Fantasy A World Forsaken

[Juju]

The Key Beckons... jmann ThatWhichShouldBe Sunsmiter Arai AiDEE-c0 Solirus palmtree219

---

The night-moon hung low in the sky, its pale face waning like a tired out smile. Beside it, the little moon dutifully followed their nightly route and offered out its weak blue light. A field of thin wispy clouds stretched out across the lands of Laistan, shrouded in moonlight and studded with stars that managed to peek through holes in its silver lining.

It had been 50 years since Shiie’s attack on Yolan, and in that time much had changed. Most of the land was now part of Genevia, a young and yet completely unmatched empire. Much like its parent nation, the Inquisition had grown into a formidable force while the gods, now scattered like stray leaves, wilted in the dark. Through it all The Council had remained silent, their contract steadfast yet their contact dismal. The last time Utos had called them all together was on the eve of Yolan’s destruction, the beginning of their end.

Things had taken a turn for the worse since Shiie’s death revealed the fate of those whose worship faded. Many gods have fizzled out since Yolan, and with temples being raised and worshippers killed, it is hard to say just how many gods still live.

One thing was clear; the Inquisition was winning and there was very little The Council could do about it.

Hopeless thoughts came easily on nights such as this, yet in the gloom there shone a small glimmer of light. The interdimensional key, which lay dormant for 50 years, now hummed and glowed brightly.

A soft chime emanated from it, muffled neither by debris or burial. Maybe it was hidden under leaves, or perhaps tucked away in armour, but on this ordinary night it shone in a brilliant signal. At long last, The Council was being called. Whether this was an ill or good omen, one could not say. There was really only one way to find out.

If placed onto any surface, the key would open a direct doorway into Utos’ realm, the meeting place of The Council and resting place of The Artefact. Only the keyholder could enter, and once they passed through the door would leave not a single trace.

---

(reference image)
​

Utos’ realm had changed since the last meeting. These changes were not immediately noticeable, but they began to add up the more closely one looked. It was smaller, despite the illusion of endlessness. Still water stretched out as far as the eye could see, its surface dotted in golden lotuses. Those who knew Utos would recognize these flowers as the favourite of Ruaka, and that there were a lot less than before. Dragonflies typically darted to and fro, yet were strangely absent. Even the singing birds with their golden feathers were missing.

In the centre of the endless, shallow lake was a pale temple. Its outer pillars rose from the water below, and its base formed a bridge that led towards a centre platform. On this platform was the meeting area, a circular marble table. Just as the day it was created, there was a seat for every god on The Council, with their name and symbol etched into the smooth surface of their tablespace.

Utos had chosen a circular design for the specific reason that no god would be considered at the head or end of the table. Despite his role as ‘leader’, Utos had no wish to place himself above his peers. All he cared for was ensuring that the contracts were upheld… and that he sat beside Ruaka.

The god of song’s absence was painfully obvious, not only by the now vacant seat, but the complete silence of the realm. No music filled the air, just the murmur of disturbed water and the gentle breeze through silken banners.

Utos stood beside Ruaka’s empty seat, inspecting the etchings in careful silence. He did not seem aware of the arrival of the gods.

The form he chose was quite mortal, lacking the graceful horns, flowers and flowing garments he once sported. Even his famous sword was hidden, seen only as a red marking in front of his heart. There was a certain weariness in his down-turned eyes, and somehow he seemed thinner than before.

His companion, the minion once known as Cervasis, lounged on the table nearby. Their two primary eyes were closed in rest, while the third eye on their forehead flashed towards the newcomers. The cat’s tail swayed lazily, head resting on a paw.

The gods would arrive upon the pale marble bridge connected to the centre platform. It was perfectly level with the surface of the water, and gave the appearance that they were walking on the lake. Lotuses lined the pathway, along with the gently flapping banners of silk. Normally fish would swim in the waters, but they too were missing.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Severed Heaven

---

It had been 50 years since the fall of Yolan, yet for Severed Heaven, in truth, his life had changed little. The world was darker, yes. The road more dangerous for any who might be associated with the divine, no matter how well hidden. He had diminished in might. But his path remained the same. The God of War wandered the world, meditated, meddled, and lived the life of a wandering mortal man. No more, no less. He wielded his sword more often now, and saw many of his fellows fade from the world... but that was all. But now, the Council had been called. And Severed Heaven answered.

Through the entryway walks a dirty-looking man in humble traveler's clothes, a hat of straw on his head. His face is dirtied with the dust of the road, and by his side rests two swords. One was but a common blade, but the other was unmistakeable for those who had experienced the Godswar. The Sleeping Dragon had split lakes and riven mountains in that long-ago age, and though it held little power now, the blade was too distinctive to go unrecognized. But even so, the diminishing of the world left its mark even on that hallowed blade; signs of roughage and battle-wear on the hilt that it would have once been utterly immune to.

Severed Heaven walks down the pathway, noticing but not reacting to the signs of the realm's diminishment. It was what it was. The flame of the gods was fading from the world, and mortalkind filled in the gaps. He quietly takes a seat at his own chair at the table, his throne a looming construction of black iron, engraved with ancient battles of the Godswar. And so, Severed Heaven waits for the rest of the Council to arrive in patient silence.

 

[Solirus]

Guardian


​

Time moved like a blur for old Guardian, laying on the ground like a corpse, far from the main path towards the town. His sight was unreliable and deceitful, he would rather use the sounds of nature to protect the people of the town. The Wind howled through his body, an armor of a soldier who'd performed its duty, bereft of purpose and left to be forgotten and rust. His arm tightly held an equally worn blade, not even his own, but stolen from the hands of a criminal and used to end said life.

