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Lord Zee male Member

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In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
The Gift of Maha


I


Sylia looked over the plate of Egrioth that Galaxor had owed her, the debt now settled. Her mind was abuzz with potential within her chamber of the Atelier. The matrix of the plate was unlike any she had seen before. Dense, durable and otherworldly. The interweaving plates were made up of layer upon layer of intricate scales, almost akin to a reptile’s but not. The difference was there was no reptile that walked upon the earth that had such unmoving skin. If this was the actual skin of the monster. A part of her almost wished she had asked for more samples but alas. What she really wanted to know was what had prompted the creature to produce such thick armor, wherever it had come from. What existed beyond the stars that it would need protection from?

Some answers she would never receive but at least she now had a material she could use to craft her own protection.

II


Busy roads. Buildings made of the purest marble, the brightest granite, or the smoothest sandstone, all reaching for the skies.

Minutes passed. Whispers everywhere. Strangely, given how busy it was, she had no trouble shuffling through the main roads.

Oh, she thought as she stumbled on a slightly raised stone brick, it must be because of her. She smiled. It was a shaky smile, and it quickly turned upside down. She bit her lip and hugged the package she was carrying as tight as she could against her body. It was killing her, but it was either her or-

Warmth. Not just from the sun, but of something crumbly and delicious. A pressure on her cheek. She couldn’t see well, but after a turn of her head and a flick of her disheveled hair, she saw a chubby man next to her, offering her a loaf of bread. Freshly baked… It smelled so divine that for a second, she nearly let go of the package. Instead, she steeled herself.

She could only afford a miniscule nod before carrying on.

III


Step after step. Her whole body shook with each one. Her legs were like jelly, her lungs burned, her stomach had long since stopped rumbling, and her clothes were soiled beyond recognition. The staircase at the entrance to the Atelier was, at that moment and to that person, a harder climb than Mount Nari.

It came out of nowhere as she reached for the last step. A flash. A warm grin on a small face, missing a tooth. She smiled back, and as she started to laugh, her footing slipped and her heart dropped.

Next thing she knew, she was on the floor, right at the entrance of the Atelier, and a couple feet in front of her was the package she’d been carrying. Almost as long as she was tall, she noticed, and covered in a dozen layers of cloth and leather. It took her a couple seconds to realize that it was there, and not in her hands.

It didn’t take longer than that for her every nerve to light up. It was a jolt, a pulse, but it was enough for every muscle in her body to tense up as hard as they could. Several bones cracked. She screamed, and lost consciousness.

Next thing she knew, she was waking up with both hands on the package. She must’ve dragged herself to safety, she thought. She failed to register the crowd around her, pointing and whispering at her prone, wheezing, broken form. She barely registered the imposing metal figure that approached.

“Stay back.” A cold but lovely voice spoke, before coming to a stop in front of her. The figure crouched and placed a hand underneath her chin, lifting with practiced care. The cold touch brought lucidity and she found herself staring into molten eyes bright as silver. “What is it you carry that keeps your heart beating, girl?” The metallic woman asked.

She basked in the feeling, the support, but only for a second. “It is… cursed… it makes you walk… if you take your hands off it, it kills… and if you touch it, you're next… ” The girl explained, the exertion was almost too much for her. “It took everyone… everyone. Maha’s mate… Maha’s friends… M-Maha is so…” she sniffled.

“Maha has to give it to you… it tells Maha… but, if Maha does, Maha will die… Maha doesn't want to die!” she exclaimed, expending whatever energy she didn't have to grasp the package tighter, trying her best despite her screeching bones and muscles to drag it closer.

The woman’s impassive eyes seemed to bore into her soul. “Who or what gave you it to carry, Maha?”

Her strength gave out, and she let her hands rest on top of the package. “Maha’s mate’s retainer… retainer said a Shade gave it to retainer… told retainer it was the Sleeping Presence… Maha thinks. Far west, in the sacred lands…”

“Metal-kin is not like Maha’s… Maha thinks. Maha… must give…” she whimpered, once more instinctively grasping onto the cloth covering the package. “Maha will fade… will die… no future, no past. All gone. Scared. Don't want that… but if Maha doesn't give the metal-kin the package, Shade will make Shah give it.”

She let go and in that moment, with the Metal-kin still touching her, Maha felt something bend and then shatter completely inside of her. She was aware of nothing and everything, all at once. She was old and young. Infinite and finite. An ocean and a rock. Breath and void. Then she was back and it was as if her body threatened to collapse into dust. She felt like a dried and crumbling animal hide, held together by the faintest thread. One strong breeze and Maha would be no more. Then something hot and tinged with metal flooded her mouth, running down her throat and binding herself back together like thick glue. It was too much and blackness swarmed at the edge of her vision. The last thing she saw were those molten silver eyes watching her. A voice flooded her mind whilst it slipped into unconsciousness, and it was the Metal-kin’s, “You will not die this day, Maha. I’ve use for you yet.”



Sylia placed the once dying beastfolk girl’s head on the floor. She was stable, the curse on her soul was faint, just potent enough to cause death but easier to break. She then looked at the package before reaching out to pluck it up with ginger hands. The weight of the thing became apparent as she stood and she was more than impressed that Maha, in her state and size, had been able to carry it. Ever so carefully, she began to remove the leather and cloth that bound it.

She had not been expecting it. Hadn’t wanted to believe the moment she saw the pale metal. The rest of the leather and cloth disintegrated in a thought and Sylia with her crowd of craftsmen gathered, fell into shocked silence. The warm metal hummed softly, as if it was glad to be seen by the world at last. A rod of pure Divinium, truly forged Divinium. How it had ended up in the hands of mortals, who had given it to them and for what purpose, the Metal-kin did not know. It left far more questions than answers.

The warmth of the thing seemed to sear itself into her skin, for with a subtle expression, Sylia flexed her fingers and faced the clear skies of Sylann.

“Heal, wash and clothe her while she sleeps. Take her to my chambers and keep a watch until I return.” Was Sylia’s only farewell as she took off.

Maha’s words had intrigued the Goddess. The Far West. Sacred lands. What could be so sacred there? It turned out, after a search that took her far from Sylann, that the Divinium Rod's energies were laced through piles of scattered dust. Some lay intact, others were scattered by the wind and rains, reclaimed by the earth. It would have been the same fate Maha endured. Each of the trace amounts led Sylia back to a worn down and battered wagon, half decayed, with wheels crumbling.

She settled down next to it and approached. Immediately she became aware of the energy lacing the air, originating from a large trunk in the back. It was a stark contrast from the rest of the wagon, for it sat pristine and seemingly untouched by the elements. With a touch, the wagon turned to ash and a loud thud followed, as the chest fell to the floor.

With a flick of her wrist, the chest opened and Sylia was met with a stench of death, intertwined with two distinct energies, though she could only place one- Lareus. She cringed at the thought of that creature wishing for it to meet its master. Sylia peered down into the chest and saw two black bags. She plucked the one she was sure was Lareus, or whatever was left of him, and opened it slightly. She was met with a vision, like a million eyes watching the death of the world. A sharp pain before a friend. She closed the bag and looked at the other. The implications of the two bags weighed heavy on her mind. They had died.

Sylia picked up the other bag and peered inside. There came no vision this time, just a sad blackness. The emptiness of a once proud soul. She knew not the name of the deity but grasped the domain it had once lorded over. That of the soul. She closed the bag and looked back inside the chest. Beneath a few scattered flies, there lay something bound in cloth. She conjured a belt around her waist and tied the bags there, then grabbed the thing and lifted. The leather fell away to reveal a dark metal shield, of average size. It twinkled softly, almost as if it needed the night to show its depths. It was made of… The thought popped into her head- Ir-Vaerilite. And Sylia knew who it belonged to.

One final check of the chest revealed nothing more of note. So Sylia took her prizes and returned to the Atelier. A smile crested her lips, for there was a great deal of crafting to do.



In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sylann’s Woes




The knock came at the door. Again. Althea listened, staring blankly up at her dark ceiling.

She told herself she was comfortable in her bed. Under cold sheets that never seemed to warm. She didn't feel like getting up or maybe it was because she didn't know if she could at that moment. So she remained silent and listened to the knocking. They became louder and louder until her walls quaked, threatening to come down before the door would give in. She didn't really care if they did. Maybe they would crush her. Then blessed silence came and she shut her eyes out of mere exhaustion. Yet, she really didn't want to sleep. She knew what waited in unconsciousness. Nothing was ever restful anymore.

Vaesna’s slurred speech broke the silence, “Altheaaaa,” she called, her voice muffled through the door and the emptiness between them. “I knowww you're inthere. Come,” a quick pause, “Come on out pleaseeee.” Her friend cooed. How long had it been since this routine of theirs had started? In the early days she would open the door, they would talk, even go out to a few taverns. But as time went on, Vaesna indulged in too much drink and Althea…

Althea stopped caring.

Now Vaesna would visit at least once a night, sometimes more, sometimes every other day. She wasn’t sure anymore. She had lost the notion of the days passing in that dark, cold room. Her talks with Vaesna had become terse- brief and when her friend started showing up drunk, Althea began to ignore her. For no other reason then she couldn’t be bothered to deal with it and she knew that was wrong of her. She knew and yet Vaesna still came. She was stubborn. They both were.

Althea knew why she came. She knew it wasn't out of annoyance but out of some sort of misguided love. But the Syllianth also knew she was quite unlovable. Still she came and Althea knew she was terrible for just laying there. Not even making the effort. But what was the point? Drink didn't comfort her. She wasn't worthy of companionship. If she had given any sort of a damn, she'd get up and tell Vaesna to her face that she was better off without her. She could go drown herself in drink and Althea could just be left alone. It would be better that way. She wrapped her sheets tighter around her thin frame.

