primarily names. In addition to Sabba, she now knew the name of the old lady, her caretaker Lehtta. She had also learned the name whom she presumed to be the chieftain, who had come to see her earlier in the week, a middle-aged man known as Tude. She had aided them numerous times, particularly with fending off predators from the reindeer herds the people kept. The tribe itself was known as the Weike, as Sanya had recently heard the chieftain refer to its members as. Sanya had done her best to carry conversations with them, both to impart words of her own, and to learn theirs. As was regular with unknown peoples she had stumbled on before, they often gave up and gestured instead. Still, the tribe, and especially Lehtta, in her own way, seemed to have endless patience with her stern insistence to talk to them in her own language. And she’d caught Sabba looking at her practicing during what little downtime they had. He was either taken with her, or with Sorrowsting. For his sake, she hoped it was the former.
One day, however, when Sanya was out with the reindeer herders, a beast unlike any which they had seen before came thundering down the hillside - or, correction: Sanya had seen one like it before. This one was somewhat shorter than the one she had met two thousand years ago, but there was no doubt about its breed, for it came in, ate four fully grown reindeer and nearly crushed the two herders in the process. Being ill-prepared, the herders had urged Sanya to help them keep control of the reindeer flock. Sanya felt the same panic grip her as the first time she had seen it. Somewhere deep inside, old memories and ancient hatred rustled free from their prisons and surged through her body with a chill that stood her hairs on end. Nowhere was safe. The eternal enemy of mankind did as it pleased and suffered no repercussions. Even out here, in no man’s land. The others shouted at her in their own language, and she ripped out of her frozen state to watch the creature barrel through. Sorrowsting gripped tightly, she readied herself to intercept the beast. She knew first-hand what result leaving it alone would have.
The troll stopped its feeding and turned to Sanya, bloodied lips curling into a grin. It stood at least ten metres tall, its face all but obscured by the storm if it hadn’t been for the crimson all over its jaw. The reindeer herders had run some distance away, shouting and shouting Sanya’s way. However, their words were unintelligible. Meanwhile, the troll thundered its way towards the warrior, bringing one of its arms low to scoop her out of the snow.
Perhaps it was the lingering effects of wandering to exhaustion - perhaps she was just rusty. The big creature swung it’s paw and she felt herself leave the ground, her knuckles turning white in their gloves as her grip on her weapon was all she retained. Flashes of the horror she had felt all that time ago turned in her stomach, stirring feelings to life she did not know she was capable of without outside interference anymore. That endless, bottomless hate. Existential dread.
The troll brought her to its head and unleashed a deep, rumbling laughter. It thunders a series of coarse, guttural words in a voice as deep as the ocean itself, sending tremors through Sanya’s body. It then seemed to await an answer for an awkwardly long time, it’s grin turning to a frown over time as it frequently would repeat its words, intermittently adding in questions.
The rumbling thunder of its words were a mockery to the natural order. In her head, Sanya saw the teeth, the shape of its mouth. The casual malice that echoed what she had witnessed so very long ago. The awkward pause was enough to gather her anguish, her hatred, and her courage. Sanya lunged herself through the storm as best she could, an unsteady hand forcing Sorrowsting towards the lumbering menace’s eye. If the spear had ever wanted to listen to her pain, now was the time.
The troll was quick to pull her away before the spear made contact, clicking its tongue disapprovingly while rumbling some additional mocking remarks, most likely. It unleashed a loud guffaw and flicked her head from side to side with an index finger as though he was tickling her.
The flicks were like getting jostled with a log moving of its own volition, and Sanya struggled to maintain any semblance of balance, and her ability to breathe in the storm. She remembered the terror of-.. what was his name? Saaen? She remembered his face as a beast like this one swept him up from the ground. It toyed with her, like it had toyed with him. Fuming with a frustrated rage, she spun the spear in her hands, and instead jabbed it straight down into the trolls’ palm.
The troll roared, opening his grip and letting her fall into the snow below. The spear had drawn blood, and the troll grit its teeth together at the pain with an intensity that could almost be felt in the air. Its humorous expression turned to one of bestial rage as it once more thundered towards the warrior, only this time with balled fists ready to crush. It would start with a stomp, raising its foot to squash her to pulp. Sanya threw herself forwards, coating herself deep in cold snow to evade the earthquake-like eruption that slammed down where she had landed. She was like an ant to the massive creature, and were it not for the intense hatred stealing all reason from her mind, she would have run long ago.
But Sanya was no more human in demeanour than this bestial creature. With a tame attempt to gain her footing and keep some sort of momentum, she swung her spear again, this time towards the leg that had slammed down where she had stood. It was her best chance, before the beast started swinging. The spear connected, and its divine edge was enough to pierce the stone-like skin of the giant. Blood spilled forth and darkened the snow and the troll clutched its leg in both agony and confusion - never before had a human weapon been able to wound it. Defensively, now, it tried to slap her far away as it began to hobble backwards.