Guardian heard several soft and familiar steps all surrounding him. They were the steps of wolves, the wolves that at first had made an enemy of Guardian, but later formed an uncomfortable bond. Their eyes pierced through the forest and directly towards Guardian, they wanted something, but it only took Guardian a moment to realize what it was. Raising himself Guardian limped towards the most recent basket that the town kids had offered him, it had bread and cheese alongside a bottle of wine. The bread and cheese was the only thing the wolves cared about. With a sudden and struggling motion Guardian tossed the bread and cheese deeper into the forest, where he heard the sound of sniffing before finally the wolves took the bread and cheese and the piercing gazes disappeared.

With the problem handled, Guardian collapsed once more into the ground, interrupted by a soft chime. Guardian couldn't recognize what the sound was, but it kept going. Guardian tried to remember but he could think of nothing until finally he decided to reach into the source of the chime lodged inside his own thigh. Guardian plunged the sword into his thigh, breaking through the armor and pouring his golden blood. With his other hand he slowly moved it in, grabbing the source of the chime and inspecting it closer. He wasn't not sure what it was, but he gained a hunch that it must be important if it was inside him.

Throwing it into the ground the key disappeared and opened a gate for Guardian to pass through. Struggling to even move, Guardian holstered his blade and grabbed a long and durable stick to assist in his movement, limping into the gate itself and into an strange yet not quite unfamiliar realm. The Change in terrain caught the God by surprise, even with the stick maintaining his posture, he fell to the ground on his knees, causing some of the blood from his recently inflicted wound to come out. Collecting himself back up he moved towards the round table, looking at each chair. There appeared to be two individual already there, one which Guardian's gut didn't seem to appreciate. Finally Guardian chose a chair, thinking it didn't matter where he sat, choosing a chair that was very much not his. Thus he waited for something to happen, his wound slowly healing as his breathing was heavy and uncomfortable for all nearby.

 

[palmtree219]

Aisyr


​

Aisyr finished off the last bandit as the other two adventurers went to check on the merchants they were escorting. As the light faded from his eyes, she let out a sigh, telling him to challenge her grandpa to a game of chess if he wanted to keep on living. Shaking her head free of any negative thoughts, she bounced back towards the caravan, only to stop as a soft chime rang from her backpack. Perking up at the thought of a new adventure, Aisyr hurriedly dug through the bag, finding a glowing key just underneath the equally bright halo she had stuffed under her spare clothes. Now this, this was something she was excited about. Adventures were great, and traveling was fun, but the key meant one thing. She was about to see her family again. Grabbing the key tightly, she bound back to the others, let out a quick apology about how something came up, she was sure they'd be fine, and make sure to have fun. Then, she jammed the key into the side of a cart and hopped through before any of her companions could utter a word.

Actually arriving at Utos' realm was a bit anticlimactic. The place was too quiet and a bit boring compared to the mortal world, at least in Aisyr's opinion. Even worse, only three others were present. There was Utos himself, whom Aisyr never really interacted with all that much, and Severed Heaven, whom rather intimidated her. The third was much more palatable. A hulking suit of armor that sat right in her spot at the table. Aisyr didn't mind Guardian at all, he was a swell guy, even if his head seemed a bit empty lately. Wandering over to the god, she tossed a casual wave at the others and stood behind him, leaning with both arms on the chair's back. The spear she had been carrying was propped up against the table, with her backpack laying next to it.

"Long time, no see Guardian. How've you been?" She didn't wait for a reply and immediately launched into a recounting of her most recent adventure with the merchant caravan, all the while one foot was tapping the ground and her head continually shot towards the entrance, waiting for the rest to arrive.

 

[AiDEE-c0]

𝕻𝖆𝖚𝖕𝖊𝖗

​

Today too the sky wept dark and wistful tears. Drowning the land in mud, the rain had always been a terrible oppressor to those without a roof above their head, and so they shivered again in the damp, warmthless alleys. The square had gone silent. Other than the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain beating on the roofs like a drum, all the noise had ran for the houses and the homes, and the sobbing of the poor faded into its chorus. Amidst the instruments being played on, a small girl had wrapped her head under a thick, moth-eaten cloth, brisk footsteps scuttling along the muddy streets. She was breathing heavily, each strained exhale turning into a cloud of cold mist. Still, she marched on relentlessly, clutching a tiny handful of coins under the cloth.

"Three shillings and twenty farthings, Pauper has counted them again."

She muttered to herself. In spite of the wet linen plastered over her hair, and her shivering malnourished figure, the girl was smiling. She had finally saved up enough coins to buy one. In just a short moment, she would enter the baker's shop, and finally get her hands on that special thing which smelled of precious memories. The thought caused her weightless footfall to become quicker, her heart to flutter with anticipation. A picture of her sister appeared in her mind. Her older sister, who opened her arms for a never-ending, loving embrace. Her beautiful sister, who watched her with such doting eyes. Her beloved sister, who had long since vanished. . .

"Three shillings and twenty farthings, three shillings and twenty farthings."

Of course, her smile wasn't a happy one. She counted the coins again and again, neurotically making sure she hadn't dropped a single one. As it were, money had a tendency to mysteriously vanish from her hands, rolling away when she wasn't looking or dissipating into thin air. That couldn't happen. She had been saving up for so long, it simply wouldn't be fair if it did. All of her days were spent hungry, pleading in isolation. If she was denied this fleeting moment of happiness, she would simply break. She had already lost purpose and even a sense of 'self,' the memories of the past were one of the last things still holding her together.

"Three shillings and twenty farthings. . ."

At long last, she arrived in front of the bakery. Giving a small tug at the wooden door, she entered and waited for it to close, before approaching a stand lined with confections. Inside the building, several small lamps illuminated all sorts of breads and desserts, placed upon wicker lined with linen. The smell caused the girl's stomach to grumble. Her hunger had been acting up again, but finally it would be sated. Finding exactly what she wanted, she counted her coins one last time.

"Two shillings and twenty farthings."