“Come on Althy… You can’t,” another pause, “We can’t- Can’t go on liek this.” Althea heard a soft slump against her door. “I miss you. Let’s just talk? Please?” The words washed over Althea and she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling again. If there was but one person she could blame for all of this, it would be herself. She knew she had to get up. She knew it deep down. She began to move with sluggish intent. No sunlight and hardly any food would do that to any Syllianth.

She had just gotten to a sitting position on the bed when Vaesna’s voice began again, “Fine. Don’t Answher me!” She shouted, “Why do you- doyou hate me?” Vaesna cried.

“I don’t…” Althea said in a hoarse, quiet voice as Vaesna’s footsteps carried off. Away.
Yes. She only hated herself as she laid back down on her bed.



Vaesna didn’t return the next day. Or the day after that. When her friend hadn’t come back to her door on the fourth day, Althea knew something was wrong. It was her fault of course, she should have gotten up. Should have tried harder. Projected her voice. She had just let her walk away when the only thing Vaesna had ever done was try.

So on that fifth day, Althea had gotten out of bed. Had found some clean clothes. Had even opened her curtains just a tad, for the sunlight- When there came a knock at the door. She found in herself the strength to walk over and fling it open before the knocks could even stop.

“Vaesna, I-” She began but stopped as soon as she saw who it was. Ophelia, hand poised to knock and mouth open as if she was going to say something. Her nimble and rather regal looking friend lowered her hand and put it over her other hand down at her waist. She wore a cream colored dress with green ribbons. Her green hair was held in a bun, with several strands streaming down her neck and cheeks. Her small face held such sadness and her bright green eyes were red ringed, as if she had been crying.

“What’s… What’s wrong?” Althea asked. In truth she had barely seen Ophelia since the siege and a part of her felt regret at that. She had just been so busy and then, that slow spiral into the dark.

Ophelia cleared her throat. “I’ve been trying to find you, Althea. I didn’t know where to look. You didn’t tell anyone where you were moving too and you moved so far away.’ She blurted all at once, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. ‘And then I began to look around these parts and some small gobbo told me he saw- he saw- he knew some Syllianth lived here and should try this building and-”

Althea cut her off, “Ophelia. What’s wrong?”

Ophelia looked away from her, large tears brimming her eyes. “Vaesna has departed this life.”

“W-What?”

“I’m so sorry, Althea.” Ophelia moved closer to her but she took a step back, shaking her head.

“No. No. That’s not possible. We don’t- She was just here. Just the other day. She’s alive.”

“Althea…”

She pushed past Ophelia and into the dim hall. “Vaesna!” She called. “Vaesna, come out now. I-I’m here! I don’t hate you!” She felt her knees buckle as the world grew so dark. “Please.” she said, as the tears came. Two warm arms wrapped around her.

“It’s okay. It’s alright.” Ophelia said, moving a hand to stroke her hair.

“It’s not okay. It’s not alright.” her voice broke as she cried. “I should have tried. I should have-” she choked out. Why didn’t she try?

Ophelia just held her, stroking her hair with gentle fingers. She was so undeserving of it. But that selfish part of her, it craved that touch. It needed it. So she leaned into it, pressing herself tight against Ophelia’s chest.

After some time, she asked, “Do you think, when we die, Allianthé forgives us?”

“Do you seek her forgiveness?” Ophelia asked in return.

“I don’t know. She instilled within us that life is precious. That we should not take it. That we needed to protect it. But, how could we have protected life during that… time, without taking it? I have felt like my heart was being cloven in two and now Vaesna is gone, and I fear it has shattered irreversibly.” she breathed, waiting for the reprimand. Waiting for Ophelia to cast her away. Sometimes you couldn't fix a broken thing.

Ophelia did not say anything for a moment and then she said, “Althea, those were monsters. You saved lives by fighting them. If the Goddess deems you a sinner for that, then she is not worthy of our worship. You must not blame yourself. For any of it. Now come. I am going to make you a meal and you will come live with me and my family. No arguments.”

Althea did not disagree, even if she felt like she should. Like she should protest and tell Ophelia she was the monster. That Manda might be alive if she had acted differently. That she should have died and Vaesna. Oh gods, Vaesna was dead. When Ophelia at last grabbed her hand and pulled, she almost resisted. Almost but she let herself be led away from the dark. She knew there would be more to say, even if what was said threatened to have her join Vaesna, wherever she had gone. She didn’t know what she was going to do but when she took that first step out into the sunshine, perhaps a small part of her wanted to heal.

Perhaps.


In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Of Fervor




Ayre’s breath became tight and sharp as she beat her legs ever forward. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the crowds around the tree began to dissipate. She ignored her body. A few short moments ago, many turned and gawked at her as she streamed by. A few shouted her name. A few more tried to stop her. But Ayre would not be stopped. Not for them. Not for anyone. She could feel it in her bones that something was wrong with her twin, her flesh and blood. She knew not where exactly but she knew where to start looking.

So she ran. She ran so fast she felt like she was soaring. The Divinium Forge at last came into view but her heart sank as she took in the empty sight. No people had gathered there. No Syllianth remained to guard it. When she finally came to a stop, more out of an imminent collapse of her beating chest, she held her arms high above her head and just breathed. Her sides ached and each breath sent a sharp pain into her lungs but still she looked. For any sign of her sister’s whereabouts.

When it became increasingly apparent that there were no signs of her sister, Ayre forgot about her labored breathing as she grabbed onto a small workbench and lifted. With a loud crack, the workbench hit the stone floor and every tool on it scattered. With the final blunt clang of iron over stone coming to silence, Ayre’s shoulders drooped and she rubbed her temple with her thumb and index finger. She sighed and heat escaped her mouth. Anger would get her nowhere, she knew that and yet- and yet she didn’t stop herself. What would Ida think?

Ayre’s cheeks flushed a deep red as shame cooled her heat. It was the only answer she needed and she bent down, righting the table and retrieving the tools to place them back on it. Only when she allowed herself to back away from the table, her work being finished, did a cold breeze nip at her and she looked down at her bare skin. Her cheeks flushed with crimson as she looked around, finding an old and worn smithing apron. It covered the front of her but in the loosest terms, as she had to tie it tight around her back and neck. For her back, she managed to find another apron and tied it in reverse.

She was almost happy that Ida wasn’t here to witness. She swore both she and her sister would have died from sheer embarrassment. She dipped her head and used the palm of her hands to rub either side of her head.

“Think Ayre, think.” She muttered to herself. Where would Ida have gone? Well, she knew sister and was certain she would have tried to come back for her and their father. Seeing as she hadn’t, or she had and Ayre had missed her, but that seemed unlikely. Ayre still felt off, not the calm she normally had in Ida’s presence. No, she hadn’t come back or hadn’t been able to and if that was the case, where would the Syllianth have sent her?
Would they have known the danger at the tree? Seeing as there wasn’t anyone at the Forge, that meant they had gone somewhere and they wouldn’t have sent people back to the tree if there was some sort of threat. No, they would have sent them… Underground!

Ayre snapped her head back up and twirled. The entrance to the caverns beneath the tree, where the Little Folk and their kin delved and called home. Of course, of course! She began to jog in that direction. The entrance drew closer, and closer, and closer. It kept coming closer, she had already been jogging for a few minutes at least. Surely she would have been there by now?

“Lost my dear?” A voice suddenly pierced the air. From seemingly nowhere, a figure appeared in her vision. It was an elf, dressed in the gaudiest fashion she had ever seen. Their long coat was a mishmash of colours and designs and laid upon their shoulders. Their shirt and pants were equally gaudy and mismatched, with their boots curling at the toe. Finally, a wide brimmed hat covered their head, only barely hiding their wide smiling face. “You seem like you’re running from a fire there.” They leaned against a cane in their hands.

She came to a stop, holding her arm across her midsection as her eyes lit with confusion. “There was…” She began but her voice faded as she looked at the elf. Really looked and the confusion on her face deepened, growing with weariness. She cleared her throat and began to walk past him, towards the entrance. “No, not lost. Just looking for someone.”

A soft chuckle came from the elf, picking up the cane and beginning to walk alongside her. “Looking for someone? In a good way or a bad way?” The smile upon his face had remained. “That fire within you says it could be either. Quite the conundrum I imagine?”

She glanced at the elf but kept walking. The entrance to the cave was so close but with each step it felt like she wasn’t getting any closer. A strange sort of feeling crept into her chest as she glanced at the man again and picked up her pace. Maybe he’d take the hint? Maybe he’d go away?

The elf did not in fact, take the hint. Instead he kept walking alongside her, the clack of the cane sounding alongside both of their steps. “Not the talkative type are you? So focused on your destination. Are you even sure they will be there?” Another chuckle came from the elf, this time it sounded far more discordant, like an off tune lyre being plucked. “That fire within is driving you somewhere, have you wondered where yet?”

She made the mistake of listening to what he said and doubt crept in beside that feeling of growing unease. It was as if she needed to run from this elf but to do so would be certain death. She stared ahead, watching the cave entrance grow no closer. She knew not if it would be another mistake but she couldn’t contain herself any longer and blurted, “I know where I’m going, so back off.”

This time, it was a full laugh from the elf, discordant and chaotic, with notes changing at every step. “Feisty! No wonder the dear flame has taken to you.” He picked up his cane again, gesturing towards the entrance that still sat so close, yet so far. “Yet there it sits, for one so confident, your destination is still so far off. Are you certain it's the correct choice? If it's wrong, that's just less time to find her.” He lowered the cane. “The fire may know, but do you?”

She had been so close to breaking into another full sprint. To escape this crazed elf man who spouted nonsense. But what he said stopped Ayre in her tracks. She spun on him and grabbed his long coat at his chest with both hands. “What did you just say?” she demanded. The uncertainty in her voice from earlier had faded into indignation. She scowled at this gaudy looking elf with his stupid cane. “What have you done with my sister?”

