Someone tosses this into the temple, the little thing scurries through some of the old scriptures around... pretending to read them? Perhaps it's actually reading them, whether she understands them or not is a completely different issue.
Careful, it bites.
Sena watches the little creature with an amused expression, a soft chuckle rumbling through his chest as he strides over to the pile of scattered parchment. “Hello there, little one,” he greets, leaning over to glance at the manuscript that the creature was now studying rather intently. “I see you’ve taken an interest in that old alchemy recipe. Care to share your thoughts?” he asks, a hint of playfulness to his voice.
The creature, who bears a striking resemblance to a certain mage, pays him no mind, its big, beady eyes staying fixed on the yellowed pages in front of it.
The god lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping in feigned exasperation. “You know, if you’re going to enter someone’s domain and raid their library then the least you could do is greet them first…” he chides gently, reaching down to scoop up the miniature version of Beahreth.
The creature lets out an aggressive squeak of protest, it’s tiny limbs flailing as it glares up at the being who had so rudely interrupted it’s reading.
“Yes, I know. I’m just the worst, aren’t I?” Sena jokes, earning another squeak, this time clearly in agreement with his statement. As he settles the mini Magister onto his forearm, she lets out an irritable growl, her tiny mouth latching onto the fabric of his shirt sleeve as she attempts to very cutely maul the god to death.
“Ow, how painful. However will I survive this agony?” he asks dryly, watching as the little creature redoubles her efforts, her soft growls growing louder and more aggressive by the minute.
Unbothered by this, Sena takes a seat on the ground next to where the creature had been situated just a few moments prior, his movements graceful so as not to jostle the little thing that was now firmly attached to his arm by the teeth. He shifted to lean back against a nearby pillar, crossing his legs beneath him as he waited for the little Magister to tire herself out. As Sena predicted, the creature soon ran out of steam, releasing his arm with an irritable huff.
“Oh, tired already?” he teased, booping the creature on it’s tiny button nose. “I suppose you’re more like the real thing than I initially thought.” The mini-Magister looked downright offended at that statement, snapping it’s jaws at Sena’s retreating hand with yet another series of indignant growls and squeaks.
“Alright, I’m sorry.” he conceded, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he pinched mini-Bea’s cute chubby cheeks. “Let me make it up to you, hmm?”
Placing the little creature in his lap, Sena grabbed a nearby tome, flipping it open to a section on alchemical ingredients as if he’d long since memorised it’s contents. He held the book out in front of himself, angling it so that the mini-Magister had a clear view of the text.
“I doubt the scripts from before would be of much help to you now that half the ingredients mentioned in it have gone extinct, but perhaps this could serve as a good substitute,” he suggests.
Mini-Bea gives no response, once again engrossed in ancient texts before her. After a long moment of silence, she stretches out her tiny limbs for the edge of the page, not quiet reaching it. Without a word, Sena flips the page, earning an appreciative squeak.
Well, I suppose this is one way to spend my afternoon… he thinks to himself. Sena still doesn’t know if this thing actually understands a single thing she’s reading, but he also isn’t going to pass up the opportunity to spend time with one of his children. Or, well, some strange facsimile of one of them.
*A single red rose appears out of thin air through a faint green magic glow that feels slightly off cold. The rose keeps hovering in the air and a paper appears with the following message:*
Hey,
it's been a very special day, that made me realize how much I love (to endure) your presence. Wish I could watch you spend eternity with me right now. Sooner or later, we shall be united! I'll always be there to catch you. Whether you currently want to hold me close or break my neck - I will wait for you. Don't keep me waiting! ;-)
Yours eternally,
Death
(@afkj-morgan)
“How very thoughtful of him…” Sena remarks drily as his eyes skim over the letter for a second time.
The script is uncharacteristically neat, flowing elegantly across the page as if penned by a master calligrapher, though the presentation only serves to enhance the irony dripping from every word. Even now, Sena could vividly picture the infuriatingly smug look on Morgan’s face as he’d sent off his little gift a trait that the god had unfortunately found rather attractive some aeons ago, though it was quiet literally ancient history now.
Death, Morgan had signed. Pretentious, maybe, but not inaccurate.
With an amused huff, Sena plucked both the rose and note out of the air, carefully placing them on a nearby shelf that was already littered with countless other curios. The gift itself may have been a joke, but Sena always had been sickeningly sentimental, a fact that Morgan had given him no shortage of grief over in the past.
Then he settled back down at his desk with a long-suffering sigh, a pen and parchment immediately appearing in his grasp. “Well, if he’s already gone through all this effort, then I suppose it’s only fair that I return the favour,” Sena mused, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.
*cough* *cough* Ugh, really... whoever lives here should do some more dusting around the place. *cough*
Well, at least it's quiet.
*Morgan steps slowly through the hall, observing the pillars, the books, the ceiling, the floor.*
Hm. *cough* Who is this place for? If it wasn't for the dust and stuffy air, I'd expect Merlin to live here. *cough* A deity, perhaps? Just my luck...
(@afkj-morgan)
“I hardly think you’re in any position to judge. My temple may be a little bit dusty in some places, but it’s still far better than the disaster you call a workshop,” Sena retorts, his voice reaching Morgan from…somewhere. “The fact that you can find anything in that mess is a miracle even I couldn’t perform.”