After a moment of contemplation, her heart sank. When did she lose it? How? Her stomach roared, a terrible pain erupting inside her abdomen. The baker, who stood behind one of the wicker-stands, surely must've realised her nature as a beggar from that sound alone. If she didn't act quickly, she would probably be asked to leave. Her eyes closed, but her melancholy smile still hadn't faltered. After all, she knew this would happen. Reaching into the heavy mass of tangled hair adorning her head, she fished around for a while, until she finally gripped a silver piece of metal. It was the last-resort shilling she had stashed away just in case.

"A jelly tart, please," she addressed the baker, pointing at the exact confection she intended to buy. The larger man walked over, a friendly look on his face. He was dressed in bright colours, a start contrast to the brown of the girl's dampened cloth.

"How do you do? That will be three shillings fifty farthings, little miss."

The girl stared up at him witlessly. Fifty farthings? She didn't. . . No, she was absolutely sure it had been twenty the last time she saw it. What would she do now? Her gaze silently met the expectant eyes of the baker, for what felt like an uncomfortable eternity. Then, suddenly, a golden glow began emanating from her hair. Had she stashed away another coin and forgot? Without an ounce of hesitation, she pulled the object out from her mane, only to end up with an old key and disappointment. The key released a mystical chime, signalling the need of her presence. She held it up to the baker.

"Could Pauper pay with three shillings and this?" Before the baffled baker had a chance to react, the girl lamented out loud. "Of course not, that's not a fair request. . . Pauper is sorry."

Without another word, she bent over and slotted the magical key into a slit between the floorboards, dejectedly sinking into the ground. Next thing she knew, she had emerged in an aging ethereal realm of marble. Slowly, she made her way towards the central atelier, where she clumsily seated herself at the appropriate chair. Still largely obscured by the wet cloth, she leaned forward and rested her head on the table, causing a few splashes of water to drip down its surface.

"Pauper, present," she announced, her stomach still in rancour.

 

[Arai]

Altaqula

Goddess of the Water

-TENSE - OPEN - MORTAL FORM

In the time that had passed between Shiie's death and the destruction of Yolan, Quinel Alteal had sailed all of the worlds greatest oceans in almost every role imaginable. Though her age appeared young, wisdom and experience beyond her years guided many a sailor from danger to a safe port and a warm bed. Sat perched on the edge of a dock in Ramonriver Harbor, she flexed that inangible force again, feeling the salt and spray of her waters, welcome on her skin as if it were a very piece of her soul. Her clothing was well kept, too valuble for one in her station, the colours a stark contrast to the deep browns and greens of the jungle town. The time of Gods may have passed, but there would always be power in status.

Across the harbor, she watched a fisherman move to the edge of his ship. She'd seen Holin a few times already, and her staring had not gone unoticed by him. Her waved, and she smiled back at him with a nod, absently looking away as the man discretley threw back some of his catch into the ocean, along with a small shell carving of an anchor. Holin preferred not to be observed in his rituals, but it didn't matter, she felt every gift, and even with what little she had, ensured that he was rewarded for his faith. That was her advantage over some of her brethren. Songs and vengeance and war and truth were all virtues at the mercy of men, but the sea? The sea was eternal.

Before she could think on her friend any longer, she felt a hum from her cane, turning it over in her hands. She swallowed roughly. To refuse the summons would be worse than going, but she remained uncomfortable at the request. If Utos had called them, it must be for good reason. She sighed, steeling her nerves as she tapped the cane against the wooden dock. Once. Twice. And at the strike of the third tap, a great wave enveloped the dock and the woman, spray scattering in every direction. Holin rushed to the edge of his vessel out of concern for his friend, but when he looked at the dock, there was only foam and wood.

The entryway flared to life one more, a smattering of water flowing into the lake, disturbing the still water slightly as Altaqula stepped through. The temple itself looked different somehow, less grand than she remembered. She took a moment on the water, stretching her arm across the lake and sending a small wave across it's surface, flexing her hand with satisfaction. Even here the water respected her, that was something. She took a short moment to offer respects to Ruaka, motioning te lake water to rain on a few of the plants that Utos had presumably planted.

Though she had felt the need to project strength, Altaqula stayed in her mortal form, lacking any of her more divine features. She knew that some of her brethren struggled more than others to let go of some of their godly apperance, but the only thing she didn't have as Quinel was her ridiculous height. Stepping through the building, she held her cane aloft rather than let the others think she required it as an aid.

Even those who had arrived before she struggled to recognise. Guardian's armor was immediatly known to her, the two of them the oldest Gods among those who were currently assembled. She absently wondered if he ever tired of the same look. Actually for all she knew of her brethren they might be the oldest now. Severed Heaven was also there, which explained the mild anger she could feel bubbling in her stomach. Utos, Pauper and Aisyr also sat in attendance, but all 3 of them were much younger than her, and she knew little about them. Utos seemed to look upset, but that was par for the course now, and Aisyr was regaling the group with a story of her mortal life. She smiled, at least she wasn't the only one embracing their new lifestyle.

Making her way to her seat, Altaqula noted it's size. The deep blue and green coral and icy structure had been originally built for her divine form, and it took a moment for her to resize it appropriatly with some effort. Time was that she would have taken meetings like this from the lake, shoving an enormous head through the pillars of the temple to be heard among her kin. It was only after the war she had accepted a smaller and more accomdating form. And now even that was too big. She spoke to the room.

"I can't even remember the last time we gathered here," She admitted, trying to break the silence.

 

[jmann]

Tes-Nenet

For the first day or so, Tes-Nenet tried to ignore the chimes from Utos' keys. The God War had long passed and Tes-Nenet was done with the politics. She could not see a reason they would all need to meet again. She hated the very thought of it, just memories of Utos' hall was too painful to relive.

