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10-08-2015, 07:52 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
It was annoying to feel slighted by Gods.
They were timeless, astral, divine, ancient and—well, mortal he supposed as he stared at the Crocodile falling beneath the surge of a makeshift army. It died like the others had died, in geysers of blue blood and the fireworks of magic.
Mauja let go of his own, staring at the failing body with a dispassionate frown. Why were they doing this? What drove them? What drove Helovia's Gods into such carelessness? And what, what, makes us put up with this? And fight for them?
For ourselves, he thought, a streak of near-anger surging through his veins. He fought for himself, for Naerys and Maren, for Tembovu, Rexanna, the memory of Myrddin and Tolio and Psyche—
His breath hitched in his throat.
Somehow, he hadn't though of her for a long time. He cast a glance to the Sun God. Wasn't his entire life like that? Forgetting—about the ones he loved. The ones he had loved.
Forgetting was sin. Forgetting was what made you repeat your mistakes. Forgetting was what brought you despair, and pain, and boredom—because you forgot how wonderful things were as they were, you forgot how much you loved, how much you cared, and in an effort to feel alive, you went elsewhere.
In a world where your loved ones mattered the most it was stupid to care about whom the Gods offered gifts or not. In a world where he felt like he had already lost everything fancy trinkets or armor or weapons couldn't fill up the hollow in his chest.
Come, Irma whispered, cold and lethal, circling on pale wings. Come. The shadow fails. Weary to his bones, Mauja followed.
They were timeless, astral, divine, ancient and—well, mortal he supposed as he stared at the Crocodile falling beneath the surge of a makeshift army. It died like the others had died, in geysers of blue blood and the fireworks of magic.
Mauja let go of his own, staring at the failing body with a dispassionate frown. Why were they doing this? What drove them? What drove Helovia's Gods into such carelessness? And what, what, makes us put up with this? And fight for them?
For ourselves, he thought, a streak of near-anger surging through his veins. He fought for himself, for Naerys and Maren, for Tembovu, Rexanna, the memory of Myrddin and Tolio and Psyche—
His breath hitched in his throat.
Somehow, he hadn't though of her for a long time. He cast a glance to the Sun God. Wasn't his entire life like that? Forgetting—about the ones he loved. The ones he had loved.
Forgetting was sin. Forgetting was what made you repeat your mistakes. Forgetting was what brought you despair, and pain, and boredom—because you forgot how wonderful things were as they were, you forgot how much you loved, how much you cared, and in an effort to feel alive, you went elsewhere.
In a world where your loved ones mattered the most it was stupid to care about whom the Gods offered gifts or not. In a world where he felt like he had already lost everything fancy trinkets or armor or weapons couldn't fill up the hollow in his chest.
Come, Irma whispered, cold and lethal, circling on pale wings. Come. The shadow fails. Weary to his bones, Mauja followed.