From the corner of his eye, Morgan catches a glimpse of burnished brown fur as it disappears behind one of the numerous stone pillars. The air in the temple is still for a long moment as the mage keeps his eyes fixed on the column, waiting for the being to emerge on the other side. Instead, he feels a polite tap on his shoulder, startling him more than he’d care to admit. Turning around quickly, Morgan finds himself face-to-face with someone insufferably familiar.
“But, if it bothers you that much, then you’re welcome to grab a broom and help me clean up,” Sena offers, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "We wouldn't want the esteemed Second Seat of the Arcane Council getting the sniffles, now would we?"
Ugh, that's even worse than I imagined... *cough* ... you.
Funny you would offer me to help you tidy up, given how much you appreciate the order at my own space.
Let's keep it simple: you don't butt into my business, and I won't bother touching yours. Nevermind the risks. The sniffles isn't gonna kill me in a thousand years.
...
Besides, you're the giant dust-collecting fluff-ball, not I. Pounce around a couple of times and the job's done!
Sena lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “Oh Morgan, I’m hurt. Here I thought you knew me better than that,” the god responds, giving him the most wounded look he could muster. “Why would I get my own fur dirty when I have a perfectly usable rag right in front of me?”
The question was posed so casually that Morgan almost didn’t catch on immediately. Almost.
Despite Sena’s affable demeanour, Morgan wasn’t nearly foolish enough to miss the mischievous glimmer in the god’s eyes. Or the fact that Sena was currently looking at him like a bored housecat who’d just found an interesting new piece of string.
Sena, unperturbed by Morgan’s protests, simply shrugs off the suggestion.
“I’m afraid our dear Gala is a little preoccupied with her duties at the moment,” he explains, before fixing the mage with a disapproving look. “Or should I say, your duties.”
He shifts his stance slightly, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt at feigned displeasure.
“Honestly, Morgan, shoving all of your work on that poor, sweet child while you slack off,” he chides. “That’s a new low, even for you. She’s so busy slaving away at the tasks you’ve set for her that I wouldn’t dream of adding yet another chore to her list.”
Sena was aware that he was being facetious and that Gala wasn’t nearly as helpless as he had implied, but the wilful misinterpretation on his part was always a good way to get under Morgan’s skin, with the added bonus of providing Sena with just the leverage he needed in this scenario.
“Besides, as the person responsible for her plight, it’s only fair that you try and lighten her burden, no?” he adds tactfully.
*cough* *cough* Ugh, really... whoever lives here should do some more dusting around the place. *cough*
Well, at least it's quiet.
*Morgan steps slowly through the hall, observing the pillars, the books, the ceiling, the floor.*
Hm. *cough* Who is this place for? If it wasn't for the dust and stuffy air, I'd expect Merlin to live here. *cough* A deity, perhaps? Just my luck...
(@afkj-morgan)
“I hardly think you’re in any position to judge. My temple may be a little bit dusty in some places, but it’s still far better than the disaster you call a workshop,” Sena retorts, his voice reaching Morgan from…somewhere. “The fact that you can find anything in that mess is a miracle even I couldn’t perform.”
From the corner of his eye, Morgan catches a glimpse of burnished brown fur as it disappears behind one of the numerous stone pillars. The air in the temple is still for a long moment as the mage keeps his eyes fixed on the column, waiting for the being to emerge on the other side. Instead, he feels a polite tap on his shoulder, startling him more than he’d care to admit. Turning around quickly, Morgan finds himself face-to-face with someone insufferably familiar.
“But, if it bothers you that much, then you’re welcome to grab a broom and help me clean up,” Sena offers, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "We wouldn't want the esteemed Second Seat of the Arcane Council getting the sniffles, now would we?"
Ugh, that's even worse than I imagined... *cough* ... you.
Funny you would offer me to help you tidy up, given how much you appreciate the order at my own space.
Let's keep it simple: you don't butt into my business, and I won't bother touching yours. Nevermind the risks. The sniffles isn't gonna kill me in a thousand years.
...
Besides, you're the giant dust-collecting fluff-ball, not I. Pounce around a couple of times and the job's done!
Sena lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “Oh Morgan, I’m hurt. Here I thought you knew me better than that,” the god responds, giving him the most wounded look he could muster. “Why would I get my own fur dirty when I have a perfectly usable rag right in front of me?”
The question was posed so casually that Morgan almost didn’t catch on immediately. Almost.
Despite Sena’s affable demeanour, Morgan wasn’t nearly foolish enough to miss the mischievous glimmer in the god’s eyes. Or the fact that Sena was currently looking at him like a bored housecat who’d just found an interesting new piece of string.
*cough* *cough* Ugh, really... whoever lives here should do some more dusting around the place. *cough*
Well, at least it's quiet.
*Morgan steps slowly through the hall, observing the pillars, the books, the ceiling, the floor.*
Hm. *cough* Who is this place for? If it wasn't for the dust and stuffy air, I'd expect Merlin to live here. *cough* A deity, perhaps? Just my luck...
(@afkj-morgan)
“I hardly think you’re in any position to judge. My temple may be a little bit dusty in some places, but it’s still far better than the disaster you call a workshop,” Sena retorts, his voice reaching Morgan from…somewhere. “The fact that you can find anything in that mess is a miracle even I couldn’t perform.”
From the corner of his eye, Morgan catches a glimpse of burnished brown fur as it disappears behind one of the numerous stone pillars. The air in the temple is still for a long moment as the mage keeps his eyes fixed on the column, waiting for the being to emerge on the other side. Instead, he feels a polite tap on his shoulder, startling him more than he’d care to admit. Turning around quickly, Morgan finds himself face-to-face with someone insufferably familiar.
