#nerf house

[snowydawn17]

I’m Not Where I’m Supposed to Be

[mianiterewrite]

Art for day one uwu

[myfriendscallmecoelophysis]

God(dess) Help the Outcasts

He lived in a world of duality, Mianite and Dianite, Order and Chaos, Red and Blue, Propriety and Discord. How could he be anything but an Outcast when he chose the forgotten Third God? 

Dedicated to Nerf House, @topazgirlygirl, @snowydawn17 and all the rest of the Voice Vibes crew <3 you all

Jordan had been born to a divided family. His Father was a follower of Mianite, his Mother a follower of Dianite. While this wasn’t necessarily the norm, it wasn’t frowned upon either. They lived in a world of duality, Mianite and Dianite, Order and Chaos, Red and Blue, Propriety and Discord. Everyone in their world chose one or the other. Neither were wholly good or wholly evil, just as no single person was good or evil, there were intricacies. However, people tended towards one side or the other, one God or another. In the case of his own family, his Father, a librarian, tended towards order and organization; so he, when he was old enough to choose his path, pledged himself to Mianite. Jordan’s mother on the other hand, an artist, adored spontaneity and was just generally, a disorderly person, her studio a mess of paints and brushes at all times. She had pledged herself to Dianite when it had been her time to choose. 

Their families had been surprised when they’d first fallen in love, but wasn’t that how the old saying went? Opposites attract? And when a follower of Order and a follower of Chaos had a son, was it any wonder that he trended towards the middle ground of Balance?

Jordan had never had an answer when the other children in school asked which God he would pick. His town was close to the Capital and was therefore mostly neutral, conversations of who they would follow were frequent. Rarely was there any negativity shown towards either decision, except when Jordan said that he wasn’t sure. They always looked at him strangely, it was normal to have all but chosen by the time you were old enough to understand who the Gods were. You couldn’t pledge yourself officially at the Temples until you were 16, but that didn’t mean most children didn’t already know. He became an outcast, not bullied per say, but mostly ignored, the strange boy who clearly didn’t know himself well enough to know who to worship. 

Despite this, he did well in school and between his studies and spending all his free time reading in the library where his Father worked, Jordan was quite clever by the time his final year of schooling came along. He left the school for the last time with the reputation of the outcast still on his shoulders but emotionally no worse for wear because of it. 

In all the years spent there, all the time they thought that he didn’t know himself, he’d known it to be the opposite. He knew himself too well. He knew that he would not pledge himself to either God. He would forge a middle path, a Balance between Order and Chaos. If he was alone in his beliefs, so be it, but they would be his. 

It was a trader that came from the far flung deserts that got his thoughts turning. He was manning the library for his Father when the trader arrived, dressed in rich blue robes. 

“I come to trade with Sir Conway.” The man said, voice accented and gravelly. 

Father had warned Jordan of this and had given him instructions and payment for the trader. “He’s not here, but I’m his son. I can help you.” Jordan explained, reaching under the counter to grab the bag of emeralds his Father had left for him. The trader nodded shortly but said nothing, producing a stack of three old books from his bag. The covers were dyed leather, faded and cracked with age, one deep royal blue, one burgundy and one a rich purple color. Three books for 10 emeralds was what his Father had said, so Jordan handed over 10 gleaming polished gemstones. The trader made a pleased sounding grunt and left the library without another word. 

Once he was alone again Jordan looked at the books, he could recognize the archaic spelling of Mianite’s name on the spine of the blue book and Dianite’s on the burgundy one, but he’d never seen the name Ianite before. Curiously, he cracked it open and began to read.

As he read, Jordan realized that this Ianite figure had felt the same way he himself did. They were between Order and Chaos, a third option, a third God. But why then had he never heard of them? Why had no one told him that his thoughts were valid? He spent the entirety of the day reading the book, trying to find the answers to his questions. 