On the second day, Tes-Nenet could stand the chimes no longer. They drowned out the birdsong and kept her awake in the dead of night. So, as the morning sun barely peeked through the tree cover, she moved a simple potted lily plant and revealed two keys hidden underneath. With them, she took her first tentative steps of the day outside Rosewood Hollow. The first breeze of the day shook the dew from the towering Rosewood trees and came down to sway the draping tapestries around Tes-Nenet's home. The wind wrapped around her as she inhaled, welcoming it like a hug from an old friend. The wind brought the news of the day, the elephant migration had reached her forest and would be passing by in a matter of days. It would be a shame to miss it, Tes-Nenet thought. There were few delights she had left in this world that quite matched the migration of the elephant. They reminded her dearly of the mighty mammoth, the first hunt Udreus took Tes-Nenet on. They hid in mortal bodies and ran with the hunters. Tracking for days until they slew the colossal creature. She didn't much care for the killing, but feasting and celebrating with the village had been one of the greatest nights of her long life.

The wind brought other news, too. Warm bread with raspberries marked a festival. Workers from the quarry had come as well, as the fires did not burn as hot. Tes-Nenet loved festivals when she could still attend them. Perhaps she would bake a pie of her own and celebrate with them. That sounded nice. Tes-Nenet continued down the few wooden steps into the grass. Her garden was a short walk ahead to a clearing, yet even that short walk had her struggling for breath at the end. Tes-Nenet lowered herself into the fresh earth, surrounded by tropical ferns and a hundred types of flower from around the world.

Tes-Nenet pulled a trowel off a string dangling from her belt. Carefully, she dug her small plot and laid both keys down. Yet, no matter how much soil she piled on top the key chimed unburdened. With a sharp exhale and a furrowed brow she dug the keys back up and ripped them from the earth. Utos' call demanded satisfaction and would accept nothing less. Tes-Nenet was not sure why she held onto the key for as long as she did. Perhaps some part of her knew the peace of mortality was not everlasting. As much as she hated to admit it, action needed to be taken.

Tes-Nenet pulled herself back to her feet and returned home. She plucked an apple from a nearby apple and held the cool fruit in her hands for a moment before tucking it away. A memory of home.

The immense fallen tree had served as her home for just over a decade. It was the longest she had gone without Inquisition interference. She liked to think they had stopped seeing her as a threat, as unlikely as that was. Tes-Nenet pressed the key into the brown and cherry bark of her home's exterior. The key slotted perfectly and a doorway of light beckoned her. Tes-Nenet took a deep breath. Then a single step forward.
It was quiet. Despite the chatter, Tes-Nenet could not help but miss the lack of birdsong that once flew through the sky, or the flittering of dragonfly wings darting from lotus to lotus. Even the scent of the pollen had been dulled. The entire realm was now nearly devoid of life. Even the wind felt artificial.

Tes-Nenet looked slowly and carefully between each god in attendance. Utos sat patiently beside one of many seats that would go unfilled. She had no doubt the loss of Ruaka pained his heart as much as it did hers. Severed Heaven looked patient as well. Part of her heart was waiting for him to lash out at any moment, as much as she knew he had been changing. Rumours of a wandering warrior had persisted for far beyond a mortal lifespan, there was no doubting who it had been. Aisyr and Guardian were engaged in conversation. Or rather, Aisyr was engaged in conversation and Guardian the helpless recipient. His seat was unusual, though. It was not the seat he made his own during the last years of the God War. His condition must have been worsening. The sopping wet visage of Pauper sat in silent defeat across the table. She looked as if she hadn't eaten in weeks. The thought pained Tes-Nenet's stomach as well. She would have to find a way to remedy that soon. Lastly was Altaqula. Tes-Nenet had always admired Altaqula, even if she was unappreciative of nearly all of Tes-Nenet's creations requiring water to survive.

"It brings joy to my heart to see you all again," Tes-Nenet smiled and nodded respectfully at each member. She walked with purpose to Pauper's seat, leaning down and whispering, "My friend you look famished. Please take care of yourself."
Tes-Nenet pulled the apple from her pocket and placed it into Pauper's hands without thinking. She had wanted to keep it for herself to remember her garden, yet perhaps Pauper deserved it more. Tes-Nenet turned and went to her seat, clutching the table in places for strength and breathing slowly through her nose. She sat beside Guardian, smiling at both Aisyr and Guardian as she did. Her eyes could not help but notice the crude depiction of an arrow carved into the hand rest of the seat. Udreus was often bored of the politics and took to carving shapes with his fingernails.
Tes-Nenet pulled the second key from her pocket. With the hesitance she couldn't describe, Tes-Nenet placed the key on the table in front of her. Udreus would not be needing it.

---

Juju Solirus palmtree219 AiDEE-c0

 

[The True Plague]

"Mortals often claim that the divine are evil, no? That it is their fault for the state of the world." Ultio, or Nex as he preferred to be called in his mortal disguise, stated this point rather casually. If not for the blade in his hand, one could find fault in the merchant for fearing the strange man. Alas, the merchant before him certainly had reason to fear him. After all, the hired thugs the merchant used to help 'negotiate' prices were slumped over on the ground, faces pale and lips blue. Nearby, were spilled cups of water.

"However, I hold to a different view. You see, I feel the actions of all beings contribute to the sorry state of this world. The divine may hold a fair portion of fault, but not all. Oh no, not all." As the words continued to flow from the mouth hidden by a mask, Nex would approach the cowering man. For the briefest of moments, a sickly green glow came from the slits in his mask for his eyes. So great was his hatred, that it even overcame his attempts to mask his divinity.

"After all, it is not the divine who told you to extort those poor families for every single coin." One step closer. "It is not the divine, who paid those gentlemen over there to rough up anyone who dared to speak of your business practices." Nex's stride lengthened as he grew closer, the once casual tone growing colder.

