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09-26-2015, 07:48 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
He was alone again. When he wasn't, it was what he wanted, and when he was, he felt lonely.
Life could be a bitch. A right motherfucking bitch.
Like. Like, take this—Helovia's gods, for some strange reason, decide to find some inter-dimensional lost lands, anchor them to Helovia's framework, "cleanse" them, and then have giant battles with giant, ugly, corrupted gods.
First of all. What was the fucking point of it? Glory? Madness? Expansion? But why? Was Helovia not big enough? Not pretty enough? Or were they slowly falling to the same corruption which they fought, craving more and more and more until their veins would run with thick black grime instead of whatever stardust that powered them now?
Point made. Mauja saw no point in these little space jaunts and finding pretty new locations for their inhabitants to piss on.
Second—it had brought them nothing but misery. Spacey horses lost in Helovia, torn from their homes and lives and families (no matter how shitty they had been in the first place, it had still been theirs) and thrust into this foreign, not-so-spacey place. On top of that needless cruelty, the first battle had nearly cost the life of Irma (and the life of some unknown colt Mauja had sworn he'd seen again later), and the second battle had cost the life of Aviya. Again—for what? More territory? Glory?
If the Gods wanted to gamble with lives, maybe they should start using their own as currency instead of drag the misery into the midst of the mortals who hadn't asked for this—and, on top of that, were stupid enough to throw themselves in harm's way for the stupid Gods themselves, and then brave enough to face the sick Gods because they came here and threatened everything.
Play with fire you get burned.
You want more land? Go fucking get more land but don't throw all the inhabitants of Helovia like an unwilling army into their face. Please and thank you.
Third—horses got sick. Mauja had seen more with their skin weeping sluggish red, and some had, frankly, gone insane after the latest battle as black started to dribble from their noses.
So. Lives were lost, survivors got sick, and what had they gotten?
A few more acres to prance through.
Yeah, good bargain.
Mauja's lips curved into a snarl in the deep darkness of the Edge. Not even the sharp starlight and the fog could soothe the ache in his bones and the sharper pain lancing through his injured skin each time he moved. Ugly red was spread across his flanks and joints.
He had a problem. He had a problem, and he knew it, but he didn't have any solution whatsoever.
Bitterly, he glared at the thin sliver of moon visible in the sky.
[ This takes place shortly after Ulrik was accepted into the Edge by Torleik, so a few days after the battle in the Labyrinth. For @Ulrik to cure Mau of his boils that I keep forgetting about x__x; and for them to catch up. ;D ]
Life could be a bitch. A right motherfucking bitch.
Like. Like, take this—Helovia's gods, for some strange reason, decide to find some inter-dimensional lost lands, anchor them to Helovia's framework, "cleanse" them, and then have giant battles with giant, ugly, corrupted gods.
First of all. What was the fucking point of it? Glory? Madness? Expansion? But why? Was Helovia not big enough? Not pretty enough? Or were they slowly falling to the same corruption which they fought, craving more and more and more until their veins would run with thick black grime instead of whatever stardust that powered them now?
Point made. Mauja saw no point in these little space jaunts and finding pretty new locations for their inhabitants to piss on.
Second—it had brought them nothing but misery. Spacey horses lost in Helovia, torn from their homes and lives and families (no matter how shitty they had been in the first place, it had still been theirs) and thrust into this foreign, not-so-spacey place. On top of that needless cruelty, the first battle had nearly cost the life of Irma (and the life of some unknown colt Mauja had sworn he'd seen again later), and the second battle had cost the life of Aviya. Again—for what? More territory? Glory?
If the Gods wanted to gamble with lives, maybe they should start using their own as currency instead of drag the misery into the midst of the mortals who hadn't asked for this—and, on top of that, were stupid enough to throw themselves in harm's way for the stupid Gods themselves, and then brave enough to face the sick Gods because they came here and threatened everything.
Play with fire you get burned.
You want more land? Go fucking get more land but don't throw all the inhabitants of Helovia like an unwilling army into their face. Please and thank you.
Third—horses got sick. Mauja had seen more with their skin weeping sluggish red, and some had, frankly, gone insane after the latest battle as black started to dribble from their noses.
So. Lives were lost, survivors got sick, and what had they gotten?
A few more acres to prance through.
Yeah, good bargain.
Mauja's lips curved into a snarl in the deep darkness of the Edge. Not even the sharp starlight and the fog could soothe the ache in his bones and the sharper pain lancing through his injured skin each time he moved. Ugly red was spread across his flanks and joints.
He had a problem. He had a problem, and he knew it, but he didn't have any solution whatsoever.
Bitterly, he glared at the thin sliver of moon visible in the sky.
[ This takes place shortly after Ulrik was accepted into the Edge by Torleik, so a few days after the battle in the Labyrinth. For @Ulrik to cure Mau of his boils that I keep forgetting about x__x; and for them to catch up. ;D ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