He learned that Ianite was not a God, but a Goddess. She was the Goddess of Balance, sister to the Gods of Chaos and Order. Her domain was the End, something that shocked Jordan. He knew about the End but no one had been there in centuries according to the stories. Ancient Heroes of the Gods had entered the dimension and conquered it, slaying the beast that defended it. Was that why there was no mention of Ianite? Had conquering her domain in the name of the Overworlders done her some great harm? Caused her to fade from memory? Why would they have done such a thing?

Ianite had been different than the other Gods, he was able to gather as much from reading between the lines of the text. She’d been the least worshipped by the ancient people of this land. Her followers had been cast out for worshipping a Goddess of ‘contradiction’, instead of picking a side, they picked Ianite. Like he himself inadvertently had. But yet, he felt no shame in it. 

That book became Jordan’s most important possession. He poured over it’s every word, committing every last scrap of information about Ianite to memory. He scoured other books about the Gods, searching for mentions of Ianite or Balance or the End. It became his life’s goal, he would find the End one day, because it was there that all the secrets of Ianite were. 

He moved to the Capital, made a living in the bustling city by doing odd jobs and tasks. All his years of study and reading had given him such a vast wealth of knowledge that he could accomplish almost anything. It was during these jobs that he began to notice the disparity among the people, the different levels of society. He knew the Champions of the Gods lived here, their images and lives exalted by the civilian population, he’d come to recognize their names and faces the same as everyone else despite supporting neither of their Gods. The two men were friends he learned, practically as close as brothers. Jordan wondered, what it might be like to be so close to another person or to a God. He had a name for his beliefs now after all this time, a greater privilege than he’d ever expected when he’d chosen the third path years ago, but nothing more about her. It was also in the city that he realized that he may not be entirely alone in his beliefs. 

Every city had it’s lower class, the poor and downtrodden, the Capital was no different. It made pity twist in his stomach to see people pray to their Gods for wealth and glory, while at the same time ignoring the people directly in front of them who needed things as simple as food. He took to giving what extra coin he could spare whenever he saw someone in need because how could he, an Outcast to the Gods, ignore the outcasts of society. Sometimes it was a lot, sometimes only a little, sometimes it was a loaf of bread or an apple. Every time though, no matter what, they were grateful. 

One day, after Jordan had given him a loaf of bread and a handful of coins, an older man dressed in little more than rags, said “May Lady Ianite bless you in your kindness.” Jordan was too shaken to reply. He nodded and went on with his job, trying not to notice the knowing look the man gave him at his reaction. 

It was that interaction that reminded him of the path he’d set himself upon. He was in a place of fortune, unlike so many that he saw. He could afford the time and effort to learn all he could about Ianite and the part she played in the history of the land. He dove into his research, seeking out books and scrolls and legends, following every lead in hopes that one of them might give him the knowledge he needed. 

With each passing day and each new story he learned he felt closer and closer to this Goddess he’d never met. Most people went their whole lives without properly meeting their Gods, only the Champions interacted personally with the Gods, but Jordan felt so connected to Ianite already. 

‘Maybe in another time or another life you were her Champion.’ He thought with a wry chuckle while getting ready for bed one night. “Yeah, like I’d ever be a Champion.” He muttered to himself as he blew out the candle in his bedroom. 

“Don’t be so sure” A woman said in his dreams.

Days passed the same as they always had. He spent the daylight doing courier work and odd jobs, while the night was spent researching and learning. It was monotonous, until one lead brought him to the local museum. On display they had something unlike anything he’d seen. It looked almost like an enderpearl except it was pale green and blue with a dark streak through the middle that looked almost like a slit pupil. 

‘Legend tells us that an Eye of Ender was the key to discovering the entrance to the void world, The End, when the ancient Heroes of the realm ventured forth to conquer it in the name of the Gods.’ 

This was the link he’d been searching for. After years of effort, he’d discovered the last step. This was how to find the stronghold that protected the portal to The End. Jordan left the museum with a grin on his face and hope in his heart. 

It took him days to barter, purchase, or otherwise acquire the resources to create just over a dozen Eyes of Ender. He’d need a dozen alone to open the portal but he figured that if he calculated the trajectories just right, he could find the stronghold itself with less than 5. A week was spent preparing supplies for the journey and getting his affairs in order. Then, one final day was spent cooking and distributing all the perishable food he had throughout the city. He had no idea how long he’d be gone, no use letting things go to waste. 