"It's not the divine who told you to triple the price of that medicine for that family's sick child, was it? No, it was your own choi-"

"LIES! LIES I SAY!" The merchant screamed back at the disguised god, finally growing a spine. "I-I didn't have a choice you see! M-m-my family needs the money, you see? I d-don't come from here. Yeah, I left my family behind to try and make some coin in this town to send back to help pay for my sick daughter and injured father's care. I'm just doing what anyone else in my posit-" The sound of metal meeting face interrupted the merchant's pathetic attempts to garner pity.

"I wouldn't." There wasn't any room for argument in Nex's voice. "What use is there in taking advantage of others for your own gain? What have you gained?" Slowly, doing his best to disguise the pain he was in, he'd crouch to be at eye level. "Do you feel satisfied with the life you've led? Was this worth your life?"

"Oh la dee da. Look at Mr. Upright say he wouldn't do such a thing!" The merchant, perhaps realizing the pity angle wouldn't sway Nex's heart, decided to rile against his assailant. "What, a bit of profit is abhorrent to the filthy murde-" Another backhand to the cheek interrupted the merchant. This time, blood pooled in his mouth.

"Murder? What I'm doing, is not murder. I'm making it right. That child died for your greed. You thought money was worth more than a life. In turn, I determined their life was worth more than yours. What is it you shopkeepers like to say?" One could almost picture the malicious grin hidden by the bone white mask. "You break it, you buy it? You broke that family, and now I've come to collect payment. Though first, a gift." Nex closed his palm, and when it reopened, he held a single coin. "Please, describe what you see."

"And if I don-" Another hearty smack, causing another splatter of blood. "Fine, fine! It's uh... A grinning jester on a coin?"

"So close!" Nex turned the coin around to reveal the image of a bloodied dagger. The merchant barely managed a gasp before slumping over, the blade in Nex's other hand planted squarely in his throat. "It's your future!" With that done, Ultio left the coin-

"Gah!" Ultio tumbled over, surprised by a sudden sound. The sound of gentle chimes whispered directly into his right ear. Who in the fuck would... Wait... That sound was vaguely familiar. A sound he's not heard in a while. Not since the last time the council had gathered. Ultio was considering ignoring it. The Council likely was a failed idea at this point. What point was a meeting between them? To see how many more have faded since Shiie's incident? Alas, Ultio also was without a thing to do given he just finished hunting this scum down...

With a sigh, Ultio flipped his hood down. If any were actually present to witness this, they'd see that his mask covered his head completely. Feeling blindly for it, Ultio would find the little pouch he'd sewn into the hood that contained his key. "May as well see what the elderly want, huh?" Ultio uncaringly threw the Dead Man's Coin behind him as he went to the door to this little room. May as well use a key on a door, right? So, Ultio pressed the key into the door, and then walked through the doorway presented to him.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A low whistle left the one hidden behind a mask as he once more beheld Utos' realm. It has been a while since he last beheld it, but it still held a kind of beauty he couldn't deny. Maybe not the most amazing sight he's seen in comparison to the wonderful sights to be seen wandering nature... But its up there. The illusion of an endless expanse of still water. The lilies. Tinged with the tragedy of the silence it held. Out of respect for that silence, Ultio kept his movements as careful as possible. He didn't wish to spoil it with noise.

Alas, such peace couldn't last. Already, he could tell that others were here. The faintest hints of conversation hitting his ears as he approached. Names of who spoke didn't exactly come easy to him. Being amongst the youngest... Or maybe the youngest nowadays, he'd not exactly gotten to know the other gods well. There was a time before the God War that the others had spent in relative harmony. After the God War, and specifically after the Shiie incident, there were... Some hard feelings to say the least that discouraged him getting to know the others.

This unfamiliarity with his fellow gods would also be the reason Ultio spoke not a word as he passed others to reach his seat. Instead, he'd simply sit upon his given throne. In comparison to some of the others, his was rather simple. Made from, admittedly decent quality wood, there was little that kept one from calling it plain. The only embellishments of note were two carvings. One depicted a grinning jester that could be found on a Dead Man's Coin, the other was a tilted chalice that had what seemed like a stream of emeralds flowing forth.

"Ultio Nothus has arrived." The Bastard of the War announced, just in case any forgot the name of possibly the only god who'll show up born during the war.

 

[Juju]

Utos & Cervasis
Solirus jmann palmtree219 ThatWhichShouldBe Arai AiDEE-c0 The True Plague​

---

---

Even as more gods arrived, Cervasis remained steadfast in their nap. It was only the scent of blood that caused the cat to rise from its slumber. Eyes the colors of ripened peaches opened into annoyed slices. Rising onto big, black paws, the cat stalked along the table and passed by a few of the gods before stopping to sit in front of Guardian.

A gruff meow came from the creature, followed by a sharp hiss. Their ears were pinned back and all three of their eyes held disapproval. A long, silky tail lashed from side to side, and should Guardian reach out towards the cat he would be granted a very swift swatting from Cervasis' claws.

Tes-nenet, who arrived shortly after Guardian's own appearance, was the only one who would understand the words Cervasis was trying to convey through the speech of beasts. Before she sat down, she might even have heard the cat's chiding at Guardian. "It spoils our ground. It bleeds like a pig. It is messy. Needs to clean up its messes."

With fur fluffed up like a mane, the cat closed their two main eyes and glanced at Tes-nenet with their third. Once again they meowed, though instead of a hiss it was more of a rumble closer to a purr. "God of Life should heal the God of Bleeding swiftly. Waters will be tainted. Needs cleaning. No more strain on Utos. Very tired. Thoughtless God of Bleeding. Needs swatting. We demand it clean the blood with its cloak. Tell God of Thoughtlessness this. And to sit in its right seat."

Commanding gods was quite unheard of for a minion, though Cervasis had always been bold. Even if they were no longer the towering guardian of this realm, their stubborn pride had remained. Afterall, the gods themselves were not the same almighty beings either. Perhaps the cat thought there was no need for the same respect to be shown.