“I have done nothing my dear.” The elf only continued to smile even as she grabbed him. “Your sister is not in my hands. I would never dare to split such loving siblings apart.” Another chuckle, it was beginning to grate upon the air. “I suppose you could say I’m merely…curious, especially about you and your flame.” He made no move to actually leave her grip, instead he just stood there, smiling at her, his face seemingly contorting to contain it.

Her grip tightened on the fabric and she pulled at it ever so slightly. “I don’t believe you.” she snapped. “You act like you know me but I’ve never met you. Then you show up out of the blue, while the Tree is in a panic? The Forge abandoned! My sister…” Ayre grit her teeth. Her face tightened as that feeling of dread tried to blossom, only to be smothered by something else entirely. Her eyes narrowed. “You keep mentioning my flame.” she hissed. “Should I show it to you, old man or are you going to tell me where my sister is?”

“Like I said my dear. I do not know where your sister is.” The elf looked beyond her, towards the rest of the tree. “As for the tree? I suppose I just enjoy it when Chaos is unfurling.” He returned his gaze to her, a glint in his eyes. “I suppose my words will not stop you. Go on then, how about we see that flame of yours? I have been eager to see what my dear flame has been up to.”

She felt the heat rising in her. At this infuriating elf and at this infuriating predicament she found herself in. Her grip on his cloak began to smolder and she wondered, truly wondered, what it would be like to touch flame with flesh. And then like a wave, guilt washed over her and she let go, stumbling backwards. She couldn’t harm a person like that. She couldn’t, not ever and the fact she even had such a thought was damning. But hadn’t she hit those elflings who made fun of Ida? Hadn’t she harmed others? She blinked and realized what she had been about to do, would have been so much worse. She sucked in a ragged breath. “I can’t.”

A soft ‘tsk’ came from the elf, still completely unbothered by her attempt to light him aflame. They took a step closer, letting their cane clack against the ground. Their smile had faded, but only a little bit. “I suppose it's to be expected, you mortals and your moralities.” His gaze went elsewhere once more, up towards the tree that covered the world above them. “Never understood why the others would build a place like this, then just lock it all up. But a matter for another time!” He returned to focus on her, his smile growing once more. “Regardless, a test has been passed, I suppose. Was it a test though? I suppose regardless of what you would have done would’ve been passing. Maybe it was all just a fun little game, or a trick! Anyway, You have passed, and rewards are to be given!” The elf began to dig in their cloak and pockets, searching for something while muttering random words to himself.

Ayre suddenly felt the anger drain from her, replaced by a wave of nausea at his words and she knew without a doubt what that feeling dread was trying to warn her. “You… You are a Divine?” she murmured, more to herself.

“Perhaps I am! Perhaps I’m not! I am Chaos that is all.” The elf mused out loud, continuing to search their pockets, over and over again. “To be divine, such a silly thing, so focused on the god hoods and the ceremonies, though isn’t this a ceremony? I guess so.” Another laugh, if one could even call it that anymore. “But that is no matter to you, what worth would be anything but your dear sister? Ah ha!” Finally, the elf-god pulled out something from a pocket on their coat. In their hand was a necklace, built of a beautiful shimmering cord, strung together with a prismatic gem placed at the end. The gem glowed and shifted colours with every look, almost looking like it would change its shape if it wanted to. “There it is!”

Her eyes snapped to the gem of the necklace. “I… I don’t understand.” She let out after a moment, unable to take her eyes off the thing. Had he said reward earlier?

The elf-god stepped forward, showing off the necklace even more. “You see my dear, I happened to be in the area and noticed the touch of my Dearest Flame upon you. I felt the pain you were seeking to relieve, and I figured I’d help out!” Their head cocked in a strange direction, their wide smile returning. “But I had to test you first of course! Test that flame that has sparked within you. And you passed!” Their hand shot forward, necklace being offered. “But of course you were always going to pass. There was never any doubt in that!”

She managed to look away from the gem and to the God, with a mix of suspicion and intrigue. She didn’t know what to do. Would not accepting the gift be seen as an insult? Did she want something from this strange deity of chaos? Unsure of herself, she tentatively reached out, “I… Thank you, Lord.”

The god only smiled, letting the necklace drop into her hands. “Always A Pleasure.” They spoke, their voice now turning into a discordant tune. Their gaze shifted from the phoenix back towards the tree itself. “I suppose it's a turn of luck that I was here. But That Is No Matter! Your Necklace There Will Be Of Great Help! Your Powers Will Grow With Its Aid, Hopefully It Will Aid You Finding Your Sister.” The god took off their hat, taking a bow towards her. “Alas, This Is Where I Must Leave You.”

Ayre blinked, closing her hand over the gem. “Wait!” She said, taking a step forward. The sudden urge to ask, that curiosity welled inside her. “Do you know exactly where she is? My sister?”

“Alas, I Do Not.” The god shook their head, their gaze now shifting rapidly around in every direction. “She Is Alive, That I Know. But It Will Be Up To You To Find Her, My Sight Can Only Go So Far.” For a brief moment their gaze returned to her, their smile unwavering, before shifting away again. “That Fire Of Yours Will Take You Far. That Is Certain.” Their focus finally focused elsewhere, a spark caught in their eye. “That's My Cue Then. Off I Go!” Suddenly, in a flash of prismatic flame, the elf was gone.

Ayre cursed under her breath and turned back to the cave entrance. She didn't know whether to be shocked or appalled that she had met a god in the flesh or that he knew about her gift from her mother. She was almost certain her attitude would have gotten her killed but it didn't. Instead she looked at the prismatic gem in her hand and then she slipped it over her head, pulling her hair back to tuck it around her neck. The metal was strangely warm upon her skin as she took the first step forward.

Her sense of urgency doubled as she entered the dark of the cave. She had to find her sister.




In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Wings of Fury




There comes a time in one’s life where the catalyst of change marks a heavy toll. That was what he kept telling himself. What he was trying so desperately to believe in. To force that truth into his broken soul. If he was capable, he would have torn out his own heart just to brand it. Then he would have sown his flesh tight, beat his chest to the drums of battle and move on. But it was difficult. So difficult.

A scent caught on the breeze and he let out a low growl as an all too familiar presence came to a stop next to him in the fading twilight.

“What do you want?” His barely contained despair spilled out, lacing his words with anger but he did not care.

“What do I want?” That preening voice had the gaw to sound offended. With a snap of his head he looked and saw Of Lapis Wings giving him a bestial smile. It was enough to send his blood into a rage and he burst forth at her. No words were exchanged as he took a swipe at her with his claws, only for her to dodge and strike him in his abdomen, a gleeful smile plastered on her face. He bit through the explosive pain and took another swing but she was faster and managed to trip him up.

His body hit the earth and she was already on top of him. Her gleaming blue eyes ripe with triumph. She struck him across his face, once, twice, thrice and he tasted blood, before others were grabbing her off of him. She flared her massive gray wings in response, dipped with the sky’s color and his packmates backed off.

She leered over him now, her muddy furs billowing in the winds. With a free hand she touched her chest, right over her heart. Her voice grated on his ears as she spoke, “Now is that anyway to greet someone who wishes to offer her condolences?”

He sputtered, turning his head to the side and spitting out a glob of blood. His snout ached and he flexed his jaw before saying, “You don’t care. Don’t pretend like you do. Now what do you want, mutt?”

The smile faded from her lips and her ears pressed down flat to her head. It was her turn to growl now, his words finding their mark. She flashed sharp teeth, her pupils dilating as her nose flared. If there was one thing Lapis hated, it was being reminded of the pale skin that marked her as different. The unblooded nature of her birth. The disgrace it brought her family. Her only saving grace was that she could fly.

“Shall I teach you another lesson?” She asked in a low voice, “Maybe if I had your mate and pup would still be alive?”

He felt his own eyes widen and she saw it. When you played the game, you had to be good and he was not. “Do not speak of them!” he yelled, getting to his feet.

Lapis’s expression turned back into one of glee as she took a step back. She thought she had won. “Ohhhh, is that a bit of a sore spot, Umbar?” She said in her sweetest mocking tone. She had won a battle but he wouldn’t let her have victory.

He took a step forward but Dusk Trekker and Howling at the Stars laid hands on his chest. He looked at them both and found Dusk shaking his head, yellow eyes full of mourning.

“You aren’t the only one who lost loved ones today.” Lapis spat. “Or did you forget this is a pack and you aren’t a loner. Yet.” A smirk formed on her lips.

He snapped back, “You were supposed to give us warning! You were supposed to keep this from happening! What good are wings if the person they are attached to doesn’t care about anyone but herself!” Dusk and Howling winced at his words but said nothing. Umbar felt his blood boiling in return and more so when Lapis put her hands on her hips and inclined her head.

“How convenient of you to put the blame on me. Maybe you forgot, Umbar, but I was fighting down there because you rushed ahead! You broke our ranks in pursuit of glory! So when Mountain Winds gave the command, I filled your hole with my own body. Maybe if you hadn’t left, the demons wouldn’t have snuck up and sacked the village!” She fumed, shaking with anger. She ran a hand through her raven black hair. Flakes of dried blood breaking off as she shook her hand free.

“He wants to see you,” she hissed, “but I’ll spare you the trip. You’re banished Umbar Climber. For your disobedience. Be happy it isn’t death. Or maybe you’d prefer that?” She produced a pale white dagger and he stared at it in disbelief.

“You wouldn’t dare.” he gasped. “I can’t be banished by you. You’re just some mutt with a vendetta!”

“Am I?” She asked. The question but a soft whisper on the wind. A moment of silence passed, he tried to wrench himself free but he was grasped firmly.

He looked at the two, his brothers, eyes pleading. “Come on…” he began, “Surely you don’t think I am to blame?”