Just before sunrise, he climbed to the highest point in the hills surrounding the Capital. Below, the city was just beginning to wake up, smoke trickling from some of the chimneys, people heading to the fields and the markets. The Temples to Mianite and Dianite, one of either side of the city, were lit in crackling firelight by the enormous ever burning braziers the statues of the Gods themselves held in their hands. Jordan took one last look, imagining what it might be like to have a third temple, a third statue, a third God. Then, he turned away from the city towards the wilderness beyond and threw the Eye of Ender as high as he could.

~~~

He was farther from home than he’d ever been. A few days ago he’d hit the desert and hadn’t that been interesting? All his life he’d thought deserts to be excruciatingly hot, but after days spent in a strangely cold desert, he owed mental apologies to every desert trader he’d ever questioned for wearing such thick, blanket-like garments. He’d nearly frozen the first night, huddling as close as he could to his campfire under the shelter of a large sand dune. He was close though. He had to be. If his calculations were correct he should be within a few hundred blocks of the stronghold. He still had two spare Eyes aside from the dozen he needed to unlock the portal. He could spare one. Sliding his sunglasses back in place in front of his eyes, he looked up towards the sun, throwing the Eye, it drifted and drifted in the direction he’d been travelling but then he noticed something on the horizon as his eyes tracked its path. Was that a tree?

Jordan ran through the sand as fast as his feet could carry him, tripping and stumbling as it filled his boots. It wasn’t just a mirage, he realized as he got closer, it was an oasis, a crystal clear pond surrounded by drooping trees flush with leaves and vines. On the other side of the pond was a crumbling stone structure, a ruin of some long forgotten building, but within it was a staircase that led below the earth. Two small obelisks still stood, flanking the staircase, each made of intricately carved lavender stone and capped with a pyramid of obsidian. 

A laugh of astonishment bubbled from his throat as he collapsed to his knees in the sand. He’d made it. After all this time. He’d found the entrance to the stronghold.

That night as he sat by fire, he reread his favorite sections of the purple book his Father had purchased all those years ago. It was worn down from years of use, the spine loose and some of the pages torn, the ink faded in spots. But that didn’t diminish Jordan’s love for it and what it represented. If anything he liked to think that Ianite appreciated the love he’d shown her book after so long. 

He fell asleep to the relaxing crackling of his fire with the book open on his chest, thinking about the possibilities of what lay ahead. 

“I’m so excited to finally meet you, my Hero.”  A woman whispered as he drifted into his dreams.

~~~

When Jordan entered the Stronghold, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He wandered the eerily silent halls, lighting the torches on the walls to mark where he’d been so that he was less likely to get lost in the maze-like complex of halls and rooms. There were remnants that someone had been here before him but he’d expected that. The stories told as much. What he hadn’t expected to find were signs that there may have once been an entire civilization beneath the ground. He stumbled upon dozens of empty rooms in all different sizes, fountains, storerooms, two libraries, a prison, and nearly endless hallways and staircases. Had there been people who lived here once long ago? 

Finally, after what felt like hours, down a darkened hallway, he saw an otherworldly glow. Jordan rounded a corner and there it was, the portal. It was elevated above a pool of lava, the blocks that made the frame glowing from their own internal illumination. It was the brightest room he’d been in since leaving the light of the sun behind. There were bits of rusted and cracked metal at the top of the staircase that led up to the portal. Whatever it had been, had been destroyed long ago. The portal was made of a strange white stone, capped with filigree patterns the same color as the Eyes of Ender. In the center of each was a rounded indentation of smoothed obsidian. 

He gently placed the first Eye of Ender in the closest spot, jumping in surprise at the bizarre, resonant sound that echoed through the room. With each Eye the sound changed in pitch and tone until he got to the final slot. Jordan took a deep breath and inserted the final Eye. There was a crack of energy and a deep thud of a noise, alien and unnatural. Where there had been an empty frame, was now filled in with a warping speckled void unlike anything he’d ever seen in his life. It had appeared from nothing and seemed to go on endlessly even though the logical side of Jordan’s mind knew there was lava beneath it. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Ianite’s domain was beyond this remarkable and mystical portal. The answers he’d been looking for his entire life waited for him. And, if nothing else, at least maybe being in her domain would give him a chance that she would hear his prayers.