Cervasis’ two primary eyes opened again, but only to glare at Aisyr who was sparking an innocent conversation with Guardian. She would have no means of understanding what Cervasis had said, and yet the cat treated it the same as being ignored. Frustrated, their tufted ear gave a flick and they held their head up reproachfully. The tip of their tail twitched.

When Pauper received her apple the cat gave her a sharp look, as if daring her to make a mess. As for the newest arrival, Cervasis simply ignored him.

---

​

The approach of footsteps brought Utos out of his thoughts and he looked up to see the approach of Shattered Heaven and Guardian. Two shadows of war. It came as no surprise to Utos that Shattered Heaven would be among the first to arrive, after all he had been the one to contest Shiie’s attack before the rest of the gods could arrive. Despite the war god’s recent change of heart, many of the council members – Utos included – could never forget his contribution to the godwar. His seat at the council, like a few others, was one of necessity, not choice.

Utos moved away from Ruaka’s vacant seat and sat down in his own, hands resting on the smooth stone with its etched symbols of locks and scales. He remained in silent contemplation as more of the gods arrived and took their places at the table. A soft frown twitched along his brow at Guardian’s irregular seat, but Utos merely let out a small, tired sigh and ignored it.

Seeing as nobody had addressed him yet, there was no need for him to speak. In the meantime, Utos continued to wait patiently for the rest to arrive. He was never one to discuss the contents of a meeting before all were present, and he did not intend to change that now. The aversion he held for smalltalk also seemed to have remained unchanged over the past 50 years.

Even if he did not speak, Utos was still keen on listening to the conversations around him. This was made clear when he answered a question posed by Altaqula.

"I can't even remember the last time we gathered here," She admitted, trying to break the silence.

“50 Years,” Utos stated, his fingertips pressed together in a peak, “50 years, 6 moons and 13 suns, to be exact. The day of Yolan’s fall.”

He looked up, gaze steady yet shadowed with an exhaustion that pooled under his blue eyes. They shifted towards Ultio's arrival, which earned only a shallow nod of acknowledgement.

 

[Solirus]

Guardian remained seated on his chair as he felt the presence of more arriving, one of them approached him and introduced himself acting like a friend who had not seen him in some time. After a slight pause Aisyr began recounting several stories, stories which Guardian had not the energy to sit through and listen to, "It's good... to see you too" he said moving his gaze towards the adventurous goddess, "But... I don't believe... my current capacities allow me to care about your stories" Guardian expressed very bluntly moving his gaze back towards the center of the table, only finding a weird and unknown cat Infront of him.

Guardian extended his hand forward, pointing at it, "Why is there... a weird cat here?" He asked, yet as his hand got close enough, the cat swatted it away, seemingly in bad faith. His hand didn't even feel pain and his hand barely moved from his trajectory, but he had been struck one way or another. The air around Guardian became heavy as he fixed his seated posture, no longer appearing slumped or incapable. Though there were no eyes visible in his face, his sights pierced directly at the cat as the hand that was swatted moved towards the hilt of his blade, gripping it intensely. Guardian was prepared to retaliate accordingly.

Juju palmtree219

 

[Sunsmiter]