“But, if it bothers you that much, then you’re welcome to grab a broom and help me clean up,” Sena offers, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "We wouldn't want the esteemed Second Seat of the Arcane Council getting the sniffles, now would we?"
"How does it feel? Knowing deep inside that no matter how human you try to be, you simply cannot? You're a God, a being beyond comprehension..."
“It’s a bittersweet feeling,” Sena muses, his tone wistful. “To adore something with the very essence of your being, only for it to remain forever just out of reach… In my younger years, I often mourned the fact that I’d never be human, at least not in the way that real humans are; however, I’ve long since made peace with it.”
A thoughtful look crosses his face as he continues, his voice steady, as if sharing something he's already thought about a great deal. “A single human life is already a complex and profound thing, but humanity as a concept is something else entirely. It is so vast and far-reaching that no normal person could ever hope to encapsulate all that it is. As The People’s God, I embody and protect the thousands of beautiful little intricacies that make up the human experience, yet it is that very thing that makes me fundamentally different from those in my care.”
The god lets out a rueful chuckle. “Believe me, the irony is not lost on me.”
The yelling was accompanied by quick light footsteps, announcing the arrival of Hysen. He jumped towards the god in great excitement, holding a big, already just as dirty as he was himself, plush of curious features.
"Look! Look what Mom made for me!" and he nearly aggressively pushes the plush into Sena's chest.
"It's an octo-tiger! Raaawr!"
Sena couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy's enthusiasm as the peculiar plushie was haphazardly shoved into his arms. The ‘octotiger’, as Hysen had called it, stared up at the god with unblinking, felt eyes, its expression oddly fierce for such a soft little creature. It was an interesting contrast to the plushie’s owner, who rocked back and forth on his heels as he awaited Sena’s verdict with a wide grin.
The Magister let out an amused huff as he gave the octotiger a hearty squeeze, watching its features distort in a way that made it look almost grumpy. With a soft laugh, Sena placed the feline-cephalapod hybrid onto a nearby table. “Well, isn’t that adorable?” he cooed, pretending to study the strange creature more intensely. Hysen, curious about what his grandfather was seeing that he wasn’t, took a step closer, standing on his tiptoes to get a better view.
“But…” Sena continued, his expression turning pensive for a moment. “There is one small flaw I noticed.”
“A flaw?” Hysen squinted at the plushie, trying to discern what exactly his grandfather was talking about. As far as he was concerned, his new playmate was perfect, but maybe he was missing something.
“The problem is…” Sena began with a playful smirk. “It’s not nearly as adorable as you, Hy!” With that declaration, he scooped the little boy into his arms, twirling him around a few times until Hysen burst into a fit of giggles.
“Grandpa, that’s not a flaw! You don’t think anything is as cute as me!” he complained through peals of laughter, half-heartedly attempting to squirm out of Sena’s grasp.
“Well, that’s your parents' fault for giving me such a perfect grandchild,” he retorted, gently placing the boy back on the ground before giving his messy hair an affectionate ruffle.
“Yeah, right. Dad says you probably think that because I look like a hamster!” the little boy argued with a familiar lopsided smile.
“Did he now?” Sena asked, raising an eyebrow at the child.
He stepped back a little as he pretended to scrutinise the boy’s features, letting out a thoughtful hum. Then, without a word, he reached out to gently pinch Hysen’s cheeks. “Ah, now I see the resemblance. Come to think of it, are you sure you’re not a hamster?” He joked, earning an embarrassed whine from the boy.
“Grahmpah nawk i’ awf, imh a parsin naw a hamser,” Hysen complained, his words distorted from the way Sena was holding his face.
“Hmm, I don’t know. It’s possible you are, and I just didn’t realise it until now…” Sena said skeptically. He released the boy’s face, letting out a thoughtful hum before snapping his fingers as if he’d just gotten a great idea. “And if you are a hamster, then maybe I’ll take you home, and you could be my new familiar,” he offered with a grin.
Hysen shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear. “You’re being silly, grandpa,” he giggled. “I’m your grandson, Hysen, not a familiar,” he explained slowly, as if Sena were the child in this situation rather than him.
Sena tilted his head in feigned confusion. “Are you sure? It’s hard to tell under all that mud.”
“We were playing in the fields after it rained this morning, that’s why we’re dirty!” Hysen explained, grabbing the octotiger before holding it out to Sena like a piece of evidence. “Use your magic on us, then you’ll see,” he suggested, grinning widely.
“Well, if you say so…” Sena conceded with a dramatic shrug.
With an unnecessary flourish and an even more unnecessary incantation, big soapy bubbles appeared in the air around Hysen and the octotiger. They floated serenely through the air before eventually drifting over to the patches of mud scattered across the room, causing the dirt to disappear once they burst. Hysen giggled, spinning excitedly amidst the bubbles, reaching out to pop a few himself before they eventually dissipated, leaving everything in the room spotless and pristine once again, including the boy and his fabric companion. It was a pointlessly complex version of a spell that had long since been perfected, but it always made Hysen smile, so it was worth the theatrics.
Hysen giggled, spinning around to face Sena with a dramatic pose. “Ta-da!” he shouted excitedly. “I told you I was me!”