When Dusk looked away and Howling held his gaze with anger in his eyes, Umbar felt the dread slide into his heart.

He began to shake his head. “No… She’s lying. I was… I was…” The words caught up in his throat. Where had he gone in that fight? The rage and the anger, gods he had been so angry. He left the line, chased down and butchered those who fled. Then they surged and he fought and fought and fought. When it was done, he had almost killed Fields of Tallgrass. His knees buckled and he fell onto them. Both Dusk and Howling took a step away from him.

“Now you see.” Lapis cooed. “Now you remember with that brute’s mind of yours. So what will it be?” She walked forward. The bone knife gripped with leisure in her hands. That bone knife whittled from a fallen Wildblood. One she had slain herself.

Lapis crouched in front of him. “Banishment or a warrior’s death? I can give it to you. It’d be easy and quick. Come on… You’ll get to see them again.”

A lone wolf was a dead wolf, that was what he had always been taught. Between the demons and their terrible cousins, chances were slim. A prolonged existence when it could be ended without much fuss. Umbar had always envisioned himself dying to an ax or an arrow. What was the difference when it all ended in death? He had failed the people who thought he cared for them. Least he could do was apologize in the next life. He looked into those cold blue eyes and nodded his head.

A terrible stillness came over them in that moment before action.

Lapis lifted the knife with a slow nod of her own.

And then the darkening world exploded into firelight as some great thing rushed past overhead. A great fireball raged in the heart of the village and the four of them looked with shocked expressions. Then another rush of wingbeats and Umbar looked to the sky. A dark blot sank low, just over the treeline and a great torrent of orange and yellow fire streamed down, bathing the world in agony. It was the screams that broke him from his trance, screams of those that he still cared for, even if all had given up on him. So Umbar sprang to his feet and ran.

It was Lapis that ran beside him a moment later, her face lacking all sort of mocking glee from before. It was her village too, despite all it had put her through. Dusk and Howling followed, unsheathing their weapons. It was their sworn duty, as warriors, to protect their hearth and home. Death was but a simple asking price in exchange for the next generation. A generation he would have no stake in anymore.

The great beast above, buffeted the flames, creating a whirlwind of fire as they approached. All were scattering from the burning village, from the terror in the skies. Women and pups, running past them now.

Lapis barked, “Dusk, take Howling and make sure they reach safety! Get everyone you can out, don’t let them panic into the wilds!”

The two reared off without a word and Umbar glanced at Lapis, her expression wholly dark as her wings tucked in close to her body. She couldn’t fly, he realized, not with that thing up there.

“Is it a demon?” she asked, as they entered the chaos of the village.

He shook his head, “I’ve never seen one breath fire.” Screams of the burned and dying wrang out despite the inferno sweeping the village. He cursed as they entered the square proper. A stoat band of fighters with bows had taken up behind a short wall, firing arrows up into the darkness. Whoever had told them to group up like that was a fool and Umbar paused in his step and waved his hands in the air.

But it was too late. Another bright burst lit up directly at that wall and the explosion of heat rippled over him. Umbar coughed and he growled. Lapis had run ahead, to the burning lodge that marked the chieftains home. She would walk her own path. He would…

A large mass descended in the smoke and fire before him and his first thought had been that he was weaponless, save for a knife. The next was the same sort of dread he had felt when witnessing the demons for the first time. How wholly unnatural such creatures were. His mind, he had to master the fear. He would do so now but this thing… a creature of the underworld. Black scaled and towering above collapsing rooftops, he saw two scarlet eyes looking down at him. Umbar tensed and then the thing unfurled its massive wings. Ten times the size of Lapis’ own and that it opened his mouth and he saw the furnace within. Umbar ran.

Not backwards but towards it. The monster had to backstep as it unleashed a fire that singed the back of his clothes as he dove forward and underneath it. He plucked out his knife and slammed it down into the creature's foot and Umbar watched as the knife glanced off. The next thing he knew he was flying, flying straight into a burning building. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was the monster and then he heard a very loud smack.


In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Ayre of the Pyre




She had not expected her task to be so… Lackadaisical. Ayre hurried about, packing cloth and food away into knapsacks. Her father had instructed her, in case the tree was attacked, that they should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Her father in the meantime, had gone off to help the other Firsts. A few babies were being carried off and their cries tore at her. There was so much chaos. At least she had thought so. Then the Goddess returned.

She had never seen Allianthé up close and she still didn’t but when the trickle of word came that the Goddess was wounded- Ayre felt as if she herself had been physically struck. She clutched at her chest and instantly longed for Ida as her thoughts swirled into despair.

It was her father who brought her back. With a firm hand, he grabbed her shoulders and held her in place. “Ayre. Ayre.” he said, “You are trembling.” He began to stroke her arms in a comforting way and she was able to focus just enough to look at him.

“It will be alright.” Her father said, “She will be alright.”

For once, she didn’t know whether to believe her father or if he was saying that to reassure himself.

Then the tree began to shudder and spiders clambered from every nook and corner.

“We must go.” her father said, taking hold of her hand.

“B-But our things…!” her own voice betrayed her, breaking with fear.

“What you have will do, now run!” Her father shouted and shoved her in front of himself. There came a mad dash down the woven stairs and spiders, coated every wall in an uncountable amount of legs. The black so deep she thought she was running from the abyss. Down they went, followed by panicked voices and a caravan of people to follow. Her father’s guiding hand never left her shoulder as they landed upon the great chamber that would lead them out. She could hear and see the spiders beginning to weave, the blackness now broken by a growing white.

The outside was so close. So very close!

Then she was pushed from behind and went through a crowd of people, promptly falling upon the bark floor of the tree and down a few steps. Ayre was instantly stampeded over and she tried her best to cover herself but felt as her back, sides and legs were run over. Each sending a bark of pain from her mouth. When it was over, having lasted only a few moments, Ayre’s head was spinning as she sat up.

“Father?” She gasped, the question muffled to her ringing ears. Holding her ribs as she stood, Ayre looked around and found that despite the roaring crowds somewhere off, this little stairway that led up into the tree was silent. Now woven shut with a multitude of spiderwebs so thick, it was like looking at a white wall.

She repeated her question but saw no one. Her father… He had pushed her to safety. He was still in the tree. The realization struck her more fiercely than any stampeding mob running her over.

“No no no!” She yelled, a stab of pain flowing up her leg as she began to jog up to that white wall.

“Father! Father please!” She screamed, touching the sticky webs, clawing at them to break back inside the tree. Spiders began to crawl forth, repairing the damage and avoiding her.

“Why would you do this!” She said to no one. For there was no one. And it hit her again. If their father was stuck behind there… Where was Ida?

Once more panic struck the young elf. Torn between helping the father that saved her or finding her sister. It became an easy choice as she watched the spiders weave.



Arbor was in an uproar when Ayre finally got an inkling of her senses back. She had to find Ida. That was her only priority right now. Find Ida. Make sure she was safe. Then they would both figure out what to do next. What she knew as fact was that the tree was sealed shut by the spider webs and that their Goddess was inside. If the frantic rumors she heard were true. She tried to find any of the Firsts or even Aenos, but the glimpses she saw of them were quickly swallowed up just by the sheer number who had become displaced by the tree’s exodus.

So Ayre began her trek to the Forge. The last place she saw Ida. Perhaps that Syllianth might know, if he wasn’t with her. Oh what she would do if she found him alone. She took a breath, or tried to, as the crowds pushed in and the heat of the place bubbled. She felt herself slipping with frustration at the slow progress she was making. People just wouldn’t move!

After almost being dragged by a crowd in the opposite direction of where she needed to go, Ayre’s anger finally burst.

“Move out of the way!” She shouted, shoving anyone who came too close, who stopped in front of her. As she began to shove through, the crowd reacted in the worst way possible- a panic induced stampede. It seemed someone had been shoved into another and another, and the effect was poisonous as much was lost in translation and then finally, someone just began to scream. And then others screamed and shouted and more panic ensued. Ayre cursed under her breath and began to shove people even more and the crowd began to move. Bodies collided with one another and the very walls of the tree felt as if they began to close in. Someone was shouting that they were all going to die. Sweat and fear became palpable in the clogged air. Not clogged air but with so many bodies beginning to press into each other, Ayre realized it was just becoming harder to breath. Her small frame couldn’t work properly if she didn’t have enough room to even gulp air.

True panic set in then. Somehow that corridor had become a death trap as people became animals that were too stupid to run, to get somewhere open. Around her people began to drop only for their spots to be filled. She couldn’t even look away as she found herself slammed into a wall. A goblin man and another elfling, one she didn’t know, pressed into her so tight she felt she would be smothered. She was burning so hot now. So so hot. It was so hard to breathe too. No space, just, no space. She shut her eyes, for it was the only way she could claim anywhere to herself.

This was it. This would be how she died. In the one place where life was supposed to be eternal. The worst part was, she had done this. Darkness began to creep into her vision as someone began to shout some sort of words. She began to slump, as if a weight had been thrown off her but her vision darkened further and her last thought was of her white haired sister.



The fading essence of a phoenix, a creature so touched by fire, was no simple thing. In these last moments, whether Ayre knew it or not, her very essence resounded like a prayer to a far distant ear. So it was that in the darkness another took notice, turning a burning gaze to look upon the soul in this final moment. Through the gloom of the end it drifted like a gentle stream of embers dancing in the air. It swirled around Ayre before settling directly in her vision collecting into the form of a burning fox. Its searing eyes simply watched in the space between moments before the sound of a laugh that crackled like a well fed fire resounded in the emptiness. After which a voice, not dissimilar to the timbre of the laugh, roared into Ayre’s ears “Oh little phoenix, such a predicament you have found here. I should not be surprised you mortals have such a clumsiness about you. I wonder what caused it, we were so graceful in that dance, but look at all of you now! Stacked up like this! So sweet little flame, what should I call this dear soul before me?”

Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps that dream kept the darkness at bay or perhaps her mind had already drifted far far away. It was just a final moment before she was completely lost in the flow of life itself. Ayre felt herself smile at the strangeness of it, of the small burning fox and the dancing embers. It was so profoundly beautiful. She found her voice in answer, or she thought she spoke it, like the small kindling before a fire took root, “Ayre. That is my name.”

“Ayre… Ayre…” The fox’s voice rolled the name around its vulpine mouth as if it was tasting each letter. As it did it began to walk around the crush, inspecting the mass of tangled bodies like one would a fallen bird's nest. It huffed in disappointment more than anything and returned to Ayre, this time bending its head so its snout was only inches from her face. The flickering colors that constituted its being flaring as it gazed into her eyes, its toothy smile only broadening.

“I like that name. It's a very good name, Ayre.” This time when it spoke the voice of the fox brought with it a comforting warmth, like that of a hearth on a cold winter's day or an oven baking well loved bread. “So tell me little Ayre, how did you come to be stuck like this? Hardly seems a good place for you.”

“The Goddess…” Ayre began, taking in the lovely warmth with a crinkling smile, “Or the tree… She’s hurt and spiders…” She murmured, the thoughts hazy in her mind. “Had to run outside. Father is trapped. But Ida…” She blinked a bit, the ever present smile faltering on her lips. “Could you help her?” Ayre asked, “I can’t… My eyes are so heavy and you are so warm.”

The fox’s head rolled sideways as it listened to Ayre, its gaze never leaving her. Only after Ayre’s own smile faltered did its own seem to crack with the plea for her sister. The vibrant colors dimmed as it answered “I could, in truth it would be a simple thing. But little ember that would mean letting your fire go out, smothered here and cold. And I hate the cold. So Tell me sweet Ayre, if I leave where would you find warmth?”

Time seemed to dull and all thoughts escaped her own mind, except for one. She focused on it and followed where it led. She knew she had felt such warmth once before. A long time ago. When the world in her eyes was but something she could not fully comprehend. There had been a steady beat. A loving voice within her ear, despite all the pain, and that warmth. It banished the cold air on her skin. Oh, how she missed it, even if it had been so brief, like trying to catch an ember. Fleeting through her grasp. Yet, she wanted it still and a smile crossed Ayre’s lips again. Her eyes were glossy as she looked at the fox and saw- A soft whisper escaped her lips. “Momma…”

The fox smiled as its form flickered, becoming the smiling form of Anat’aa. Reaching her hands out she gently touched the sides of Ayre’s face. As she did the Goddess’ own smile broadened as Ayre’s returned. She stayed like this for a while, letting the memory wash over Ayre. Soon Anat’aa spoke, “That is a good warmth sweet Ayre. It will keep you warm when all else has fled, there is strength in that warmth. Hold it, cradle it, nurture it. It is a good spark and good fuel. Remember it is all you need and answer me this one last thing.”

Moving her hands under Ayre’s chin to support her head, the warmth of her hands grew steadily. Yet no pain would come to Ayre, only the sensation like she had stepped too close to an open flame, “Would you use this warmth to save your sister and keep others from the hated cold?”

Ayre’s gaze held with her mother. For who else could it be? Such warm and tender hands, a mother’s hands. She sighed with contentness and when silence fell between them- the question in the air, she murmured, “Yes, mother. I would do,” She couldn’t help but give a weak smile at the thought of her sister, “Anything, for Ida and father and the others…” She said, her voice growing sleepy. “For Ida…” She yawned.

A crackling chuckle escaped Anat’aa as Ayre gave her answer. “Then before you sleep, oh sweet child, I must ask two favors of you. First, I must ask that you hold that warmth and give it your breath, so it may grow, so it may burn. Know that it will not leave you, fire only changes it does not take.”

Moving her hands once more to either side of Ayres face, Anat’aa leaned in to gently kiss her forehead. As she pulled back a smoldering mark was left where her lips had touched, a sign of the connection Anat’aa felt forming between her and Ayre’s fire. She let her power flow through it towards the nascent pyromancer. Yet her smile fell slightly as she continued, “The second- I feel like I should ask more from those of you I touch. But it is simply this, forgive me if you can. Now sweet Ayre, burn. Burn so bright that you light the dark and banish the cold. Know I will not leave you all the while.”

That warmth enveloped the entirety of Ayre’s being. Beginning in her face and swirling down into her core, wherein, it at last blossomed. Her eyes snapped open and she opened her mouth as if to speak but only a trickle of flame escaped it. She drew breath and found that it scorched her throat and lungs. How quickly the dream had become a nightmare. She wanted to scream as that warmth became a blaze of fire, as it burned her insides, as people all around began to scream and shout for aid. She thrashed on the ground, pleading for it to stop. For her mother’s aid. For Ida’s coolness, and then- and then she understood. She stopped her thrashing and sat up as her flesh crackled and flaked. As her fiery heart beat until it was ash. As she herself did indeed burn so bright she became a pyre- Fire was change and she would not be afraid of it.

In one flash to the rest of the world, Ayre was immolated from within and reduced to naught but ash and embers. Women and children screamed within that small crook of the great tree, thinned as it was. Many stood dumbstruck at what occurred and many others still helped those who had trouble breathing. And to any who still looked at that pile of Ayre, they would see another flash and then- as if the Great Mother herself had brought life to her- Ayre was there.

Naked as the day she was born, hair like embers banishing the shadows of the tree with warm light. Upon her forehead, black upon her skin, were two lips ringed with flame. Ayre’s eyes snapped open to reveal orange blazes, fierce and determined. Before any could even speak she was moving, running from the tree, flames dancing at her feet.

For she had a sister to find.




In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 12 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sylia


In Defense of The World




There was only the hot breeze, dry as bone on that sunless day. A great storm was pouring forth from the endless sands that no one ever returned from. Where they sent those that had wronged them, that had broken the sacred vows that bound them all together. But that was before the end times. Before the demons slithered back. The souls they had all damned instead of saved. The elders had decreed it their punishment. The young had ceded power into madness, fighting back only to be killed. The stupid followed. The brave followed. The cowards survived. And that was what he was. A coward. The bundle in his arms mewled as the path into the desiccated village narrowed between two rocks. He pulled back the cloth with a thin hand and was greeted by the smile that kept him going. One that he would always gladly return.

“Pyla,” he cooed, “What have you found to be so funny today?” he asked, beaming down at his small daughter. She was much too small and too lean for one not yet two winters, but such was what they could do when the world was dying. Life had to go on.

Pyla cooed back, squirming her hands out of the tight fold of his wrap. Two grubby hands held out towards him. He smiled again.

“We are almost home, Pyla. We must get this water to your mother you know? Before the sands come in. Bear with me, my child. Just a little longer.” he made his way in between the two rocks. On the other side sat abandoned and desecrated mud huts. Or what he once knew to be homes. How long had it been since the others had gone?

Pyla began to whine in frustration, her half words and baby talk a gurgle of what sounded like anger. For a goblin babe, she would surely half a loud voice. Just like her mother. Even thinking about Kala sent his heart into a spiral. She was very sick and without her, he knew not what he would d-

A steady rumble began, followed by the scurrying of clacking feet across stone. It sent shivers down his spine and he froze. Pyla also quieted, especially when he put his free hand over her mouth. He felt the struggle there within her but he pleaded to his dead gods for aid. Keep the child quiet, just for now and he would do anything.

The clacking feet spurned itself closer as the rumble grew into a steady thrum and he bounded behind a mud wall and in those precious seconds, he felt as if his heart would explode, that he would be caught and Pyla- He looked down to see those giant blue eyes wide with fright. It was a sight that threatened to break him completely but he knew he could not. Her life depended upon his focus. So he peered out behind his wall. That old village had been constructed in a sort of hide away, in a cut underneath a sheer cliff. The other side was a drop off and an overlook, far and wide of the surrounding area. There were only two ways in and out, on opposite sides of the village. His ancestors had used it for generations and now, only his own small family remained. He peered in the opposite way he had come from, the way that was littered with old bones and burnt out huts. The source of the sounds.

The entire cliff face felt like it was vibrating now. Sand and dust began to clog the air. Then came the sounds of thrashing and fighting, the clattering of teeth and great roars. He also sent a prayer for the love of his life to stay where she was, deeper under the cliff. With any luck she would be alright.

He spotted something and ducked, fearing he would be spotted. The noise of running- no, rampaging feet came closer and closer. He clutched Pyla tight to his chest and prayed. Oh, did he pray. Let it pass. Let it go by. Let the earth and the wind be free of all troubles. Let this thing pass. And to his surprise, the things didn’t even stop to sniff the air. To scent his fear. They ran past, followed by more and more feet. He dared a look and wished he hadn’t- Demons of every shape and size, every color and deformity- the stuff of truest nightmares. He looked away and sighed.

They were running past.

Then came a new sound, as the rumbling from the earth grew loudest. The sound of screams. He covered Pyla’s ears, having dropped his bucket. Terrible sounds they were and his daughter trembled, for she and he could feel it in their bones. There came a quick shuffling of feet and a terrible slicing sound as something thudded next to his brick wall.

Then a voice, as clear as day and fierce as sandstorm, broke through the rumbling like an arrow, “Send this infestation into the storm!”

He dared to look again and could hardly believe his eyes when he bore witness to the being of liquid silver, foot upon the corpse of a demon as she pointed at the storm to the giants that now glided past as if they were riding the very earth like some wave. The source of the rumbling?

“You there, goblin man.” the voice said, and he looked to see the imperious gaze of a divine looking back at him. For this was a God, a God of his prayers. He knew it as he knew the very air he breathed and the water he drank.