The Reaper​

Time: Nearing Midnight

Location: Hollow Ground Village, Cemetery

“If you could wish someone dead, hypothetically of course, who would you wish to die?”
That was, of course, a grisly question with just enough of the macabre to interest the curiosity of a child’s mind.
“Well, Lily here, of course. She’s a big old meanie.”
Liliana scoffed and cuffed her younger twin on the head. Hyacinth winced. “Well, now I know who I’m going to wish dead now.”
Before hands could actually be thrown, Samar wisely intervened, holding the easily-enraged Lily at a sane distance(and out of her punching range, of course). “ To be fair, there’s no guarantee this will even work in the first place, and even if it does, I don’t really think the Reaper’s up for taking requests to who dies next.”
“Oh, it will work alright.” Nadir’s grin would have been reassuring if it wasn’t. As the son of the local librarian and thus the closest expert in the occult as they had, his knowledge in the domain was de facto their sole reference point. “There’s plenty of rituals summoning him, you know.”
“Yeah, and plenty more rituals that failed.” Samar counters.
“Well then, I don’t suppose we’ll live long enough to see what happens if it does fail, and thus by logic it would no longer be our problem.” Nadir gave this a careless shrug, as if he was discussing what he had for breakfast. “You know, it’s said that the Reaper’s worshippers would sew the bones of their victims into their robes. So that the living can walk with the dead, and become living repositories of their sins.” Nadir’s grin sharpened. “Read it just today in one of the sections about candles. It’s amazing what you can find about funerals if you’re willing, pardon the pun, to dig a little.”
As if the sky had sensed his intention, lightning suddenly flared beneath the closed door of the crypt, making Wisteria flinch.
“Really…?” Wisteria’s eyes had suddenly seemed to double in size. The youngest girl had been silent until now, having been more or less hiding behind the large figures of her two siblings. She never seemed to stay still, fiddling with the hem of her attire, nervously tugging at Lily’s shirt or Hyacinth’s hand. “Maybe we shouldn’t try to summon the god of death in a tomb after all-”
“SHUT IT.” Lily finally broke free from Samar’s grip long enough to give Wisteria a death glare. Nadir’s teasing grin lasted a few seconds longer before withering under Lily’s glower. “And you too. Can it.”
However hot-headed Lily may be, at least she sure knew when to take charge. “But Nadir’s right on one count. This’ll either work, or it ain’t our problem no more."
"The worst that can happen is that you get a chill.” Hyacinth offers.
“And possibly break a few priceless antiques in this crypt.” Samar ever so helpfully points out.
“Oh yes that.” Nadir seems to think for a moment. “Did you know that the punishment for grave robbing or grave desecration used to be-”
“CAN IT!”
Under Lily’s regard, Nadir wisely decided to keep the next tidbit of knowledge to himself.
“Well, wise-crack, since you seem so eager to get on with this summoning bull, why don’t ya tell us what we’re going?”
It may have been hard to believe, but Samar could have sworn he heard Lily’s normally fearless voice waver at the mention of the summon.
“Oh yes, that.” Nadir seemed unfazed as he listed off the “ingredients”. “Bones. Any animal will do, although it’s normally channeled through human bones. I’m pretty sure none of us has any of those lying around. Quite a few candles, which I’ve brought, by the by. You’re welcome. Silver coins, which I sure hope you or one of your sisters brought. Black ink, found right here. An hourglass or a chess piece. Some very special words. And…” Nadir’s sharp grin was back, and this time it wasn’t cowed by Lily’s death glare. “And a sacrifice. I hope you’ve brought something small, furry and disposable, and something you wouldn’t miss.”
“Small, furry and disposable?” Lily scoffed. “What, you want to offer Death a ferret for your soul?”
Nadir shrugged, and dug his hands into his pockets. They reemerged a second later holding an inkwell and a bishop chess piece. It was white. Bone white. “Believe it or not, some rituals actually involved sacrificing a ferret to him. Or her. My father was unclear when I asked him about the Lady in Black, but he did mention that she accepts weasels as sacrifices too-”
“CAN. IT. NOW.” Lily seemed to have finally noticed that Wisteria was going pale.
Unsurprising. Small, furry and disposable animals were her favorite.
“Very well then.” Nadir shrugs. Samar tries avoiding him as much as possible as he warily produces the hourglass and bird skull. Lily offers the two silver coins. Slightly grimacing, Hyacinth finishes the collection with what appears to be a delicate teacup, the painting of a fragile ballerina dancing on porcelain.
“I made it.” was all she would answer when prompted.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The solemnity of the stupidity they were about to undergo must have gotten to them. Or perhaps not, because they continued anyways.
“So….who wants to wager if the Reaper actually accepts chickens as sacrifice?” Hyacinth actually asks.
“CAN IT.”
“I’ll offer two extra silver coins. I’ll even throw in a nice painting of Lily getting eaten by a shark while we’re at it too.”
“CAN. IT!”

~~~~​

This is a plan without a flaw nor possibility of failure!
Lily did not, as we’d say, court disaster. She was the type to make eyes at Disaster and take Disaster out for dinner and drinks, to visit Disaster with red roses and gifts. She was the type to take Disaster to the Altar and marry it.
She was exactly the type of girl who would try to summon a goddamn god of death because some stupid-ass boy called her a sissy(albeit in quite a few harsher words).
To say Lily would hold a grudge to her grave was an understatement. She would have taken her grudge to the grave and demand the Reaper for recompensation for reaping her first, and then ask to remain dead if only so she could haunt the poor sod’s bloodline for the rest of eternity out of pure spite.
Lily, you see, was a force of reckoning driven on pure childish hatred, viciousness, and pettiness.
Don’t worry, they said, she’ll grow out of it, they said… her rebellious streak will end when she grows up, they said.
Such a shame the more you try to talk her out of doing something irrevocably and unspeakably stupid, the more she’ll try to do it(and potentially drag you along in it, as well).
“Quit ya mumbling. You’re getting on my damn nerves.”
Wisteria flinched from her sister’s harsh tone, but at least stopped her panicked half-hearted protests in face of Lily’s wrath. Even their normally fearless leader, she who would have wrestled an ox for looking at her funny, looked nervous as she and Nadir arranged what looked like a circle upon the crypt’s surface. It had never occurred to her that she would be drawing circles with a dead body 9ft below her hands, and thankfully on that night, it never did.
Even Lily, fearless Lily, spiteful Lily who once chased a boy into a creek for pulling on her pigtails, looked nervous as a shape slowly formed from the candles and the ink.
When it was complete, all that was left was for the quiet children to stare upon it, lantern light guttering low as Nadir lit the candles.
“Seven. Seven and four are holy numbers to Death. Seven wards him away, while four draws him close.” Nadir lectured.
“How the hell do you know this stuff?” Lily’s bite didn’t have half as much force as it normally did. “Read it while getting your head stuck in a bookshelf somewhere?”
“Not exactly.” Nadir gave a nonchalant shrug. “Mr. Bones told me. Or Lord Bones. Dr. Bones or something. I’m not sure which title is his anymore.”
Oh yes. Mr. Bones. The resident mortician/doctor whose grandfather mysteriously turned up one day when Hollow Ground’s only mine collapsed and killed seven miners instantly. Twenty three were sealed in and are presumed dead. Or perhaps their ghosts are still locked in the mine, haunting their tomb even now.
There wasn’t much known about the first Bones, and in small towns, the gossip goes around. And where there wasn’t information, gossip would have to do. Most likely the son of a baron or whatever, given his mannerisms and strange, inexplicable wealth. It was hard to say why exactly someone like him would just suddenly and randomly turn up in a small backwater village notable only for its closed mine and grisly history behind said mine, yet when a sawbones shows up with enough gold to keep the struggling village afloat for a few more decades, you don’t ask questions and you sure as cow dung don’t expect them to get answered. Now, it’s been several generations since the mine’s disaster, and while the village has changed(even managed to build a library where the Inquisition tore down the church, yay), Mr Bones has not. The lord looks the same as ten years ago, or even twenty, and while the first Bones was technically his grandfather(“there’s no way someone can be 120 years old, NO. GODDAMN. WAY.” Lily had snapped when Samar had asked, complete with air quotes.)
“The candle guy? Yeah, I ain’t bloody surprised. You could ask ‘im what color the Inquisition thinks is the most heretical and he’ll give ya a list of shirt colors ya could be arrested on sight fer.”
“Objectively incorrect.” Hyacinth points out. “The last time the Inquisition visited was nearly a decade and half ago. And even then their visit lasted barely two weeks. Hollow Ground is a small village, you know. Thus, it is unlikely that the Inquisition would care enough about our shirt colors, much less arrest us for them.”
Surprisingly, Lily didn’t tell her to can it this time.
“So…are we going to get going or not?”
Nadir’s grin was as sharp as ice as he reached to light the candles.

