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02-29-2016, 01:59 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
And, of course, he did it again. With each stubborn word falling from his dark lips the temperature in their part of the world dropped, turning his blood to ice in his rime-crusted veins. He felt it, he saw it, and he could not keep the tide from flowing out of his mouth—he would not be cowed. Had she expected him to act in blind faith? Had she, for one moment, thought that he would barter his life away without some meat on his bones? Mauja was not one who trusted, and least of all did he trust her. She asked a lot of him, after all, when she offered him immortality. If she didn't want to answer his questions, why give him the choice at all? The easy way out, the faithless way, was to simply take a blessing for all his unborn children—miring those already born further in the shit he'd let them come into. What good would it do Glacia, if her highly hypothetical younger siblings were 'blessed'?
For one as Mauja, the gift was about as useful as a virility charm, though less obnoxious in its results. That is to say—it did not interest him in the slightest.
And yet, the care with which he liked to see to his own goddamn fucking life irked her, turning her serene eyes to cold hard ice, and her voice bit back in a way which told him he was dangerously close to not minding his manners again. Had he expected anything else? No, not truly—he had hoped for more, had hoped she would've grown in this time, but what was one or two mortal years to an infinite being? So he swallowed his sigh, nostrils set in an expression of contained irritation. He was a bad acolyte for a divine, sly, totalitarian bitch—and he sincerely hoped she wasn't in his head to hear that one, or that hypothetically very long future might turn to an incredibly short one.
Like the life of a mayfly in the eyes of a goddess: brief, insignificant. He could hardly believe she offered him immortality because she wanted to bicker with him for all eternity. So why did she? As, ah, compensation for what he had gone through? Unlikely. Because she liked watching him suffer? More likely. If her laugh was anything to go by, she would rather enjoy watching him rolled over by waves for centuries, unable to get out of his predicament.
What are you after? he wanted to ask her as he sat through her answers, gaze turning hard each time she berated him for his inquisitive nature and softening with thought each time she gave him an answer. What do you want of me?
"I have always acted in the best interests of Helovia - only those motivations guide me."
Then why offer me this? How could Mauja, whether in himself or simply by virtue of his blood and seed, be in the best interest of Helovia? He was a god-damned failure! He had been some kind of racist force threatening Helovia and now he was just some sad derp having a constant identity crisis. How could he offer Helovia anything? Why not offer immortality to Tembovu, who at least was still capable of achieving things? And for a moment, Mauja's gaze flitted to the wall of fog, where he knew he had seen the gargantuan King, but the clouds had thickened and the starlight glowed upon water droplets, masking all beyond their little cozy corner.
He looked back to Moon. She seemed to run out of anger towards the end of her answers, offering more facts and less bite. "Your life force bleeds into them." "Oh," he said, the sound slipping out between breaths; truth to be told, he hadn't seen any companions die of old age, but how long had he been in Helovia? Six years, give or take—hardly enough for an animal to die, and he wasn't sure he had known anyone but maybe d'Artagnan, Deimos and Ophelia for that long, and.. d'Artagnan had a dog, and Ophelia had a fucking dragon. But—if their life force bled into their bonded animals, did that mean their own life was shortened? Would having two companions kill you quicker?
The questions danced upon his tongue, but he forced them down again. They weren't relevant, not right now.
"Choose now Mauja, or I will rescind my offer." "Thank you," he murmured quietly, looking back to the wall of fog again. She was burned into his mind, the spitting image of a bird settling her ruffled feathers back into place—expecting him to behave now, perhaps, the threat of her powers fresh in his mortal mind, her warnings delivered clearly enough. He wondered what would happen if he asked once more, if she would lose her patience and simply leave him, or if she would strike him down before leaving. That, too, was oddly alluring—to test her mettle once and for all, to see what she was truly made of.
If she killed him, he supposed he hadn't been all that important to Helovia after all. The thought made him smile, bitterly.
He couldn't stall any longer. He couldn't keep chasing the tail ends of his smoke-like thoughts, and dance about questions like what scheme she had in mind, how he fit in, what the world was coming to, what 'Helovia' meant to her (the lands, or the current inhabitants?), if she could be moved to compassion and kindness at all...
He had to think about himself.
About his future.
Could he do it? Could he live, forever and ever? Could he watch Erthë and Naerys grow to adulthood, perhaps find suitable mates and procreate, grow old, wither away, and die? Could he handle watching the cycle of life, over and over—would he lose his ability for compassion, for empathy, once he saw the same cruelty over and over again? Would he grow apathetic, listless, weary of trying to save a world hellbent on destroying itself? Would he still value his friendships, knowing they were finite—would he miss them, for ever and ever, as new graves were dug in haphazard rows in his heart?
Was love finite? Would he run out of it, one day? —would that be the day he knew it was time to die?
Yet to walk the earth forevermore, a shepherd of this world... Perhaps one of his friends, of some unknown era, would be deemed 'important' to Helovia somehow too, and join him in his ceaseless vigilance. Perhaps, he would not have to be alone forever.