He closed his eyes and stepped forward in a leap of faith. 

When he opened his eyes he was greeted by a bizarre landscape of the same off-white stone of the portal and immense towering columns of obsidian. He could see enderman teleporting about, their lanky, ink dark bodies moving without a single step. He averted his eyes downward out of reflex, confused by the obsidian platform that hovered above the Void. Jordan’s heart stopped in his chest, the Void was a scary story, a warning from parents to children about being cautious how deep into the earth they went.  He’d never expected to actually see it in his life. Connecting this platform to the main island was a surprisingly wide path of cobblestone, worn and dirtied with age, but otherwise safe enough looking. This was more evidence that others had been here before him, the path was wide enough to accommodate multiple people at once with a waist high walls lining either side for safety. His thoughts turned back to the book and his thoughts that maybe, once upon a time, she had been worshipped the same way Dianite and Mianite were. There could be a Temple to Ianite somewhere on that island. 

Cautiously, Jordan stepped onto the path, pleased that it didn’t crumble or give any indication of failing. With each step he gained confidence and surety, eyes flicking upwards towards the pillars of obsidian, the researcher in him taking in every bit of information he could, above each pillar floated a white crystal, bobbing gently up and down. The stone that made up the island, endstone he mentally dubbed it, had a strange texture under his boots. There was an almost, sandy feeling to it, like the very top layer was loose dust. It made for a slick surface as he ventured deeper into the landmass.

The first thing he noticed was just how many enderman there were, reminding himself to keep his gaze low so he didn’t attract their attention. In the center of the island was a fountain-like structure made of bedrock, something he’d only seen on school trips into the deep mines. Next to the fountain was a monstrous skeleton, the skull of which was larger than Jordan was tall. It looked almost reptilian in nature, with a horned frill and long sharp teeth. The Beast, he realized. The beast the ‘Heroes’ had killed was a dragon, a creature from myth and fairy tales. 

As Jordan looked around further, he was beginning to fear that all this had been for nothing. There had to be more here, it couldn’t be just this. There had to be something else, something relating to Ianite. 

An enderman teleported across the island. Behind it, Jordan caught a glimpse of the same lavender stone the obelisks at the oasis had been made of. Curiously he walked over to investigate, eyes widening in understanding as it came fully into view. It was a Temple. A decaying and crumbling Temple, but a Temple nonetheless.  The roof was mostly caved in, only the front pediment was mildly intact, the lavender stone balancing almost precariously on top of a series of pure white columns, quartz if he had to guess. The walls of the Temple seemed intact enough as entered, wary and wondering. 

It was emptier than the Temples dedicated to the other Gods that he’d been in. No pews or places for private prayer, simply a large room filled with the stone remains of the roof. Purple flowers in varieties he’d never seen sprouted up from in between the cracks in the floor, interspersed with flowers he did recognize, lilies of the valley and lavender sprigs. The drooping white lilies were a symbol of returning happiness and the lavender a symbol of feminine elegance, his mother loved painting them both because of it. Moss and vines had somehow found their way in as well, growing uncontrollably up and around the remains of grand columns and archways. But the most eye catching thing was the statue of a woman before an immense and intricate stained glass window, her arms outstretched in a pose of strength and grace. It was her. Ianite.  

He approached and without really considering his actions, fell to his knees before her. He’d never prayed to a God before, had never felt that it was his right. But he’d seen others do it all his life, he knew how it traditionally went. He reached into his bag and pulled out a flint and steel, carefully lighting the end of a stick to use as a match. Surrounding the base of the statues were the stump ends of purple candles, melted to almost nothing, wicks blacked to charcoal. He lit those first, one at a time. Next he removed the offerings he’d prepared, it was said that every God had their favored items and the more valuable an item you presented, the greater blessing you would receive. With no knowledge of what she may want, he’d done his best. He laid diamonds and emeralds before her, as many as he could truly spare. But also, he presented the book that had sent him on this journey. He’d memorized every word and while he wasn’t sure what use it might have to her, the idea of offering something so significant to him felt right. 

