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09-26-2015, 07:18 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He wasn't entirely sure why, but ever since the Flats had been brought into the fold by the Sun God he had begun to take a roundabout way whenever he went to the Threshold, passing along the border of the shimmering expanse. Maybe he simply wanted more time for himself, and his thoughts, or maybe he was wary—the other two lands had come with battle and strife and grief, so why would this be no different? Yet, their God had promised there would be no violence, and Mauja had wanted to believe.
Wanted to wasn't the same as had. He supposed he skirted along the edges of the new land looking for vindictive Gods or a giant carcass that told the tale of another divine battle, never venturing all the way in nor quite looking away either.
He wasn't sure how long he would keep doing it, though. At what point in time would it become unlikely the Sun was wrong? At what point would Mauja have to start accepting, and believing?
(Part of him ached for faith—for something so mindless and reassuring and blind. Part of him ached for the ability to fall blindly into something, to not question, not feel, simply trust.)
But trust isn't for Mauja.
A blast of fire seared the sky, flames falling like golden rain onto the land below; the image seared itself onto his retina, and when he blinked furiously in its aftermath large bright swathes were everywhere in his vision. Someone shouted, in defiance of what was going on. Mauja had stopped moving—ears flickering, sides rising and falling. Heart beating.
It seemed like it was happening here, again, that the force of the Sun hadn't been enough. The defiled gods were here again, to plant their seeds of sin.
I'm sorry, d'Artagnan.
If not for himself, he would fight for the others—for those who still lived. For Naerys and Myrrine, too young to protect themselves. For everyone he had sworn to protect, whether they knew it or not.
It was his duty as Queen.
The owls remained behind as Mauja charged across the sand. He be damned if he let them take more lives today, and with a fury born in the coldest depths of hell he raised the ice against a god once more, spike after spike pummeling up beneath the half-hidden beast.
Die, motherfucker.
[ Team Sunny || Summary: Mauja is coming running from a ways away, raising ice spikes beneath the god, hoping to punch through his scales and do wicked damage || Mentions: None, really. ]
Wanted to wasn't the same as had. He supposed he skirted along the edges of the new land looking for vindictive Gods or a giant carcass that told the tale of another divine battle, never venturing all the way in nor quite looking away either.
He wasn't sure how long he would keep doing it, though. At what point in time would it become unlikely the Sun was wrong? At what point would Mauja have to start accepting, and believing?
(Part of him ached for faith—for something so mindless and reassuring and blind. Part of him ached for the ability to fall blindly into something, to not question, not feel, simply trust.)
But trust isn't for Mauja.
A blast of fire seared the sky, flames falling like golden rain onto the land below; the image seared itself onto his retina, and when he blinked furiously in its aftermath large bright swathes were everywhere in his vision. Someone shouted, in defiance of what was going on. Mauja had stopped moving—ears flickering, sides rising and falling. Heart beating.
It seemed like it was happening here, again, that the force of the Sun hadn't been enough. The defiled gods were here again, to plant their seeds of sin.
I'm sorry, d'Artagnan.
If not for himself, he would fight for the others—for those who still lived. For Naerys and Myrrine, too young to protect themselves. For everyone he had sworn to protect, whether they knew it or not.
It was his duty as Queen.
The owls remained behind as Mauja charged across the sand. He be damned if he let them take more lives today, and with a fury born in the coldest depths of hell he raised the ice against a god once more, spike after spike pummeling up beneath the half-hidden beast.
Die, motherfucker.
[ Team Sunny || Summary: Mauja is coming running from a ways away, raising ice spikes beneath the god, hoping to punch through his scales and do wicked damage || Mentions: None, really. ]
