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10-14-2015, 06:18 PM
ashamin
The Haruspex
Though the young paint knew that the word to describe the situation was not disappointment, he knew he wasn't happy. He found Einarr, tumbling in the chaos like a graceful black eagle and endowed with those same wings that had blanketed Ashamin from the self-harm of grief, and was not met with encouragement.
He was told to run. And the reckless, bloody strain of the haruspex's heart was as hurt as he was inspired by the command. No, he would not run. He would fight, damn it, and show Einarr all his faults and all his strengths.
Praises would be sung, the haruspex thought as he snorted in rebellious reply and moved closer towards the crocodile. Einarr would only encourage him further.
Son, he would say. How you've grown. Son, he would say. How I underestimated you. I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry.
These were all Ashamin thought of as the wrist of the crocodile snapped upon impact. It was pure success, a breaking of bone that was unrivaled. With skill that practice had given him, Ashamin darted each drop of freezing blood and pulled himself from the wreckage. The croc god was falling, and he had done his part. Einarr would see him, Einarr would be proud.
Wouldn't he?
Ashamin pulled away from the sturm and drang only with the perception that his world was slowly crashing. It wasn't just these gods that were dying, it was a part of him. His faith, maybe? In meeting the gods was he losing some sense of piety? Loving a deity from afar was one thing, but to meet them, to be disappointed by them was another pain altogether. And it hurt, more than he had ever expected.
He watched the Sun God award the valiant, looked on, loveless, as those he knew drifted away. He stood in the sun with corpses around him, Einarr nowhere in sight. Even that black body could not be found, now, in the wake of all this dead religion.
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@Einarr
See Ashamin's profile for more information about Lochan, Rakt, and his various items.
All magic and force allowed, barring death and permanent injury.
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