“Ah, I see now. You’re right, you’re not a hamster, just an adorable little boy,” the god laughed warmly, lifting both Hysen and the plushie into his arms once again. “Did you have fun playing with your new friend?” He asked, cradling Hysen in his arms as the child wrapped one arm around his neck for balance, holding onto the plushie with the other.
“Yep!” the boy chirped. “We splashed around in puddles, and climbed trees, and I even saw a really cool bug!” he rambled, excitedly kicking his feet as he recounted the events of his day.
“Wow, it sounds like you had quite an adventure. You two must be hungry after all of that.” Sena mused, already making his way over to the dining area. “How about you two stay for some tea and snacks?”
As if on cue, Hysen’s stomach grumbled loudly, causing the boy to quickly hug the octotiger close, as if trying to muffle the noise. “Uh, yes please…” he replied bashfully, burying his beet red face in the plushie’s soft form.
Bonus:
Hysen idly kicked his feet while he sat at the comfy dining table, his legs dangling off the edge of his seat as he nibbled on the snacks that had been provided. Next to him sat the octotiger, who had been given its own seat on top of a pile of thick, heavy-looking tomes, along with its own teacup and saucer filled with loose buttons.
“So, why an octotiger?” Sena asked conversationally as he took a sip of his tea.
“Well, Dad has Captain Stripey and Scuttles, and Mom thought it was only fair that I had a friend of my own! So she combined the two and made me this,” Hysen explained proudly. “Even dad thinks it’s cute, and he says eight-legged things give him nightmares.”
“Well then, it’s nice to know your new friend is the exception to that rule,” Sena smiled, gently patting the plushie on the head.
“Not really, he hid behind mum for a little while the first time he saw it, but she calmed him down eventually,” the little boy said casually.
A flash of blue erupts in the temple. It brings a Rude Essail Guard covered in a purple glow. His sword is drawn, and he begins to scrape the surface of the walls with his weapon.
"Disgusting. Another Toplander monument for a false deity. Look where it got them! @high-priestess-velara would scoff at this ugly place. But, it's as good as any other for a lowlife thief to hide their contraband..."
The guard’s heavy footsteps sounded through the cavernous interior of the temple as he callously dragged his blade over the ancient marble walls, the sharp metal point catching on the intricate carvings that decorated the otherwise smooth surface. He took in his surroundings with a critical eye. Murals adorned the high ceilings, depicting a long, complex history that was as foreign to the guard as it was meaningless.
And yet, the temple remained silent.
There were no signs of life save for the lit clay lamps that were scattered across the room, the shadows cast by their amber flames dancing languidly over the tiled floors, as if stirred by a breeze only they could feel.
Ancient texts lay on nearby shelves, their titles scrawled across their worn leather spines in languages that had long been forgotten, but there was no sign of the missing documents the guard had been sent to find.
The Essail drew to a halt, gritting his teeth as his grip on the blade tightened. He had been ready for a confrontation, had expected one even, and yet he had been greeted by nothing but silence. The sound of his own footsteps and the scrape of his blade were the only sounds that disturbed the stillness.
“Show yourself, pretender! In the name of High Priestess Velara, and Her Majesty Queen Seralyth, I demand that you return the documents you stole!” he shouted, his voice ringing hollow as it echoed through the hallowed halls.
Nothing.
His demand had disturbed the peace like a rock tossed carelessly into a peaceful pond. It was sudden, it was discordant, and then it was forgotten, swallowed up by a serenity that felt anything but fragile. It was a peace that refused to be shattered, least of all by the outrage of someone like him.
“Coward,” the guard sneered. “Too afraid of Her Majesty’s judgement to face his own crimes. Some god he turned out to be…”
Frustrated, he drew his arm back and swung his blade at a nearby pillar. The metal of his sword struck the ancient stone.
Then, like an arrowhead meeting a metal shield, the sword merely glanced off it, the force of his blow instead leaving the bones in his arm rattling with a discomfort that bordered on pain. The pillar remained completely unscathed, not a single scratch marring the pristine surface. A monument that had weathered countless wars and had outlasted entire civilisations was not so easily marked, especially not by trespassers who tried to abuse their authority in a place where they had none.
“You speak of judgement as if you yourself are without sin…” a child-like voice said from behind the guard’s back.
He whirled around to face the new arrival, but instead he found only the same empty room from before.
“Who’s there?” he yelled, raising his shaky sword along with his voice. His eyes darted around the chamber, trying to find the source of the voice, but to no avail.
“You speak of crimes as if you know anything of righteousness,” another voice chimed from his left, now belonging to an old man.
The guard gritted his teeth, his eyes burning with anger. “How dare you speak to me like that?! Come out and face me, before I cut out your tongues for such insolence!”
“You speak of theft as if you’re any better than a common crook,” accused a more feminine voice, unaffected by his rage.
“You who would trample on others for the smallest scrap of recognition.”
“You who torment the weak and helpless just to make yourself feel strong.”
“You who are blinded by greed and arrogance.”
More voices trickled in through the hallways, joining together in a chorus that grew more agitated by the minute. Their condemnations swirling together into a cacophony, louder and louder until the Essail could barely hear his own thoughts.
“No, it can’t be…” he whispered, the realisation setting in as a pit began to form in his stomach. His blade slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he stumbled backwards until his back hit the pillar.
Those sounds, too, were swallowed up and forgotten.
