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08-30-2015, 07:44 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
And just like that, they had killed a God.
Mauja felt it die, deep in his bones, a shudder the aether, a tremble in the world; with its passing breath the air grew lighter, clearer, the blood of the pool less thick. A few, hesitant birds began to sing, both a dirge and something glorious, of victory—perhaps mourning what the God had once been, and rejoicing that he was freed from the crucible of his own greed.
He saw Elding pull herself to her feet. Saw their own God of Time hand out gifts. Saw the divine carcass diminish.
He had even, dimly, seen the bizarre trajectory of a colt flung aside by his magic.
But then, he stopped caring.
Gods rose. Gods fell. He got burned. It was part of life.
"Irma?" he croaked, forgetting about the world, about the fight, about the pain like hammer blows on his left flank: forgot everything but the small, fragile bundle of dusty white lying safely between his forefeet, and the darkness he felt in her mind. "Irma," he managed to push her name out again, "Irm—", but it died in a sob.
She was so small, so perfect, a stray ray of sunlight sneaking past his body and striking the metallic blue of her feathers—but she was so cold, slipping further and further away.
Slipping, where he could not go.
"Irma, no, Irma," he blabbered, meaninglessly, dark muzzle pushing so cautiously against the owl; her breath was barely a breath, the valiant ticking of her heart just barely there.
Mauja had known many things in his life—and in some way, he thought that he had known fear. That he had known sorrow.
He hadn't.
The darkness yawned wider and wider, the threat of an existence without her spelled out in the weight upon his head; and he couldn't contain it anymore.
Fear spilled out between the cracks. Tears coursed down his dusty cheeks, each breath catching like a fucking sob in his throat as fear ate everything, and left only pure desperation in its wake.
"HELP!" he finally screeched, shrieked, casting about for anyone who could help him—who could save him—who could pull her back from the brink of oblivion and breathe warmth back into her.
[ WTB healer for owl? .____. ]
Mauja felt it die, deep in his bones, a shudder the aether, a tremble in the world; with its passing breath the air grew lighter, clearer, the blood of the pool less thick. A few, hesitant birds began to sing, both a dirge and something glorious, of victory—perhaps mourning what the God had once been, and rejoicing that he was freed from the crucible of his own greed.
He saw Elding pull herself to her feet. Saw their own God of Time hand out gifts. Saw the divine carcass diminish.
He had even, dimly, seen the bizarre trajectory of a colt flung aside by his magic.
But then, he stopped caring.
Gods rose. Gods fell. He got burned. It was part of life.
"Irma?" he croaked, forgetting about the world, about the fight, about the pain like hammer blows on his left flank: forgot everything but the small, fragile bundle of dusty white lying safely between his forefeet, and the darkness he felt in her mind. "Irma," he managed to push her name out again, "Irm—", but it died in a sob.
She was so small, so perfect, a stray ray of sunlight sneaking past his body and striking the metallic blue of her feathers—but she was so cold, slipping further and further away.
Slipping, where he could not go.
"Irma, no, Irma," he blabbered, meaninglessly, dark muzzle pushing so cautiously against the owl; her breath was barely a breath, the valiant ticking of her heart just barely there.
Mauja had known many things in his life—and in some way, he thought that he had known fear. That he had known sorrow.
He hadn't.
The darkness yawned wider and wider, the threat of an existence without her spelled out in the weight upon his head; and he couldn't contain it anymore.
Fear spilled out between the cracks. Tears coursed down his dusty cheeks, each breath catching like a fucking sob in his throat as fear ate everything, and left only pure desperation in its wake.
"HELP!" he finally screeched, shrieked, casting about for anyone who could help him—who could save him—who could pull her back from the brink of oblivion and breathe warmth back into her.
[ WTB healer for owl? .____. ]