The heavy snow and the biting chill was enough to make her slow. Sanya did her best to get out of the way, but the giant hand caught her easily in the storming weather, and the human woman was sent careening across the tundra with due force, landing at the mercy of a cluster of deep snow with the wind knocked out of her. It took her several moments to even realize what had happened, thoroughly dazed from what had fortunately been a relatively minor assault. She released a heavy, tired breath. Her clothes were beginning to let the chill in. Her body ached with adrenaline and the manhandling the beast had given her. Still, she did her best to fight to her feet.
Her respite would be longer than she may have expected, though, for the troll was gone by the time she returned to its spot, a long trail of blood drops tracing it to what the storm revealed to be surprisingly close mountains. Voices against the wind revealed also that a search party was coming for her. Sanya quickly scrambled in the snow, trudging at due pace towards the trail of blood. Snow-soaked gloves made the cold start biting at her renewed grip around the hilt of Sorrowsting, and it didn’t take many breaths for her to realize how out of breath the encounter had made her. Still, she pushed forward, but it was too late. The beast was gone, and she had barely reached the trail when the voices grew closer. Fatigue began to set in again, against her wishes, and she narrowed her eyes to stare towards the mountains. Now, or tomorrow. It didn’t matter to her. Death was here.
Behind her, a group of hunters came jogging through the snow, led by Sabba wielding a bone-tipped spear. They gathered around her, Sabba being closest. He grabbed her by the shoulder and asked her something she barely understood - it contained the words “are you”, she was fairly certain, but the other words, she couldn’t quite make out. The other hunters used stiff brushes of straw to dust the snow off of her before cloaking her in reindeer pelts. Then, they began to carry her back to the village. Sanya gestured wildly at the trail of blood leading away from the scene, “We can hunt the beast, I wounded it,” she breathed, but knew when that they neither understood nor listened. She tried to quell her tired, hollow rage as they lifted her towards the village, taking Sabba’s hand in her own as he repeated his question. Sabba followed her finger and shook his head as though she had suggested they all jump off a cliff. He replied with a long sentence which started with the most useful of words: “No.” After that, they redoubled their pace back to the village.
Sanya gave in, feeling the warmth of the pelts and the villager’s efforts mingle with the growing anxiety of the villagers. For just a moment, she reflected on what she felt - it was the first time she felt negative emotions coming from the villagers. Was this what she wrought upon the living? She shook it off as fatigue began to set in properly. She’d convince them to hunt the beast down eventually. They’d see it was for the best. For their safety.
Sanya is in the NORF, where she tries to kill herself with coolness. She is picked up by Sami and stuffed in a tent with granny, who gives her soup. She stays there for a week helping the reindeer herders until she encounters a troll, which pwns her until she slices its leg, at which point the troll retreats and she is brought back to the village.
It had happened in an instant. Almost as if the fabric of reality had wanted to punish her for teaching a single mortal a lesson, the air around the lake - the very clouds in the sky - had seemed to still. The walls of the world began to disintegrate around her, the lake and the forest warping out of view, and Neiya was dragged into the void before she truly understood what was happening.
There was only darkness. No sights. No sounds. She screamed, and felt her voice fall into an abyss from which there was no echo. She moved, but there was nothing to guide her senses. Just an inky, endless void. All she could perceive was herself. The gods were gone, the horizon was missing, the-... Neiya drew a deep breath in her prison of the void. It was quiet. Still. She could no longer hear the whispers. No longer did the maelstrom of mortal emotion, wants and needs course ceaselessly into her mind. The torture had stopped. For the first time since she opened her mind to the world upon her birth, she was free. Free to think, to feel. And yet, with nothing to see, to feel, what good was it now? It didn’t change anything, it didn’t take away the pain that had already left its mark on her soul.
She battled against the darkness for what felt like an eternity, careening through the void in search of something. Anything. All she had was the bitterness, that feeling of helplessness. What had transpired between her and mortals, between her and the gods. She pondered upon Fìrinn’s words - was this the great change it had spoken of? It had to be; and if it were, was this what mortal death was like? Or was it like it had said - truly different, but not necessarily the end? Did it matter? There was nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing to feel. She did not know how long she stayed like this, but eventually she found herself missing the sensation of the mortal maelstrom. The dearth of any sensation left her longing for what once was. It had been mind-numbing, toxic, and uncontrollable. An endless flood of pain, misery and lovelorn cries for help. It had also been joy, companionship, warmth. However fleeting, it had been there. Her brief peace in the storm. Now there was nothing. Nothing to cherish, or to distract, or even to suffer. Just darkness.
And so the goddess cried, alone with her thoughts.
But it did not last forever. At first it was a whisper, intermittent and weak. Then the sensation began to return, brief tingling of emotion and mortal longing. Every sensation became an event, a moment of elation. Even intense grief - fleeting and weak as it was - became something to look forward to. It was something, anything, to distract from the loneliness, if only for a moment. It became stronger, clearer, until she could feel the tug of the maelstrom again. The endless roil of mortal wants all at once. Then she heard her own name. Someone calling out for her. It was quiet and distant, but enough to hear the request. A simple wish for assurance. Neiya gathered her focus and responded. A simple response to a simple request, she stilled the mortal’s heart and worry, if only for a time. In that moment, she felt joy. Galbar was no longer beyond her reach. The God of Truth had been right, in some way. It was just new. She exhaled sharply and spun in her void.