He could feel the unseen voices closing in on him, like spectres of his own guilt, now seeking retribution. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air turning thick and heavy in his lungs as his heart pounded heavily against his rib cage.
“Enough!” he tried to scream, only for his voice to be drowned out in the sea of noise, his own voice hidden amongst the accusations that called him ‘cruel’, ‘heartless’, ‘a monster’ and a myriad of other things.
“Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!” the guard yelled, bringing his hands up to cover his ears as the noise became almost unbearable. But he could still hear them all, unable to stifle the din surrounding him.
“You know who they are.”
A new voice said, loud and clear despite the noise, as if it resonated from within the recesses of the guards own mind. Yet it was not his own.
It felt far too ancient, speaking with insight and authority that the guard could scarcely begin to comprehend. It commanded his attention in a way that seemed to silence his own spiralling thoughts, drawing his focus to the undeniable truth in It’s words.
The guard did know who the voices were. He could almost picture their faces now.
A young girl whose Divine Dew he had ‘confiscated’ because he had viewed her insolent, all because she hadn’t thanked him during the collection. The old man whose son he had thrown in jail without a trial, when his only crime had been stepping on the guards shoe. The dwarven craftsman he had been extorting, just for the power trip he got from it. And more…so many more…
“I- that’s not- I was just…” the guard stammered, his voice strained.
“Just following orders?” one voice mocked.
“Just doing it to fit in with the others?” another sneered.
“Just reminding them of their place?” a third asked.
The guard's words died on his tongue; hearing his own excuses spat back at him like that made them sound like poor reasoning, even to his own ears.
“Be honest, you’re just a pathetic little wretch who mistreats others to feel better about yourself!” one voice chirped.
“That’s right, he was practically green with with envy when Captain Indris was appointed!” another chimed.
“He thought he deserved it more, even though he’s never achieved a single thing in his life without it being handed to him!” jeered another.
“Stop…” the guard pleaded, his voice hoarse as hot tears began to well in his eyes.
“You know, he takes his anger out on us lowborns because he’s intimidated by us. He thinks that if we were allowed to rise above our station, everyone would realise that we’re actually more capable than him,” a voice said conspiratorially as if sharing a particularly juicy rumour.
“Ah, so that’s why he tries so hard to enforce this wretched system. Because it’s the very thing that gave him the authority he enjoys abusing so much,” another said, as if solving some big mystery.
“Poor thing, he doesn’t even realise that in the eyes of his superiors, he’s just as expendable as the rest of us,” joined yet another, their voice dripping with false sympathy.
The guard had sunk to the floor by now, tears steaming down his face as he curled into a ball, as if trying to protect himself from the painfully astute observations. He wanted to deny them, to argue back, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew that it was all true.
He clenched his eyes shut, a broken sob escaping his throat.
“Mercy…please…” he managed to croak.
And just like that, there was silence.
A hush fell over the unseen crowd in an instant, the shouts and jeers and taunts dying down to a murmur before fizzling out entirely. It felt similar to the hush that fell over the barracks when General Thador stopped by for a routine inspection, or even the respectful silence he observed during prayers. Similar, but…different somehow.
The guard’s eyes slowly blinked open, only to find that the room he had been in had melted away, replaced by a seemingly endless liminal space. An expanse that seemed to contain everything and nothing all at once, confining him to a finite space while the space itself stretched out into eternity.
Warm, radiant light shone down on him, drying the tears that still clung to his face. It felt soft, gentle even, but possessed a timeless quality that demanded nothing but respect.
He glanced up, (?) He wasn’t entirely sure. Direction felt meaningless in a place like this, only to be greeted by glowing gold. Was this the ‘sun’ he had heard rumours about?
His brow furrowed slightly. From what he’d heard, there was only supposed to be one of those, so why was he now seeing two? The golden objects seemed to stare down at him assessingly, then, they did the unthinkable.
They blinked.
The space around the guard seemed to tremble, as if the very foundations of this reality were being shaken by what could only be described as an amused laugh. Not a mean-spirited, cruel laugh like the ones he himself often produced, but one of genuine mirth. As if the guard’s reaction was something interesting that It had not experienced in a long, long time. It was a sound that put him at ease despite his circumstances, making him feel a sense of peace that he had not known in ages.
The situation he was in should have caused him fear, should have made him want to turn tail and run no matter how futile he knew it was. But he didn’t.
Whatever this being, no, this force of nature was, It meant him no harm. That was a truth he knew more deeply than he had known anything in his life. For if It wanted him dead, It would have done so already.
The guard drew in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders even as he dipped his head in humility.
“Mercy…” he asked once, his voice more steady than it had been earlier. No longer a desperate plea, but a humble request for atonement.
“Do you think you’ve earned my mercy?”
He wanted to say yes, needed to say yes, but he couldn’t.
He knew it was a lie, and something about the way It looked at him left him unable to claim such falsehoods. It wasn’t out of guilt, or fear of not being believed, but rather because he physically could not.
“No…” the guard answered truthfully, a sense of finality and acceptance settling on his shoulders like a mantle.
The two eyes above him drifted shut, as a hundred more opened to replace them. The very air hummed in thought as those omniscient eyes turned their gaze towards him, silently appraising the value of his soul.
He stared back. There was no use trying to hide anything now, and if he was to die, he’d at least like for his last sight to be something so magnificent. If he looked closely enough, he could almost see the feathered array where the eyes were situated, the ethereal plumage shifting through colours that he had never seen in the natural world. Perhaps it was because they only ever existed in places such as this.