Jordan looked up to her then, the statue. Much like the rest of the Temple, it had seen better days. It was cracked and broken in places, a finger on one hand missing entirely, the hem of her dress ragged and eroded, her face barely more than a hint at an expression, shards of ender pearl where her eyes ought to be. Twin cracks traced down her cheeks like tears. She may have been forgotten, but she still deserved better. 

He spread his arms wide, mimicking her pose. He swallowed, hesitant for what he was about to do. The Champions of the Gods were the only ones who were supposed to speak directly to the Gods themselves. The rest of the kingdom spoke only to priests and disciples who relayed the messages, and ‘Godless’ Outcasts like Jordan? Well, the last priest he’d spoken to had laughed him from the Temple because he’d dared insinuate that there was someone besides the two Gods. Still, he’d spent a long time trying to form the words he wanted to say to her. He was not here just for himself, but for all the Godless outcasts that could use the blessing of a Goddess.  

I don’t know if you can hear me Or if you’re even there I don’t know if you would listen to a humble prayer

Yes, I know I’m just an outcast I shouldn’t speak to you Still I see your face and wonder Were you once an outcast too?

God help the outcasts Hungry from birth Show them the mercy They don't find on Earth God help my people We look to you still God help the outcasts Or nobody will

He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying but he didn’t wipe his tears away, looking into her eyes. He’d never felt so humbled in his life nor felt anything as strongly as he felt now. All his life he’d wondered what it felt like to pray to the Gods and have them supposedly listen. The prayers he’d heard though, had often been selfish. Requests for self-betterment, wealth, fame, glory, love. It made him wonder what kind of Gods Mianite and Dianite must be if their followers prayed so selfishly. 

I ask for nothing I can get by But I know so many Less lucky than I

Please help my people The poor and down-trod I thought we all were children of Gods

God help the outcasts Children of Gods

He felt lighter when the words finally left him. Something in his heart had lifted, a weight he’d not realized he’d been carrying. A smile found its way to his lips as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. Jordan bowed his head to Lady Ianite for a moment, even if this had all been for nothing, at least he could return to the Capital with a new sense of purpose. He would spread the word of her existence, tell people of the third option, restore the belief in her. Maybe it would bring her back, maybe not. Either way, he felt she deserved it. 

Jordan got to his feet and with a grin said “Alright My Lady, let’s see what I can do about fixing this place up eh? I’m not the best at building but I’ll do what I can.”  

He worked through what he thought was the entire day, humming and whistling to himself and occasionally asking questions out loud to Ianite as if she could answer.

“What do you think? Leave all the flowers or just leave certain ones? I personally kind of like them all here, you’ve never probably seen the Temples in the Overworld but they’re kind of lifeless. I think the flowers add a nice touch. Maybe just a path through the center…?” 

He stopped to eat, sitting against the inside front wall of the Temple and just looking. It was better already. He’d gotten most of the chunks of the ceiling pulled aside, at least the ones he was strong enough to move, as well as the remnants of the columns and arches. He’d pulled up the dead flowers and plants and lit the torches that lined the walls. Yes, it was looking a lot better than when he’d found it. Still not perfect, he didn’t have the tools or supplies to fix it in its entirety, not yet at least. But he would. Now that he knew where the portal was, he could return to the Overworld and stock up then come back. 

He yawned widely. With no sun or moon he had no way to tell just how long he’d been here. If he was this tired, it must’ve been at least a whole day. It certainly wasn’t respectful of him to sleep in here but the alternative was sleeping out in the open surrounded by who knew how many enderman. “You don’t mind do you Milady? Just this once. I promise.” He yawned again, settling back against the wall and letting his eyes slip shut.

