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01-02-2017, 02:25 PM
Art by Neverr ♥
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
It was a call he had never heard before; a voice he did not know, calling out with the same tug and power as a God.
But it was none of their Gods; he knew their voices, the feeling of their summons, and it was not the only servant of a God he knew, either. The Earth Turtle's call was always merry and bright, full of joy and hope and the reckless urge to dance—this call was commanding, foreign, calling them friends but what did Mauja know of such things? Mauja was not friends with ethereal, powerful beings. He doubted any God would call him friend and the one he would be the most eager to defend wasn't even the one he had become a champion for.
Gritting his teeth he pulled himself from what he was doing, and set off in the direction of one of Helovia's corners he had not witnessed in a long, long time. Years had passed since the darkness had taken the Spectral Marsh. It had devoured land after land and driven them underground, had spread its disease and poison to be cleansed only by what passed for holy water, and when time had lessened its infection it had not let go of the Marshes. Behind a curtain of utter darkness and the chills of fear creeping down your spine, the lands had remained dead, passing out of memory.
Not anymore, it seemed, as Mauja gathered with the others before a creature he did not know, but which seemed to know them. He supposed that falling into glaciers had its downsides.
It spoke of clearing the dead lands, of piling up bones.
Mauja didn't like it. His ears remained forward and attentive, but a dread weight settled in his soul. Hadn't Snö and Aviya died for this kind of thing? Taking back sick lands? His blue eyes narrowed a fraction, tracing the outline of the stranger who had tasked them with this. Was he but a sick God in disguise? Was he here, to take his revenge on them, for what had been done to his brethren?
If he had ill intent, he would not tell them when asked. Or? Perhaps no one would believe him, and he could smile it all off. Someone—Tilney, maybe?—had already asked what the bones were for. Either he would answer, or he would not. Mauja smoothed out the features of his face. Heart heavy with doubt, he went to speak with someone who was, hopefully, wiser in the matters of Gods.
But it was none of their Gods; he knew their voices, the feeling of their summons, and it was not the only servant of a God he knew, either. The Earth Turtle's call was always merry and bright, full of joy and hope and the reckless urge to dance—this call was commanding, foreign, calling them friends but what did Mauja know of such things? Mauja was not friends with ethereal, powerful beings. He doubted any God would call him friend and the one he would be the most eager to defend wasn't even the one he had become a champion for.
Gritting his teeth he pulled himself from what he was doing, and set off in the direction of one of Helovia's corners he had not witnessed in a long, long time. Years had passed since the darkness had taken the Spectral Marsh. It had devoured land after land and driven them underground, had spread its disease and poison to be cleansed only by what passed for holy water, and when time had lessened its infection it had not let go of the Marshes. Behind a curtain of utter darkness and the chills of fear creeping down your spine, the lands had remained dead, passing out of memory.
Not anymore, it seemed, as Mauja gathered with the others before a creature he did not know, but which seemed to know them. He supposed that falling into glaciers had its downsides.
It spoke of clearing the dead lands, of piling up bones.
Mauja didn't like it. His ears remained forward and attentive, but a dread weight settled in his soul. Hadn't Snö and Aviya died for this kind of thing? Taking back sick lands? His blue eyes narrowed a fraction, tracing the outline of the stranger who had tasked them with this. Was he but a sick God in disguise? Was he here, to take his revenge on them, for what had been done to his brethren?
If he had ill intent, he would not tell them when asked. Or? Perhaps no one would believe him, and he could smile it all off. Someone—Tilney, maybe?—had already asked what the bones were for. Either he would answer, or he would not. Mauja smoothed out the features of his face. Heart heavy with doubt, he went to speak with someone who was, hopefully, wiser in the matters of Gods.