That elation did not last either. As the maelstrom grew in intensity, so too did the overbearing sorrow. Once more did her own emotions tangle intrinsically with that of mortals, and peace and warmth became a fleeting event to cherish. The whispers grew to a roar of demands, anguished crying, and declarations of love. She heard her name many times over the coming decades, and she passed the time by meting out judgement over those who used her name. To call upon her selfishly was to ask for her displeasure, and as she learned to follow praying mortals in mind, she lived vicariously through them. To see the oaf who asked for his partner never to find out about his lover get what was coming to him was as fulfilling as seeing two true lovers declare their love for eachother.
Those who cursed her name did so having walked foolishly into their own doom. There was only one whose prayers she duly ignored. The woman she had punished was walking the land, and she did not seem to ever give up attempting to contact her. Each attempt filled Neiya with bitter memories of her actions, of the lake, of the moon goddess. She would be ignored until the end of time. Instead Neiya closed out her immediate - dark - surroundings, and gave herself entirely to the stream of emotions surging into her from Galbar. She lost track of time, not that she had kept track of it from the start. She affixed herself to the happiness of mortals, cried with them, mourned as they did, and hoped for the right response with butterflies in her stomach as they did. The cycle was never ending. There was always a mortal in need, in pain, in elation.
Neiya did not care about their lives, or the sweeping changes of the land, or even what snippets of knowledge she could glean from her perch in the void. She cared about the moments, the build-up, the disappointment, the sadness. The use of her name grew as she applied her blessing with what she felt was an even hand. She was cursed for her fickleness, but she knew it was them. They brought suffering upon themselves, and all she did was allow them to do as they pleased. That was the cycle. This was what she was born to do. Allow them to want, long for, hurt, and lose. Each moment of happiness always ended the same way. Some long. Some short. In the end, there was always sorrow, hollow words, betrayal. She felt her sour disposition return - or perhaps it had never left her. She found herself viewing a mortal man who asked for a blessing - he would confess his love the next day. She felt his desire to be with this woman. Together forever. She felt a twinge of pain; her own loneliness bubbling to the surface. With a release of her breath, Neiya sparked doubt in his mind. Watched him worry, and pass his crush by. It was better this way. His desire remained, but now he would never be disappointed. Now she could put her own emotions aside, and set her focus elsewhere.
So it went, for many cycles of love, heartbreak, and trust gained and lost. Neiya could not tell if she spent centuries or millennia or mere decades in her routine. She always had something to do, someone to watch or respond to. As the time passed, she began to exert her will even in her void. She made a new river, the fixture of her birth. And with a river, she needed land. She decorated it with trees, and in an especially happy few seconds, she populated it with butterflies. That too seemed to last only for a time, as the ground grew progressively bleak, the water turned cold, and the trees wilted and regrew in a perpetual cycle of beauty and loss. Disappointed with her creation, she sequestered herself deep in her new landscape, shaping a small outlook where her river began, and molded a place to sit down after what she had observed of the mortal realm.
So she sat on her modest throne, staring at the river running along endlessly on her bleak plains, listening to the pleas of the unfortunate, the despairing, and the deeply passionate. After a time she had seen all the patterns. Mortals - in all the shapes they came in - could only seem to innovate so many ways to break each other's trust, or declare their fleeting bonds of kinship and intimacy. For the first time since her reconnection to the maelstrom of emotion, she began to feel her own loneliness.
Was this her punishment? Was this-... Neiya searched her mind for the moon goddess name. Gibbou. Was this her doing? Would she ever see another of her kind again? Fìrinn. Cadien. Would she be alone forever, in this prison of her own making?
Almost as though the walls of reality had her thoughts, a shimmering tear broke on a faraway plain in her realm. Her presence by it was instantaneous, curiosity drowning out the roar of emotions from the world beyond. She heard voices. Sensed other beings. It was-.. Liberation.
Perhaps she wouldn’t be alone, she thought to herself, as the pale love goddess drifted through the tear in spacetime.
Neiya is swept away from Galbar immediately after enacting punishment on Sanya. She is stuck in a void, and drifts for an unknown amount of time without connection to the emotions and whispers she heard previously. The loneliness gets to her. The vortex of mortal emotions begins to return, and Neiya eventually learns to connect with those mortals who pray to her. She lives vicariously through her faithful, and proves to be quite the fickle goddess when it comes to how she applies her blessings.
Eventually she grows bored and decorates her realm, before continuing her duty in answering prayers intermittently. She starts to lose the sense of novelty, and finally begins to feel truly lonely once more. At that point, the portal to Antiquity opens, and she steps through!
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