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09-07-2015, 10:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-12-2015, 10:58 AM by Random Event.)
The winter Lord refused to be tied to any mirror, any piece reflecting hints, mysteries, and enigmas, to Gods who smirked and laughed and taunted, but there he was again, entombed and endeavored to watch the sparks fall and the divination hark about their next plays and plans. To the East had been the last outcry, shattering some hopes and some indulgences, giggling at them like fools and puppets, marionettes pulled and glided upon strings. Which direction lain the promised land this time, at this hour, at this intersection? He maneuvered his way towards the back of the crowd, choosing not to stuff himself so rigidly, so tightly, so confined into the space, taking only minute moments to stare and anoint a nod towards the gathered. He didn’t know what to say towards any of them: Thranduil, with whom he hadn’t conversed with in such a time that their standing was beyond thought, Hotaru, whom he hadn’t spoken to since their meeting amongst the Dragon’s sands, Ode, who remained more than a conundrum, and the Haruspex, who’d attempted to touch him and fall apart in the arms of death. While Ignatius’s notions churned over his mind, while the advice gleamed and bit and tore through his skull, he didn’t know how to manage or acquire the ability to express it, couldn’t fathom what they meant to him, how to entrust his damned, nefarious arts to them, except through action, except through vigilance. He stranded himself along the opening and indulged in looking towards the glass for answers (a rare circumstance, because the God usually only gave him strife and ridicule), a way to reach beyond the threshold, beyond the tethers, of the power they’d already acquired and displayed for all the world to see, to touch, to fathom. Would the realm realize his devotion to them, then? Or would they always perceive him as the beast, the Reaper, the intangible force beyond reckoning, beyond speaking to, leaving him to his desolation, to his forsaken vows, to the dreaded arts of devastation?