“You are safe from these fiends, now and forever. You and all mortals have lost much, for my part, we shall never face this threat unprepared ever again. Now live.” And she waved her hand upon him before vanishing. The goblin man blinked hard, finally removing his hands from Pyla’, who he found, was fast asleep.

Not really thinking, perhaps too stunned to even think, he wandered over to the overlook, avoiding the corpses of the creatures. They would have to be burned, he noted. But he almost stumbled when the air in his throat caught. Stretched out before him, across his home, the demons were fleeing, chased by those that rode the earth like a wave. Who fought the creatures that had taken everything from them. Who pushed them back into the desert for their sins. He did not notice the footsteps approaching before someone tackled him. He almost fell over, tears blurring his vision at the sight of his love, mother of his child, looking healthier than ever.

Perhaps the world wasn’t ending after all. Perhaps it was just beginning again.



At the breaking of Sylann's siege, it had been a sight to behold and all those on the wall who bore witness to their Divine marching forth- It was enough to make any weep. The invaders fled under the heel of metal as the hunters became the hunted. What shrieked and destroyed with impudence was now in turn annihilated. On land, in the sky and under the waters. Holes were sealed, gates were enforced, and the enemy fled.

Sylia still led her host, the might of her legions like a great flood washing away filth. Yet, despite it all, even she could not fix what had already been broken, not right away, not instantaneously. The damage had been done to her people. Many had died. Many would be haunted by what the siege cost them. Such wounds ran deep and could not be healed. It would be another task to remedy when the war was over.

For this was war. War between those that called Galbar home and those who sought to defile it. Sylia would not let such foul creatures win. So she barreled forward, cold bloodlust raging in her metal heart.

Her Formed, those beings of metal and power, were her great and terrible swords. The invaders had difficulty adapting any sort of fighting style to combat them. When the very earth turned against you, there became few options. Running away was the greatest of them. Who could stand and fight against a hail of boulders? Great ravines that opened up to swallow those unfortunate enough to fall into crushing depths? Waterways, lakes and even the great ocean became as mud when the Formed passed, choking away anything that could not swim fast enough. Even the skies became choked with dust and rock spikes, launched with precision and cold efficiency. For the Formed were not a host of protectors or shields, they were the hammer that drove the nail in. They would not stop, they could not stop when she led them. And for every Formed that fell, the invaders lost multitudes more. So they chased and fought and chased and fought, pushing the incursion past the great river and skirting the western side of the great basin before spreading out like a great wall that constantly moved south.

The tree was ever shining. A beacon for the defender’s world. Even at their backs.

Eventually they reached the great desert that encompassed the sea of blood, where Sylia knew the incursion had begun. For a vast stretch of land even her own eyes could not see the entirety of, they had swept the land free of the invaders. Now there was only the great push to truly end it. But sand… Sand was a different beast. Until she remembered what Asheel had done once. But unlike Asheel, Sylia went a step further.

From the desert came vast wyrm-like creatures of living metal. Of flowing golds, rusty irons, shining silvers, dull coppers- all the mundane metals of the world. They would thrive upon the desert denizens , forming an equilibrium when their great task was completed. They bowed before her, these troop transports, these steads of terrible wrath. Upon them the Formed went, gliding through the desert and destroying those unlucky few who could not escape until the very air became tinged with crimson. The bite of rust clung in the air as the sand turned to earth once more. At least, what could be considered earth.

What Sylia found there at the bottom of the world, disgusted her. Not some invasion to conquer the world, but a fully fledged settlement stretching all along that bloody ocean. Black was the invader’s structures. Twisted and deformed but with purpose. Chambers to multiply in, to form a new horde in an endless game of invasion. They had built their own wall around these settlements, as if they suspected they would be driven back. It was then that Sylia knew, even as her Formed gathered for their final push, that these things were there to stay. Even if she wiped them out, even if she spent all her time and energy upon it, they would survive like a disease. She would not allow it. Thus, Sylia halted her siege before it even began.

The Goddess of Craft and Metal, knew what she had to do. She already had the blueprint, afterall.

With her newfound grasp upon the nature of earth, Sylia tore the land asunder around the entirety of the blood ocean. Vast swathes of sand and the invader’s filth tumbled into the abyss as the very world quaked with her might. The ocean swirled in giant waves and tsunamis as her greatest work yet came to fruition. Then it came, from the very foundations of Galbar itself. An immense black wall, unlike any that would ever come forth in creation. Rising above mountains and as dense as the very core of the planet. Unbreakable, unshatterable- Nothing and no one would ever be able to get through it. Not by any means other than divine and even then, it would be a feat. One she dared any invader to make. Those great Outer Beasts were just that- beasts. Who were they to stand against her? Sylia willed it so.

Those that could fly would find no purchase for safety against the lack of air, the biting cold and winds. Those that dug deep and tunneled into the roots of the world would find it stretched beyond them, into the very heat of the planet. Natural caves and tunnels formed by Hummus in the beginning were blocked by the wall. To even attempt to climb upon the metallic stone would take months, without rest. Inconceivable. When Galbar at last began to settle, Sylia, drained now for the first time since creation began, placed into the wall a holy site. The only entrance and the only exit, her Watchpoint. Made of silver metal, it sat at the halfway point of the wall’s height and could only be accessed by those that could fly. She would have to come up with a better solution later. For now, she placed half the Formed within to man the installation and keep a watch on the enemy. For they would be the guards of that prison.

And Sylia, the Warden Eternal.




In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay





The dark sky rumbled on that black night. A sweltering, suffocating air that hovered in one place. Lightning flashed, illuminating the world for a few precious moments at a time. It was not yet raining but the air smelt of it. The storm would simply swallow up the stars and navigation would have to wait.

At least for those on the ground.

So it was that a group of beastfolk were fleeing north. Away from the great calamity of their time. Yet even those with the keenest of night vision could hardly see once the storm caught up with them. Children whined, cooed by parents to be quiet. Others whispered, talking of the end times. That the Gods had abandoned them. That the fates had been cruel indeed to leave them so alone.

They huddled down next to an outcropping of rock, sheltered on one side from the rain that poured down in great thick droplets. The elders recounted a time when the rain was that of blood and spoke cryptically of those who still dwelt in those forsaken lands. The children, after some time, were able to sleep, nestled close to parents and warm bodies. Even some of the reptilian folk were allowed to pile up next to those mammals that allowed it. For one of the few tenets of that band was to look out for one another. No one would be left out, no one would be forgotten.

Because of that, they were far behind those that had left with quicker feet and hurried wings. Perhaps it was a shared sense of duty, a beastfolk sense of pride and the inner flame that commanded them all. Hope would keep them going, it had too. So they endured and they would go on despite it all.

So it came as little surprise when the sentries raised the alarm and an orderly panic overcame them. A raiding party had come after them. Otherworldly beings who sought only to kill and glut themselves. Daggers of stone and copper unsheathed in the night as the warriors hurried everyone along.

The night air began to unleash a drizzle of cold rain as the lightning flashed. Then came a scream but not from behind. Thick bowed bovine and lion men ran for the front only to find certain doom awaiting them.

They had never seen a creature like it but they knew it all too well. The legends had gone far and wide. Lightning illuminated its wild eyes, a mouth of sharp teeth, a few missing, while its elongated body ran with a silver streak along its back. A mongoose of living legend. He stood in the path, blocking their advance. Children cowered, women and men shielded them as the Maw watched with careful eyes.

Elders came forth but before any could speak the Maw proclaimed, “You… Hunted… All sides but… Mine.” He padded a few steps closer. “Go… Run… I will… Buy time for… Small kin.”

Thunder rumbled overhead as the rain continued pouring down. No one moved, they did not understand. Then the Maw snapped forth his teeth and growled low, “GO!” he said, and jumped over the first few to where the sounds of battle rushed forth.

On that night of flashing lights, a new legend was born, not of a killer who took the chance to prey upon those already being preyed upon- but of one who cast aside all differences to protect. The Maw Who Slew in Salvation, perhaps not entirely redeemed but for one fleeting moment in such a long life, did something that any could deem as good.

So that beastfolk clan lived to survive another day and the Maw, without having even been asked why or thanked, was not heard from again by those people. Perhaps it was better that way.


In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Sylia


The Battle of Sylann




The first incursion began the following week, as scores of refugees, holdouts and terrified mortals were entering the city. The speed at which the beasts came upon them was frightening. Small bands ripping and tearing apart the land. It took a band of mortals led by Hollis, with bows, arrows and swords to deal with the threat and even then many were lost. Sylia herself was concerned, having not realized just how voracious the enemy would be at the chance of mortal flesh. She had suspected it would take weeks to shirk the great inland sea, pillaging and ravaging as they went. It may have even taken months before any might have arrived. But now she knew they were not so mindless.

They were targeting Sylann and the surrounding area. It would only be a matter of time before a horde or even any army arrived at her doorstep. Sylia would be damned if she let them do as they pleased.

So whilst Galaxor dealt with one of the beasts, she could only hope that her fellow kin would deal with the other and even so, that a few would start mopping up and dealing with the source of this mess. Meanwhile, she would protect those the mortals in her charge and those who thought themselves independent of any aid.

As the gates shut and walls took to siege, the mortals in Sylann began enforcing the croplands and the waterways. The city was nigh impenetrable thanks to the walls but one could never be too careful. Another problem quickly became apparent- there simply were not enough able bodies to man every post, defend the wall, the streets, the Council chamber and the Atelier. Already the more affluent were hoarding resources and small bands of personal bodyguards. Those needed most on the frontlines.

Sylia did not wish to intervene entirely. Mortals could not ever truly grasp the scope of this Galbaric Incursion. Fear and chaos would reign unless they came together and unified and what greater a unifying force? So she would leave such distastefulness to Hollis, while she enacted a grander plan.