An odd sorrow washed over the guard in that moment. He’d spent his entire life worried about such insignificant things. He had obsessed over making something of himself, when in the grand scheme of things, all he had done was ensure that he’d be forgotten. He would not be remembered. He would not be mourned. He would be just another faceless person on the wrong side of history.
If he could go back, he would have done things differently. He’d live a better life, make amends, be kinder, do something worthwhile with his life. Something that would matter…
“You will.”
It wasn’t spoken like a request, a prediction, or even a blessing. It was simply a fact.
The radiance flared brighter, causing the guard to instinctively shield his eyes.
When he opened them again, he was back in the temple, crumpled to the floor and shaking like a leaf, but alive. He sucked in a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the air filling his lungs, slowly anchoring him back to reality.
Memories of what had just transpired already began to slip from his mind, draining away like water through a sieve until all that was left was the meaning.
He had been given a second chance.
His body felt heavier, as if weighed down by the sins of his past, a burden he would spend the rest of his life attempting to carry. It would get lighter, he knew, with every apology made and good deed done, with every soul that forgave him and every action he would take to deserve it.
The guard’s gaze drifted to where his sword once lay, now replaced by a soft, downy feather. He lifted it with trembling, reverent fingers. It was small and unassuming, its ‘eye’ nothing but a pattern, and its colouration a tint of blue that felt far too dull compared to the colours he’d seen emblazoned on it before. But even still, its significance was impossible to ignore.
He tucked the feather into his shirt, slowly rising to his feet. He looked over to the man who was watching him from the foot of the altar, calm and patient as ever. Just like the feather, he looked far too normal, though the guard was having a hard time remembering why exactly he felt that way.
“Why can’t I remember?” he asked, trying fruitlessly to cling to the memories that seemed just out of his grasp.
“I’m afraid it would have driven you mad,” Sena answered gently.
The guard nodded, unsure of what else to say.
Sena smiled, padding over to the guard at a leisurely pace.
“A word of advice,” the god began, a conspiratorial smirk on his face. “I suggest you seek out either The Imperator or The Captain with your findings. I doubt your High Priestess would take kindly to your new lease on life.”
"... he could simply not be reasoned with ... and I just couldn't understand why he was so quick so lash out? Are all Maulers like that?"
Lavinia turns with a mild frown to Sena. Her hand is still in the air, her agitation obvious. Even though she had been to the Ashen Wastes, her experiences from a near lifetime in the center of the Lightbearer Empire, showed a gap of knowledge and understanding she wished to fill with the Magisters help.
"Given the little you told me about your ties with the Maulers... do YOU fall easily for taunts? I always thought you were more in control of yourself..."
Sena listened carefully as the knight vented her frustrations over an unfortunate run-in with a particularly headstrong Mauler. From Lavinia’s rather animated description, Sena had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who she was talking about, but he could always confirm that later.
“Stubborn as an ironjaw and always ready for a fight,” Sena summarised with rueful amusement. “That definitely does sound like one of my father’s people.”
At Lavinia’s question, he leaned back in his chair, absently stirring a glass of something cold and sweet. “Well, the Dusk Lord did bless his people with a certain tenacity, but I wouldn’t say that being quick to anger is a trait that’s specific to Maulers. I’ve met plenty of Lightbearers who could give even the most wilful of my fathers people a run for their money, especially when I was in Rustport,” he chuckled, remembering the ‘warm’ welcome he’d received when he’d first entered the dockside city.
“Although, I do understand why it may seem that way from your perspective,” he continued. “On the surface level, Lightbearers and Maulers are two factions that seem to diametrically oppose one and other. Finding common ground between the two is often difficult, and considering the turbulent history between them, very few are willing to even try.”
Sena crossed his arms over his chest, his expression turning thoughtful. “Like most conflicts between the factions, your interaction earlier may have stemmed from a simple cultural difference. Mauler culture was built around the worship of a war god, while Lightbearer society venerates a goddess known for her more passive approach to ruling. The factions themselves reflect this, in every aspect of their existence, including how they handle conflict.”
He glances back at Lavinia, a smile tugging at his lips when he finds her listening intently.
“For Lightbearers, a physical clash is often seen as a last resort, an action only taken once diplomacy has failed or when the circumstances necessitate it. Maintaining peace and order is one of their top priorities, and as a result, they view those who welcome open confrontations as impulsive, aggressive or simply uncouth,” Sena explains.
“In Mauler culture, however, a brawl is typically the first course of action when conflict arises. Existing within the domain of the Primordial War God, they view battle differently than most other factions, believing that it is the only way to gain a true understanding of another person’s character. In the heat of combat, there is no room for false pretences or insincerity, allowing an individual's true intentions, motivations, and personality to shine through. In a one-on-one fight, you can learn things about the other person that can’t be learnt through words alone. Maulers read their opponents' moves in combat the same way you would read someone's facial expressions and body language in a diplomatic meeting, or even just a daily conversation,” he elaborates patiently. “Because of this, Maulers tend to be distrustful of those who avoid direct confrontations, viewing them as secretive, deceitful, closed off, or simply cowardly.”
He lets out a soft sigh, taking a sip of his drink before giving Lavinia a meaningful look.
“With that in mind, I’m sure you can understand why relations between the two factions can sometimes be rather strained. Many Lightbearers view Maulers as inherently hostile, while many Maulers view Lightbearers as insincere. Though I am hopeful that with the Sunlit Showdown and the establishment of new trade routes, the factions are able to gain more of an understanding and perhaps even appreciation for each others way of life.”
