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09-20-2015, 03:11 PM
Torleik
He was late, but he'd showed. Speaking to Ulrik had taken some time, and his cousin had somehow managed to figure out how to cleanse him of the disgusting boils he'd contracted after fighting the bear god. That it was spark magic seemed almost humorously obvious to Torleik now, as he held back on the very fringes of the crowd, looking at the Sun God. Did the deity even know he was there? Did he pay attention enough to feel the weary, fractured soul that cautiously hung back, all too afraid of what might happen here?
The Moon Goddess was his; the Sun God was hers. And the Sun God had very clearly spurned him long ago, thrust away the Bloodskald's honest admiration for such a powerful being. The thought still stung, not from humiliation but from the wonder at why his truthful awe, a pure form of worship, had not been good enough for this fiery being. Torleik often considered it was something flawed within himself that the God of Flame and Light had found lacking - or was this deity simply so self-absorbed, so used to being praised that the simple and murmured words of a warrior-poet were as stepping in shit?
Ophelia managed to garner his favor, somehow. But of course, why wouldn't she? She was perfect in ways the Sun God would appreciate. The King of the World's Edge wondered if their fundamental differences would be their schism; if Moon and Sun could ever properly coexist with one another.
'Stop! You both love,' Irelyn snapped at him through their bond, her simple understanding of the situation touching in its pure clarity.
'My father loved my mother, and he still hurt her. I was still a bastard,' came his tired reply as his eyes rested on the apparently dispersing crowd - his woman (was she really his at all?) - and then the god himself, disbanding everyone by stating there would be no battle. Seemed he'd shown up late for nothing, then, as he wanted nothing from this god; not out of spite, but out of assumption he held no favor with the divine being and therefore would receive nothing in supplication.
So he lingered, held back, never really having arrived, if only to watch which direction Ophelia would depart that his heavy hooves might carry him eventually to wherever she finally stopped.
![[Image: 531c0b471919e]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/531c0b471919e)
No man is an island.
Pixel by: Tamme :D
Pixel by: Tamme :D
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