As his breathing evened out, every candle on the altar suddenly extinguished in a gust of air. The enderpearl shards in the eyes of the statue began to glow weakly and then with a single graceful step, a woman stepped from the stone. Her hair and dress floated around her as if she was underwater, her entire being mostly transparent. She leaned down to pick up the book that had been left to her, smiling faintly. He’d done so well to get here on his own. With nothing to go on but this book and his own feelings, he’d come to her. She could not think of a single person more deserving in this world of behind her Champion.

The Spirit of Ianite drifted through the Temple, the flowers waving delicately as she passed over them. She came to rest in front of him. His eyes were shut and entirely body relaxed, soft snores leaving him. 

“Thank you for all you’ve done. I know you will go on to do a great many more things in my name. I am honored to bless you as my Champion.” She spoke into his dreams. 

Ever so gently she wrapped her hand around his left forearm, shutting her eyes to channel her power. Upon his skin, a golden tattoo spiraled into existence. The pattern was varied, eyes and flowers and abstract symbols of balance all flowing together into a single piece of artwork. She felt the connection between them blossom to life like one of the chorus flowers that decorated the Temple. She could feel his mortality like a steady beat in her mind, the reassuring thump thump, thump thump of his heart. Ianite basked in the sensation for a moment, so new but still so welcome. He stirred beneath her touch, his subconscious reacting to their new connection. 

She pressed her lips to her fingertips and whispered “I will answer your prayers my Champion. I will visit the others in their dreams as I will visit you. They will know you as my Champion and it is through you that my name will return to the world of mortals.” then with the utmost care, touched her fingertips to his temple to complete the blessing. 

Ianite drifted back to her statue, looking back over her shoulder with a fond smile one last time before vanishing.

[lord-hermod]

How does one join the Nerf House?

You don't join them, they join you.

[discoverytwo-archive]

Nerf House come get y’all juice

[the-nerf-house]

Happy one month anniversary Nerf House! Any comments @transvav ?

[ianite-simp]

i’m tired of losing them : dark!dec

what if declan was the one to turn to the darkness? (moderate angst)

Declan had never wanted to be the Priest. He watched the squabbles and arguments of the gods with a heavy sense of disappointment. The gods, the immortal beings that were supposed to guide the dimension in harmony and peace, were nothing more than bickering children. They had no regard for the human lives of their realm; with no way to communicate with the people, they simply disregarded them. They caused destruction and chaos among his people, created grief and terror, yet did nothing to fix their errors.

Disgusted by the actions of the godlings, Declan did his best to disregard them. He married the woman he loved, and had a little boy. The only skilled warrior in the land, he spent much of his son’s childhood training him in the ways of a warrior. His life was quaint, peaceful, and perfect. 

Until the gods called upon him. With sweet promises little better than threats, they persuaded him to take up the mantle of the Priest. Though reluctant, Declan accepted. After all, he still had his family. But there was one thing the gods neglected to tell him - in becoming the Priest, he was granted the curse of immortality.

Things seemed to only grow worse for him, bit by bit. His wife, his anchor, left him shortly after. The loss of his wife to a despicable drunken lord brought him close to the point of desolation. Having harboured a strong love for her since they were young, seeing her abandon him at the first chance was the first time he truly understood the meaning of a loss. 

Despite this, Declan was determined to protect his son. He was the only strong connection he had left to the human world, a world he needed to protect from the whims of irresponsible gods. For a time, they were happy. A decade passed, and he had the joy of seeing his son grow into a bright, energetic young man, just as skilled in the ways of a warrior as Dec had once been. Before long, though, his boy was pleading to be allowed to travel the world. He wanted to see everything, explore everything, experience everything. It was impossible for Dec to deny his son this wish, despite his urge to keep the young man close at his side where he would be safe. The day he watched his son sail away from the port of his small village was the second time he experienced a heart-wrenching loss.

Months later, when he received a letter in an unfamiliar hand, informing him of his son’s tragic death in a zombie attack, he lost his son again.

With no one left to keep him attached to his past life, Declan threw himself into his role as Priest with a new sense of vigour. He found himself able to settle the young gods when they grew irate, able to encourage sensibility, and most importantly, able to show them the value of a human life. While every day proved to be a new struggle in helping the gods forge their futures, he found himself with a new sense of purpose.