A mischievous sparkle lights up Sena’s eyes at Lavinia’s other question. “As for whether I myself am quick to anger, I will admit to being rather feral during my younger years, though I’d like to believe I’ve mellowed out since then. I still feel annoyance, just like anyone else, but my true rage is reserved solely for those who’ve earned it.”
OOC: Purely self-indulgent, but I just wanted to give Sena a chance to have one last dance with Merlin. Thanks @meepinmeat for lending me Marilyn for this.
A light orange letter with a paperbag of potato crackers were left beside the scrolls and ancient tomes... In the Temple... Magister Sena was... Quite in deep thoughts that time... Is Magister Sena... Thinking about their family or... Esperia..?
The contents of the letter are as follows...
"YOOO, SENA ! I haven't met you in person, BUT-- I end up reading some of these scrolls of yours in Your Temple. It's just for a short moment. Out of the blue, I heard little scamp call me back 'CAUSE KAFKA GOT LOST, AGAIN, SOMEWHERE."
"I worship The DuskLord and-- reading one of your scrolls that written-- YOU ARE CALLED THE DUSK PRINCE?? THAT'S SOO SICK ! Anyways, I hope you eat the potato crackers that I left for you-- Kafka made it with Dolly yesterday!"
~ signed, Eva
[ @kafka030 ]
Sena’s gaze flickered curiously over the note, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’d heard of Magister Evangeline in passing before, but like the letter said, they hadn’t gotten a chance to meet in person just yet. Considering the rather complicated history that she and Magister Kafka had with the divine, he found it somewhat surprising that Evangeline had found comfort in such a place, let alone that she had taken the time to browse through his historical texts. But perhaps it was to be expected. Sena’s temple had always been a sanctuary for those who needed it, regardless of their inherent nature, and he was glad that fact had remained true for Evangeline.
The god couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the mention of his old title, shaking his head fondly at the obvious excitement that radiated from Evangeline's boldly scribbled script. From what he knew of the Magister, she and her own version of The Dusk Lord had been rather close (at least at first), but he still wasn't prepared for this level of enthusiasm over the revelation.
Carefully folding the note and tucking it away, Sena picked up the bag of potato crackers. It was an unusual offering to be sure, but it smelled absolutely delectable. Fishing one out of the bag, Sena bit into the crispy treat, letting out a low hum of approval. Perhaps he should pay the two a visit sometime, if only to return the favour. He was starting to feel quite curious about the pair, after all, and he couldn’t let such a generous gift go unreciprocated.
or what about injury ? Did you get injured so much that you needed to rest ? And if so did someone looked after tou during those moment ?
“Well, as a god, I don’t really fall ill in the same way that mortals do. My divinity protects me from most ailments and those that do effect me have mild symptoms at best. Although, I have been unwell in the past,” Sena answers.
“When I was still a little godling, for instance. Back then, I experienced what can best be described as growing pains. I had a high fever, soreness, fraility, and could barely think coherently in some moments. But thankfully, I had my father taking care of me,” he explains. “I was rather petulant about it in the moment, but in retrospect, it was incredibly comforting knowing he was there to look out for me.”
“I didn’t make it easy for him though,” Sena chuckled ruefully. “In fact I’m fairly certain he had to physically wrangle me into resting because of how stubborn I was being. Can you imagine, the fearsome God of War attempting to take care of such a feral little child…”
Sena sighs fondly at the memory before returning to the topic at hand.
“As for injuries, the things that can actually hurt a god are limited at best, but there are some exceptions. For instance, other gods,” he explains, perhaps a bit too casually. “During the First Divine War, I sustained quite a few injuries, but most of those healed rather quickly. The only thing that truly took me out of commission was when I had my divine core ripped out. I was entirely on my own for that.”
His tone is oddly conversational, seeming far too relaxed considering the topic being discussed.
“Although in a sense,” he began, a softer look crossing his face. “Perhaps Esperia itself had been looking after me in that case…”
"Hello Sena", Lavinia says when joining him sitting by the bar of the Noble Tavern.
"I have just a very quick question. I recently realized that I had always envisioned the gods as timeless beings born the way they are... but I think I remember you told us about your own childhood. So I came to wonder whether there are any rituals or celebrations to mark the transition from childhood to adulthood for gods like you? Or was there maybe something only the Maulers do, which you enjoy or even got to participate in?"
She doesn't get too comfy, as she is running errands, but the odd minute or two she can easily spare.
“Hello there, Lavinia,” Sena greets warmly as he turns to face the knight. “Your assumptions about the gods aren’t entirely incorrect,” he begins, sliding the knight a glass of cold fruit juice.
“Most gods did come into existence as fully formed beings, and stayed that way until their fall. Me being born as a child and then ageing into an adult was actually quite the anomaly,” Sena says matter-of-factly. “And since the other gods were essentially ageless, they never saw the need to commemorate developmental milestones the way mortals do.”
A small smile tugs at the gods lips. “Maulers on the other hand have several customs that mark the transition from childhood to adulthood, many of which I got to experience while being raised by my father.”