You are never alone, Irma whispered in his mind. Her cold voice sent shivers down his spine. Brother, Diego said after a moment. He rarely spoke.
Their warmth swelled in his heart; a golden tide flooding his frozen veins. He still could not fathom what she wanted from him, but perhaps, one day, he would know.
"Immortality," he whispered, sealing his fate with a thundering heartbeat.
It was his utmost sacrifice: his own death.
For one as Mauja, the gift was about as useful as a virility charm, though less obnoxious in its results. That is to say—it did not interest him in the slightest.
And yet, the care with which he liked to see to his own goddamn fucking life irked her, turning her serene eyes to cold hard ice, and her voice bit back in a way which told him he was dangerously close to not minding his manners again. Had he expected anything else? No, not truly—he had hoped for more, had hoped she would've grown in this time, but what was one or two mortal years to an infinite being? So he swallowed his sigh, nostrils set in an expression of contained irritation. He was a bad acolyte for a divine, sly, totalitarian bitch—and he sincerely hoped she wasn't in his head to hear that one, or that hypothetically very long future might turn to an incredibly short one.
Like the life of a mayfly in the eyes of a goddess: brief, insignificant. He could hardly believe she offered him immortality because she wanted to bicker with him for all eternity. So why did she? As, ah, compensation for what he had gone through? Unlikely. Because she liked watching him suffer? More likely. If her laugh was anything to go by, she would rather enjoy watching him rolled over by waves for centuries, unable to get out of his predicament.
What are you after? he wanted to ask her as he sat through her answers, gaze turning hard each time she berated him for his inquisitive nature and softening with thought each time she gave him an answer. What do you want of me?
"I have always acted in the best interests of Helovia - only those motivations guide me."
Then why offer me this? How could Mauja, whether in himself or simply by virtue of his blood and seed, be in the best interest of Helovia? He was a god-damned failure! He had been some kind of racist force threatening Helovia and now he was just some sad derp having a constant identity crisis. How could he offer Helovia anything? Why not offer immortality to Tembovu, who at least was still capable of achieving things? And for a moment, Mauja's gaze flitted to the wall of fog, where he knew he had seen the gargantuan King, but the clouds had thickened and the starlight glowed upon water droplets, masking all beyond their little cozy corner.
He looked back to Moon. She seemed to run out of anger towards the end of her answers, offering more facts and less bite. "Your life force bleeds into them." "Oh," he said, the sound slipping out between breaths; truth to be told, he hadn't seen any companions die of old age, but how long had he been in Helovia? Six years, give or take—hardly enough for an animal to die, and he wasn't sure he had known anyone but maybe d'Artagnan, Deimos and Ophelia for that long, and.. d'Artagnan had a dog, and Ophelia had a fucking dragon. But—if their life force bled into their bonded animals, did that mean their own life was shortened? Would having two companions kill you quicker?
The questions danced upon his tongue, but he forced them down again. They weren't relevant, not right now.
"Choose now Mauja, or I will rescind my offer." "Thank you," he murmured quietly, looking back to the wall of fog again. She was burned into his mind, the spitting image of a bird settling her ruffled feathers back into place—expecting him to behave now, perhaps, the threat of her powers fresh in his mortal mind, her warnings delivered clearly enough. He wondered what would happen if he asked once more, if she would lose her patience and simply leave him, or if she would strike him down before leaving. That, too, was oddly alluring—to test her mettle once and for all, to see what she was truly made of.
If she killed him, he supposed he hadn't been all that important to Helovia after all. The thought made him smile, bitterly.
He couldn't stall any longer. He couldn't keep chasing the tail ends of his smoke-like thoughts, and dance about questions like what scheme she had in mind, how he fit in, what the world was coming to, what 'Helovia' meant to her (the lands, or the current inhabitants?), if she could be moved to compassion and kindness at all...
He had to think about himself.
About his future.
Could he do it? Could he live, forever and ever? Could he watch Erthë and Naerys grow to adulthood, perhaps find suitable mates and procreate, grow old, wither away, and die? Could he handle watching the cycle of life, over and over—would he lose his ability for compassion, for empathy, once he saw the same cruelty over and over again? Would he grow apathetic, listless, weary of trying to save a world hellbent on destroying itself? Would he still value his friendships, knowing they were finite—would he miss them, for ever and ever, as new graves were dug in haphazard rows in his heart?
Was love finite? Would he run out of it, one day? —would that be the day he knew it was time to die?
Yet to walk the earth forevermore, a shepherd of this world... Perhaps one of his friends, of some unknown era, would be deemed 'important' to Helovia somehow too, and join him in his ceaseless vigilance. Perhaps, he would not have to be alone forever.
You are never alone, Irma whispered in his mind. Her cold voice sent shivers down his spine. Brother, Diego said after a moment. He rarely spoke.
Their warmth swelled in his heart; a golden tide flooding his frozen veins. He still could not fathom what she wanted from him, but perhaps, one day, he would know.
"Immortality," he whispered, sealing his fate with a thundering heartbeat.
It was his utmost sacrifice: his own death.
Mauja
the white queen