The third day came of hit and runs upon the walls by the fiendish monsters of red clay and rancid smells. Whilst from the skies there came attacks of claw and teeth with the occasional spittle of acid. Sylann’s defenders fired arrows and struck down those that managed to climb to the top of the walls but more and more enemies were coming. Upon the fourth day a creature with great claws for digging burst up in a market square, spewing forth a horde of small spindly monsters that hacked and burned what they could. This happened three more times before they were put down by brave mortals. But many feared this would only be the beginning.

On the fifth day, the river was breached by black creatures with too many fish heads that dragged many into the depths before they were driven away. Outside the wall, more and more demons were gathering. Some were dragged with great red chains, as they had no discernible arms or legs, just great bulbous bodies and long necked mouths.

Then the sixth day came.



Althea shouted down at her goblin archers, “Fire! Fire at will!” Down the line Vaesna, her hand’s sharp blades, also gave the command to fire. The tall syllianth woman- no, Syllianth Warrior, looked out over the wall as arrows whistled past down into the horde of shrieking monsters. They were so far below they simply looked like a bubbling black and red mass. She waved her bladed arm, the metal already coated with black blood, to fire again and again. Most of the goblin archers were firing directly over the lip and back into the wall, as their enemies climbed. Others shot up at the sky, before winged beasts with too many tails and too many limbs plucked soldiers off the wall and cast them into the abyss. There was smoke behind them, as the city fell into chaos.

This was the worst attack yet and the screams, oh the screams. Althea hoped Ophelia and her baby were alright. There was a shout and a clay creature, punctured by so many arrows it looked like on those porcupine beastfolk, crawled over the wall. She was swift, as were others, and between her own sword cleaving its head apart and the spears that thrust and pushed- it toppled back over the wall.

“Good work men!” She shouted, allowing a bit of pride to well up in her. She couldn’t let herself think of the innocents down below the city, nor what fate would befall them. She had to trust in Hollis and the Goddess. But it had been almost a week of constant fighting and Althea was perturbed to say the least. Even Vaesna, who had slain in single combat the largest clay creature she had ever seen, was beginning to feel the effects of the siege. More and more of them were dying, the goblins and the beastfolk and every time she saw it happen, she felt a little part of her die with them.

The Syllianth were made to teach and protect. Not watch as their charges were slain, protection useless. A flying creature vomited a spray of acid at a nearby goblin and in one quick leap, Althea held up her other arm over the goblin, a great shield it had become, and the acid hit it. She grunted as the acid bit into her appendage but it was only a small pain compared to it landing on unprotected flesh.

“Thank you Althea!” A goblin woman with large blue eyes, carrying a bow, looked up at her with awe.

“Keep firing those arrows, Manda.” She grunted through the pain.

“Yes lady!” Manda beamed, pulling out an arrow with an iron head. She fired, the arrow lost in the hail of many. Althea hoped her mark was true.

A great booming erupted from below and Althea began to shout but it was too late. Seconds later, she felt the impact of something, then several things, on the wall below. She knew the wall was impenetrable, so what was- her soul shuddered as she saw several goblins begin to peer over the edge and the large hands that grabbed them.

“MANDA!” She screamed, rushing to save the small goblin, but it was too late. One moment the girl had been at the edge and then the next she was flung off, replaced by a black spindly hand that pulled up a beast out of her nightmares. It stood like a man but taller than her, with two shriveled black heads and numerous red eyes. It had four boney arms, two of which held nothing but its own clawed fingers and the other two, they were just like her- a jagged black sword, made of bone. Pure weapon.

As more carried themselves over the wall, Althea loosed a war cry and faced the one who had killed Manda. Not letting it get a foothold, she used her bulk and slammed into the thing, sending it tumbling back but not over the wall. It had used its sword arms to grip the lip of the wall and flung itself back over and into her. She blocked as it swung, the blow forcing her back. Then it gripped her shield with its free hands, wrenching her arm at such an angle it almost broke before she gave in and then it used the opening to slice her torso from navel to chin.

She hissed, reeling back, the cut only skin deep but painful. It would scar, the damn thing would make her scar. What a stupid thought to have. She readied herself as it swung again, blades thudding against the shield she brought up. It went for her shield but she had expected that and backstepped, bringing her sword in for a piercing stab. It parried her, and Althea was flung off balance. Another sword swept from her side, she barely had time to bring up her shield and the blow sent her reeling to the floor.

It began to stoop over her, red eyes full of malice. She hadn’t noticed it before, didn’t have time too, but now she did in all of its horror. The things chest ripped apart, revealing rows of sharp teeth and a sucking tongue that led to an endless black. Panic seeped in as the fight abandoned her. There was no stopping these things. Not like this. She began to crawl backwards, her arms becoming hands once more. Not like this. Please, by the gods, not like this. She looked around. Looked for any sort of help. She saw none. Her allies were dying. Her friends and comrades over the last week lay ruined upon the stone. More demons climbed over the wall. Vaesna… Vaesna still fought. Her blades dancing between each swing, each dodged grasp. Althea watched as she cut the hands off a demon and as it screamed, she cut its head off. Two more charged her, half eaten bodies gaping from their bodies and Althea was reminded of her own impending doom. She took solace in the fact that Vaesna would survive.

The real hero.

There came a burst of silver colored light from the sky, a brightness so intense she shut her eyes. When it faded, she opened them to see that the demon had been pierced through the head by a long spear. Althea blinked and stood, the silver spear beckoning to her. It radiated power and when she put her hands upon the swirling shaft, she felt it course through. Invigorating like a breeze after a summer rain, or the taste of a sweet apple, a lover’s kiss. She felt stronger and was glad for it. She hefted it from the demon’s head and held the point high. She let out a new war cry and charged at the nearest demons, the two that attacked her friend.

While its back was to her, she threw the spear and it landed true, right in the back of the demon. It screamed with pain and before it could react, Althea was there, stabbing it in the head with her own sword arm. With a squelch it fell and she pulled the spear free, assaulting the next demon with Vaesna. It fended them off, blocking and parrying until Althea saw an opening and took it, plunging the spear into the fiend with lightning speed. Vaesna then cut off its heads.

Her friend’s eyes bulged as she looked at the spear. “Is that why you became so fast?” she asked.

Althea shrugged. “It didn’t feel fast. It made an opening and I took it.”

The two began to jog towards the next battle. “Althea, even Hollis wouldn’t have been able to do what you just did. Thank the maker.”

Althea nodded, her head still swimming from almost dying and suddenly thriving. She could hardly know what to think, especially at a time like this. She just… She just knew what to do. It felt right.

“I’m glad you’re still here.” Althea whispered, looking over Vaesna.

“So am I.” her friend said and the battle waged once more.



“Oh, to be a divine.” Sylia sighed. She had been watching the battle from a distance. Gathering information and weaknesses. She was not a warlike God to begin with but this, this entire situation across the globe, was troublesome. There were no gods in the pantheon with martial prowess. Certainly they could fight and Galaxor was proof of that. But was this incursion a fluke or a summons? Was it a test or the start of a pattern?

She knew struggling would always be a part of the mortal equation. It was only natural to them as it was for her to create. But if these struggles from the realms beyond their own became a normal occurrence, well, perhaps it was time to finally act. She had already saved Althea and a few others from certain doom. The enemy were becoming crafty, adapting strategies when they failed. Already they were building higher siege placements to scale the wall, the twinsword demons had only been a delaying tactic. Soon they would begin to hammer the city itself.
Could she let her mortals struggle anymore? She shook her head.

“They’ve proved themselves and now I shall prove their devotion to me. To all Divine kind.” She smirked.

From the Atelier they came. Beings of pure metal. Bronze, iron, even steel. Taking suitable shapes for war. Towering over all who dwelt within Sylann. At their head strode Sylia herself. This would not be an army for protection, though they could protect, but for the purposes of war. Thousands marched forth, clearing the streets of any would be foes. Into them Sylia had poured the durability of metal, the knowledge of the earth and the abilities for combat.

Wherever they went, wherever the earth had been torn asunder, they began to fill in the holes. And more came from the Atelier. When they reached the gates, every single gate with Sylann, they opened them and marched forth.

The world was under siege but didn’t mean one couldn’t fight back.






In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
When the World Shakes




“I still don’t understand how it works.” Ida confided.

“Works of the gods are seldom understood, Ida.” Ayre said.

The two watched the syllianth as they worked with forge acolytes, mainly the sturdy and stocky dwarves but there were a few elves, goblins and some beastfolk. The two sisters leaned against one of the rock pillars, simply content to watch. For a very specific reason, Ayre knew, Ida always liked to watch around noon every few days.

It hadn’t taken her long to find out why. It was one of the few times that nothing was expected of them. Ida was often busy with father, helping him pick fruit, forage, and consult with other elves. That or she was left to her own devices, to wander and, unfortunately, fall into the hands of those that did not like her. Ayre knew her sister never willingly went to find those elflings but they were drawn to her and they always struck when she wasn’t around. For Ayre had her own schedule to keep. Perhaps it was favoritism on their father’s part or perhaps he sought to shield Ida from the worst of Arbor, despite its perfect pretenses. Ayre didn’t know but she only really saw her sister, in the last few years as they aged, in the mornings, in the afternoon and for evening meals. Ayre was off being taught by the older adults, learning and taking care of shrines. She talked to many other species that way, and most of the time, she had the feeling she was being groomed for some greater purpose. Yet her heart told her she should stay by Ida’s side. Like when they were smaller elflings.

She let out a sigh and looked at her sister, whose gaze was wholly focused on- Ayre blinked and did a double take. She was looking at a syllianth whose shirt was fully off, exposing his muscular green torso. His hand had become a hammer and he worked on a piece of metal. Was that what Ida was staring at, what he was working on? Ayre looked her sister up and down, noticing the intensity of her gaze. Oh, oh by the gods.