“For instance, Maulers with more predatory natures often embark on their first solo hunt when they’re between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, though the exact age varies depending on the clan. It’s a very significant event for most young Maulers, and usually consists of them temporarily leaving their clan in order to track down their quarry. If their hunt is successful, they will return home with their prey and be acknowledged as an adult who is capable of providing for themselves. This is usually accompanied with a celebration, and a ceremony to mark their first successful hunt as a grown up. But if they fail, they’ll continue to be treated as a cub until they’re ready to try again,” he explains.
“A Mauler’s first hunt is a point of pride, and usually serves as a predictor for the type of person they’ll grow into. Everything from their chosen prey, to how it was caught contributes towards how the hunter and their triumph will be percieved.” A nostalgic look crosses Sena’s face as he leans back in his seat. “For instance, my first hunt had happened entirely unplanned. I was fifteen at the time, or rather, the relative equivalent of that, so I was still in my young and impulsive phase. When I heard about a viscious beast that had been plaguing a small settlement near the outskirts of Karthik, my first instinct had been to just get rid of it. So when it fled after being injured in our fight, I gave chase. I didn’t realise that it counted as my first hunt until after the deed was done,” Sena recounts with a rueful shake of his head.
“Baba said it was just like me to do something so reckless,” he chuckles. “To get so protective that I rush into things without thinking it through first. And I guess he was right about that…”
Sena gives a bittersweet smile, mindlessly tracing the scar on his chest through the fabric of his shirt. A tangible reminder of just how accurate the Dusk Lord’s assessment had ended up being.
Snapping out of his reverie, Sena slips off his gloves, revealing the intricate golden patterns etched into his skin. “There’s my markings too,” he says, shifting the focus of the conversation.
“Tattoos are another major part of Mauler culture. When children are still young, they’re either entirely free of identifiers or receive temporary ones in the form of paint, dyes or henna markings. When a Mauler comes of age, they receive their first permanent tattoo, though the style, colour and placement vary per individual. Tattoos are often added to mark important events, connections and achievements. They can signify everything from ones clan, heritage, and marital status to one’s accolades in battle. And as such, are strongly tied to one’s identity.”
“They’re normally bestowed by an elder, accompanied by a small ceremony, but since I’m a divine being, mine tend to just appear and disappear as they see fit,” he says, half-jokingly.
He then glances back at Lavinia, noticing the way she shifts nervously in her seat, fidgeting with the empty glass, hey eyes occasionally darting towards the clock on the wall.
“My apologies, Lavi, it seems I ended up rambling again. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer,” he says sheepishly, giving the knight a curt nod.
Translations:
Baba (Hindi): Used to refer to one's father, grandfather, or male elder. Often used as a term of respect or endearment for an older male relative or a spiritual leader.
(OOC): I actually have so much more to say about tattoos and Mauler culture, but I realised my response was running long. If you'd like more information, feel free to DM me either here or on Discord.
What is your greatest hope for future generations?
“That’s a rather difficult question...” Sena admits, his expression growing pensive as he ponders the query.
“I could always go for the most obvious answers: resilience, progress, or even a world free of strife. But those all feel rather...redundant,” he muses.
“Resilience is something that the people of Esperia already possess in abundance. From the moment they were created, they’ve faced an endless amount of challenges and adversity, and yet they’re still here, not just surviving, but thriving. They’ve endured wars, famine, disasters, and even managed to outlast the gods themselves. Wishing for them to be resilient is akin to hoping the ocean contains water, and one does not hope for things they know are guaranteed.”
“The same goes for progress. People will always be compelled to chase the next breakthrough, and new advancements are assured as time passes. Not to mention the inherent spark that drives people. They will always strive to invent, to improve, to change, and to perfect, whether I hope for it or not. Progress, like time, will always march forward.”
“And absolute peace, well, that’s a bit more complicated. While I do wish for an end to Esperia’s most dangerous and destructive conflicts, the idea of a world free of all obstacles and hardships seems idyllic at best, and detrimental at worst. People cannot grow or live fulfilling lives without some form of challenge to overcome. Achievements feel hollow when they haven’t been earned, and a lack of obstacles can lead to stagnation in an individual's sense of identity. When one has everything one could want in life, what else is there for them to do but grow complacent? People born into a world like that would be the same as untempered steel, unable to handle even the smallest of stressors without shattering completely.”
Sena grows silent for a moment, as if deep in thought, before finally responding. “I suppose my hope for the future is simply that people can find true happiness and fulfilment in their lives, no matter what form that takes.”
“That’s quite the personal question, don’t you think?” Sena asked, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “If my dearest general were to hear about this, he’d be absolutely mortified.”
Despite his words, there was no real disapproval in Sena’s tone. If anything, he seemed to find the stranger’s boldness rather admirable. He shook his head in feigned exasperation, before his eyes settled on the visitor once more.
“However, since you had the courage to ask, I suppose I can humour you.” Sena acquiesced, despite the obvious indulgence underlying his words.
“I don’t think Hogan would appreciate me sharing too many details, but...” The atmosphere seemed to shift as the god’s expression grew more wistful, his gaze now nostalgic and faraway, as if he was watching the memory unfold before his very eyes.
Sena was silent for a moment as he tried to find the right words, a heartbreakingly tender smile gracing his lips.
“It was the type of kiss that made me feel real...” Sena said finally, his voice soft and sincere. “When his lips met mine, it was like nothing else mattered. Destiny, divinity, duty. They were just meaningless words compared to what I felt for him. It was like for a single, perfect moment, I wasn’t a god, or a mage, or anything else. I was just me... And I was loved.”
