Ophelia had altered. She was not kindred to the mare Murder had encountered in the Threshold and this dismayed him as he considered her. It was apparent upon their initial confrontation that she had pain in her past; however it seemed as if her woe and tension had only increased since Murder last laid eyes upon her splendidly pallid form. When Ophelia jerked her dome upwards and rotated to behold him with her two toned chasms Murder felt an abrupt lurch in his stomach. He couldn’t describe it accurately yet precipitously he felt very insignificant, akin to a child who had just disturbed an exceedingly assiduous adult. Murder’s voids fell upon the laceration which weaved itself down Ophelia’s refined jaw. It was the hue of newly bloomed claret roses, and though it was gruesome it augmented a certain resilient beauty to the damsel’s façade. The blood upon her flesh brought out the color in her eyes so flawlessly.

Murder.

At his name Murder let his audits descent against his azure crania. The action was not hostile in the least and gave him more of a chastened appearance. Abruptly he felt as if he’d abandoned her instead, insulting her considerate offering of aid. Murder was ashamed of the brute he had transformed into throughout his time in Helovia. The only motive he retained for not making a hasty departure from this callous territory was the enduring anticipation of reclaiming his vanished brethren. Murder would not relinquish them to be play things to the vile divinities. Glancing away for a moment from the seraph that stood before him Murder recalled their meeting with the Earth God and felt a reinstated odium welling up within his core. The God had said he would return his crows and even encouraged Murder to seek them on his own and yet he had been searching for months, misplacing himself in the pursuit, only to still be utterly alone. The deities were cruel creatures, so bored with their omnipotent existences that they resort to brutalizing those lesser than them for regalement. Genuinely Murder pitied them as much as he abhorred them.

"Much has happened since I have seen you, and I am no longer in the favor of the gods. I have heard nothing of your quest; I am sorry." Murder’s gaze was cast downwards at this revelation though it perturbed him. How could such an altruistic being lose patronage from the gods? A strident exhalation was released from Murder’s nostrils as he regarded Ophelia once more, his sanguine pits staring profoundly into her inequitable orbs with a quiet desperation. How could anyone permit these deities their eternal devotion when the gods did nothing but exploit their supremacy and abuse their followers? Murder had never been a religious individual and frequently he was vexed with admittedly pious folks causing him to lose his derisory conviction ever more. It was not as if Murder didn’t believe, he was logical and had seen the almighties with his own eyes; he just didn’t desire to provide them with his reverence. They had never given Murder anything. In fact they had only ever taken from him, something he wouldn’t chalk up to the divine plan and remain ignorant. If they were worth worshiping there surely wouldn’t be so much despair in the world.

"I can help you, though? Or at least, I can try. We can ask the seer of the Throat if she has any news from the heavens." Murder let his tassel lash at his hocks as he listened to her serene vocals, always occupied with empathy and benevolence. There was a bit of reprieve for Murder at her returning proposal and he smiled feebly yet the concluding piece of her dialogue removed the grin swiftly from his maw. Murder had no aspiration to request anything from the gods anymore. They had forsaken him and so he would renounce their presence and influence in his life. Once he retrieved his crows Murder would banish them once and for all, a musing that pleased him significantly.

“Thank you Ophelia, you are much too kind. The divinities are irrefutably daft to expel you from their noble graces. However I will not accompany you to the Throat for an audience with this seer you speak of. I find I have no desire to appeal to the Gods any longer. If they had sought to assist me I ought have hoped they would have done so by now.”

There was venom in Murder’s tenor towards the end, a revulsion lacing every lyric that left his tongue. He really didn’t know what to say to the alabaster vixen, or even how she could help him. Murder just acknowledged he didn’t want to be at the mercy of the gods for a moment longer, for they lacked compassion. It was time to take responsibility. He needed to cease being doleful, and as Murder beheld Ophelia awaiting her retort there was a renewed fervor igniting within his demonic hollows. It was the impeccable moment to demonstrate to the omniscient what mortals were made of.

{ ooc: Sorry this took so long, my power went out and I had to pick up extra shifts at work. Hope its okay. }