Ayre nudged Ida and her sister blinked before looking at her. “Hmm, what?” she asked.

“Really Ida?” Ayre crossed her arms, a smile blooming on her lips. “Is that why we’ve come here all this time? And here I thought you wanted to spend some quality time with your older sister.”

The blush on Ida’s cheeks went scarlet and her white legs began to fidget. “That’s not… I wouldn’t…” She began to stammer but Ayre collapsed her shoulder.

“Oh it’s alright, Ida. You could have told me though.” Ayre gave a squeeze.

“Well I don’t- What’s there to say? I’ve never even spoken to him. I just watch.” she said.

“What’s stopping you?” Ayre asked in a soft voice.

Ida looked around and then settled on the syllianth. “I am unsure. The syllianth are different. They have a purpose and…” her voice trailed off.

“Ida.” Ayre cupped her sister’s cheek and turned her so their eyes locked. “You are the wisest person I have ever met. When you set your mind to something you are always certain. Don’t let your mind talk you out of what your heart wants. Now go and say hello.” She began to nudge Ida forward.

Her sister began to protest but her shoulders at last drooped and she turned, giving Ayre a quick hug and a whisper of thanks.

Ayre then watched Ida walk across the forge, almost tripping with her black hooves, as she made her way to that syllianth. When she was nearly there, he looked up and Ayre swore he stared at her with the same intensity. Oh he had seen her before, this was perfect!

“Ayre?” A voice made her jump from where she watched from behind the pillar. She turned around to see their father. His regal posture and warm eyes looking at her with eyebrows raised. Then he looked past her to see his other daughter and, surprisingly, a small smile formed on his lips.

“Shall we be having a guest for the evening soon, you think?” he asked, beckoning her to follow.

Ayre did so and stepped into his pace at his side. “I uhm, I do not know father.” Honestly, she thought her father would disapprove of such a pairing. But maybe she was too hasty in judgment? Her father said nothing in return as they began to ascend the great Tree. Many people seemed to be in a hurry.

“You and I have always wanted one thing for Ida, you know?” he said, voice just audible above the fray. Ayre looked up at him and found he was looking at her with misty eyes, “You may think me many things, daughter, but I have always wanted Ida to find happiness. Your mother,” he blinked away a tear, “That’s what she would have wanted. For both of you.” he took Ayre’s hand, his grip cool against her warm skin and he dragged her into a brief hug. A display so rare that Ayre had no idea what to think of it. When he let go, he touched her shoulders and looked at her, misty eyes gone.

“The Goddess has left the Tree, Ayre. Something dangerous has entered our world and she went to stop it from coming here. Any moment now-” His voice cut off as a voice flooded into her mind, drowning out all sound. A God’s voice, one so distantly familiar, with a warning unlike any other. When it ended, if there hadn’t been panic before, there was now.

“Ida!” Ayre gasped, but her father’s grip was secure and she looked up at him again, anxiety welling in her heart.

“Ayre, listen to me. Your sister will be fine, we still have time to prepare and she is safer below with the Syllianth. If I know anything, it’s that they will protect her. That one she was talking to, he will protect her.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, voice trembling. Why couldn’t she go and get her? Why was her father acting so strangely? What was this threat in the south?

“You must trust me. Now come, we are needed up above. To secure our works in case the tree is attacked. Come now, everything will be alright Ayre.” Her father said, pulling at her to come.

Reluctantly, looking behind her every few steps, Ayre began to follow. She sent out a prayer to any God or Goddess; Protect my sister.


In Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay) → 1 yr ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Before Sparkfall




High up in the World Tree, where mists clung to the air in heavy curtains despite the ever present sun, an infant wailed. Pure, strong, wonderful- The sign of new life in all its glory. It was a cause of celebration! That the Goddesses touch was with them and a healthy child would soon babble, crawl and walk underneath the bows of green leaves. Yet, there came no joyous singing.

Only a long wail.

“She’s losing too much blood!” A woman shouted.

“You don’t think I know that!” A man snapped back.

“We need- we need cloth!” A dazed woman stuttered.

“Then go and find some!” The man screamed.

The room was full of chaos. Red hair in tangles, hands dripping wet, bodies going to and fro. A baby screamed her lungs out, swaddled and cradled to no avail. Another baby, silent as stone, was being rubbed by panicked nursemaids.

“She isn’t breathing!” The one holding her said. Hands shaking as they worked upon the small back. The babies white legs dangled lifelessly and despite the deformities, she did not wish to see life taken too soon. Or at all.

“I know-I know! Just keep rubbing. We need her to breathe- we need-” The other nursemaid was cut off by a small gasp and the baby began to cry. It was softer than her boisterous twin and they quickly swaddled her, taking time to dry her ivory hair.

“I don’t know what to do.” The man said, his eyes wet with tears, as he held his wife’s weak hand.

She squeezed back ever so slightly, a soft smile at her lips. “My babies.” She said, her demand plain as day. But he could see the pain etched there. Such pain.

The crying twins were brought and nestled upon her bare chest. The man helped move the hand he held to the back of the fiery redhead, whilst his wife found the strength to cradle the other. The one who had caused such damage. The one that was so unshapely. The one-

“No.”

He found his wife, her skin wan and heavily prespirating, looking at him with such intensity- he felt his heart flutter. He knew that look all too well. One he was often to blame for and rightly so. It was easy being a fool.

“You will not,” tears began to fall from her face, “You will not blame her. You will not blame our Ida. Promise me.”

At the sound of their mother’s voice, the beat of her dying heart, the babies had grown quiet. It was almost peaceful then, despite the commotion still happening around them. And despite it all, they became the only sight in the world to that man, that father.

“Promise me, Kellam.” She said again, her voice breaking. Strain growing ever apparent. He felt his heart break further and he wondered how long it would take to completely shatter. He could never deny her anything.

Kellam settled down onto his knees. He lay a hand upon the back of the one she held Ida with. His wife was so cold. With his other, he moved the loose strands of red hair from her brow and then cupped her colorless cheek in his hand. Cold, so cold but she smiled and blinked ever slowly, never taking her gaze off of his. She knew his heart better than he ever would.

His shaky voice came forth, the weight of the words like an anchor, “I-I promise. Always and forever.” his voice broke and tears stained his vision. “I love you, Aoife.” He proclaimed, just as he did on the day they were destined to be with one another. Underneath the bows of a great green tree.

Her smile grew faint and her amber eyes snapped to the sleeping babes. Kellam felt her hand give a gentle squeeze to Ida’s back. “Ayre and Ida. Love them… As I have loved you.” She looked back at him, eyes closing. “Always and forever.” Her breath became rattled and Kellam could only watch as the life, promised by the Goddess, passed from Aoife into Death’s hands. He dipped his head, the source of his joy extinguished.



Ayre brushed Ida’s hair, as the two overlooked the vast green of their home. She always loved how the long white strands seemed to shimmer a light purple in the correct lighting. Her own orange hair was dull in comparison, even if Ida disagreed. She smirked but Ida fidgeted, revealing the bruise at her shoulder. Carefully hidden underneath her dress strap and she felt her own stomach drop. The smirk vanished and she sighed.

“Why do you sigh?” Ida asked in a soft, quiet voice. As if she was sleeping but Ayre knew better.

“It’s nothing.” She responded, attacking a knot a bit too vigorously, making Ida’s head jolt back.

“Sorry.” Ayre said as she winced.

“It’s not nothing.” Ida chimed. “You are worried for me. Again.”

“That’s…” She began. Ida was always good at reading her. “Can I not be worried for you?” she asked quietly in return.

Ida turned herself around, her pearl white horn caught a beam of light and sparkled. Her large violet eyes bore into Ayre and she couldn’t help but feel, as she always did, that Ida saw her soul and the truth of her being.

“You are always worried.” she said, placing a hand over Ayre's heart. “It does your heart no favors. Too much worry, for too long and you will become strained, sister.” She said matter of factly.

Ayre put her own hand on top of Ida’s and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that.” Her sister’s hand was cold but would soon warm, if she kept it close. For Ayre was always borderline hot. Though, only others seemed to say so. She just felt… Normal. If that was a word she could even use.

Ida gave a knowing smile. “I do.” She said, “Do not worry about this.” She used her other hand to touch the bruise on her shoulder. “They were upset and did not know any better.”

Ayre gritted her teeth, she could feel her temper rising. Why did Ida always insist that it was never anyone’s fault if they hurt her? Or even worse, she just blamed herself.

“Now you’re angry.” ida whispered, pulling back her hand.

“Can I not be angry?” Ayre asked and Ida opened her mouth to speak but Ayra quickly followed with, “Don’t tell me that’ll be bad for my heart too, Ida. You know that the Goddess is ashamed of those who give and wear bruises. It isn’t right, none of it is! They do know better, it is decreed by the Goddess that violence is forbidden! No one should be touching you like that!” Ayre fumed.

Ida looked to the floor. They had had this conversation, for what felt like months now. Everytime some Elfling jeered or made fun of Ida, they always felt the need to shove, or kick, or punch her. It boiled Ayre’s blood. And everytime it happened, she would chastise her sister for not coming to her. She still tried, even if she could just guess instead.

“Why don’t you just tell me who it was?” Ayre asked Ida.

“You know why.” Ida said, “It would bring no good.”

“Watching you suffer in silence,” Ayre placed a hand on Ida’s shoulder, “Is actively bringing me no good.”

And Ida said nothing. For Ayre had made it so, the first and last time Ida confided in her about the bullying, she had flown into a rage so bright, she had only seen red. Needless to say, those elflings had received their own bruises and she had gotten herself into trouble. Ida was mortified, if not at her sister, then for everyone involved.

“Let’s go down to the forge.” Ida said, brushing away the topic and sister’s hand. Ayre felt her heart drop but she nodded. She knew they would have the conversation again and she so desperately wanted the outcome to change.


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