Until the gods’ champions arrived.

At first he was thrilled, thrilled to encounter people who could communicate with the gods like he did. He felt truly close to them, closer than to any other human in a millenium. Their antics were amusing, but watching them bring the gods closer to humanity was what they really achieved. But as the decades passed, the heroes quickly died off, risking their lives to help maintain their ideals in the world, to spread the word of their gods. And before long, he was alone again. He learned of a new type of loss, the loss of a friend.

The centuries passed, and Dec found himself traversing the different dimensions, meeting new versions of the gods so familiar to him, champions that reminded him of that first group he met, and the friendships he formed with them. In every dimension he faced loss after loss, of champion and of god. Still, he continued to bridge the gap between humanity and the gods, determined to do his best to keep the realms safe. 

But when the Darkness approached him, a being he had read of in ancient texts as being highly destructive, he didn’t shun the creature. Instead, he invited it in for a cup of tea. “You can have unlimited power. You can find your true potential alongside me, Priest.” Declan surveyed the hooded creature with a tired, yet amused expression.

“I have plenty of power, believe me. Any other offers?”

“Tell me what it is you desire, Priest, and I will tell you if I can provide it.”

Declan’s faint smile faded, and his youthful frame seemed to sag under an immense weight as he thought for a moment. “You know what I would like,” he lifted his chin to look headlong at the being sitting opposite him, as he set his cup onto the small coffee table, “I’d like to never lose anyone, ever again. I’m tired, Darkness. I’ll admit this freely, I’m tired of existing only to find more problems that need solving, to meet people I’ll have to watch die eventually.” Settling back into his chair, he tilted his head inquisitively. “Would you be able to give this to me?”

The Darkness was quiet for a short time, stirring its untouched cup of tea with a small spoon. “Yes,” it finally said, “I do believe I can make this deal with you. You do understand, of course, that from this point on you will be under my control entirely, Priest?”

Declan nodded as he rose from his chair extending a hand to the being. “Of course.” The Darkness reached out a skeletal arm draped in the gauzy black material of its cloak, taking hold of Declan’s hand with a grip stronger than steel. It held him for a moment, without speaking, before dropping his hand. Declan instantly yanked his hand back, rubbing it with his other hand. It felt as though the moment the Darkness had released him, an electrical current shot through his skin. Aside from that, he didn’t feel any different. He couldn’t feel his hand touching the other… he couldn’t feel.

I wonder if... Dec walked briskly over to the brick fireplace adorning the small room with a blank look on his face. Without hesitating a moment, he punched the brick mantle with as much force as he could muster. His knuckles popped audibly, and the skin was slightly torn - but he felt nothing. “Impressive, I must say. But is this necessary?” The Darkness bowed slightly, otherwise completely motionless.

“In order to forsake the feelings of your mind, it was necessary to remove the physical as well. I expect you to be ready for when I call upon you.”

“Indeed.” He gave a small nod to the Darkness, and watched it drift silently from the room. With a deep sigh, Declan resumed his seat, his gaze empty as he studied the teacups sitting in front of him. At least he couldn’t regret his actions.

Because on that day, he lost his last connection to humanity.

[inkichor-vault]

Spark has been watching Jordan work for a few hours now. Well, Jordan hasn't quite been working, its more that he's staring intently at things and willing his eyes to focus "You should sleep," he tells him, realizing the younger man wouldn't stop until he collapsed. Wasn't that a fun thing to stay consistent? Jordan jumps, having forgotten his alter was the several hours ago, "the sun's still up. I'm fine" his reaction was... sluggish to say the least Spark sighs, preparing himself to physically drag the captain into a bed, but when he tugs on the younger man's collar jordan practically collapses into him "Okay," yawn "Maybe, maybe, I should sleep" He doesn't end up dragging him, so much as carrying him into a bed, but Jordan would never admit to that "Sleep, captain" "You know," he mumbles before spark leaves, "I think your ianite's told me the same thing"