~~~​

“Rex tremendae majestatis
You who carry the weight of languishing souls”
The first candle snuffed out.

“Qui salvas animas mortuorum
You who walk among the hallowed tombs.”
The second candle was snuffed out.

“Dóminus ómnium qui perít,
You who cull the threads unseen,”
The third candle guttered, and vanished.

“Cum dies iudicii commovet aula mortuorum
You who rest upon your throne, who rise from fall and decay.”
The last candle, flickering, was snuffed.

Now in pure darkness, the final whispers were spoken.
“Surge de somno tuo et plora.”

And for a few scant heartbeats, all was well. Even the wind had died down, their only spectators the dead and the soon-to-be-dead.

One heartbeat. Two. Lily took a shaky breath.

Three heartbeats. Wisteria’s cold fingers slipped into Lily’s, and for once her older sister didn’t pull away.

Four heartbeats. Five.

Still nothing.

Six. Seven heartbeats now.

Wisteria exhaled, her voice wavering with relief as she blandly stated. “Well, looks like it didn’t wor-”

It was then when a cold hand closed around her shoulder and Wisteria screamed.

The grip was as cold as ice, and as firm as tombstone, skeletal fingers digging into flesh. At the scream of her sister, Lily spun around, flailing in the pure darkness for the nearest object at hand, and flung it at the creature. A tickle of dark robes flashed like silk as she swung the lantern…and met nothing but cold air.

Warm, brilliant candlelight suddenly flared, and lightning flashed once more, outlining a black hooded figure holding a lantern.

Bones' disapproving yet somehow kind glare found each of them, and Wisteria’s second scream withered before it could shatter any more eardrums.

“Mr. Bones!” Wisteria’s voice was either filled with relief, or relieved terror. “….hi. Hello. I-I’m very sorry, I’d hate to disturb, we were just..exploring and-”

“Hush. There’s no need to worry.” The doctor’s inquisitive glare ran from Wisteria, to Lily, to Hyacinth and Samar, and finally to Nadir. "Should I ask why you were painting in the middle of a crypt during midnight, or would I rather not know?” As if in mockery, Bones’ tomcat Azazel seemed to chuckle as he slipped around his master’s boots and hopped onto the circle. He sat in the circle and began grooming his side, the horsehead amulet on his collar jangling as he did so. His eyes were filled with mischievous mirth.

No one responded. Wisteria stared at the cat. Bones already knew the answer. Sighing, he turned around to pick up Lily's fallen lantern, oil streaks smudging the wall right behind him. “You know, the candles are placed wrong. While it would work for a summoning, you would have no chance of binding the power nor protecting yourself against the creature you were trying to summon. Summoners have died from less infractions before. It would be a shame if I’d have to pay you five a visit because of some lackluster candle placements.”

None of them had expected this, least of all Nadir. “Wrong…?”

“Of course!” Bones’ grin had always resembled a vampire’s smile. Too sharp canines and those far too ancient eyes. “The hardest part of any summoning isn’t catching any particular creature's attention, it's containing the sheer power of the entity you’d be trying to summon. Or at least, that is how it would work with the Horsemen and the Reaper, which seem to be your usual targets.”

Guilty as charged, Nadir said nothing. Undeterred, Bones continued on. “The Reaper, how shall I say this… is uninterested. In fact, he’s one of the hardest deities to summon with normal means. No great interest in bending to the whims of mortals.” Kneeling down so he would be at her height, Bones handed Lily her lantern back. “Now, Lily, promise me you won’t throw this again… yes, thank you.”
Lily accepted the lantern without a word. But it didn’t matter anyways, cause Nadir interjected before she could get a word in. “And what about the Horsemen? And what do you mean by “normal means”?”

“The Horsemen? Oh yes, the Horsemen….” Bones seemed to tap his chin in thought for a moment, briefly lost in distant memories. “I remember one of them betrayed the Reaper. The one that stole Harpe, and created a whole new breed of stupid within the cults. But that’s a story for another time. Now...where was I thinking...oh yes, the Horsemen."

Used to Bones' drifting, Nadir said nothing. The old doctor was getting on with the years, you know.

“The Horsemen. Each is different with their unique factors. Azrael, for one, likes skulls. Lots of skulls. Bird skulls are alright. You could catch his attention sooner or later if you built an entire mountain out of those damn things.” As if disputing his claim, Azazel knocked over the bird skull with his paw and primly sat down again. “And as for the ‘normal means’, let’s just say there are some more…sanguine methods of getting the Reaper’s attention. He’s the god of death, some of his more insane worshippers are apparently under the delusion he likes murder and extra work, and I'm fairly certain you can put it together from there…”

Oh yes, of course they could.

“...but enough ghost stories.” Bones clapped his hands together(he was wearing gloves, Nadir saw), and waited for his cat. Azazel promptly turned around to moodily stare at the wall. Bones chuckled. “You should be asleep, and hopefully dreaming a dream you can wake up from. Enough of these macabre stories you always ask for. Go to sleep and get a good night’s rest. Your parents don’t have to know about this." There was no fighting his last statement. It was more of an order. Cowed, Lily nodded, and numbly turned back towards the crypt’s door.

Nadir was the last to leave. Standing there and staring back, he couldn't help but think that Bones almost seemed too...thin. Almost like a skeleton wrapped in a dark cloak. The doctor smiled at the scholar’s son, surprisingly gentle for such a sharp grin. “Oh, and by the by…Nadir?”
“Yes?”

The grin turned sharp enough to cut, yet not without a slice of mischief. “Even if the summoning had worked, it’s traditional to offer the Reaper a sacrifice. If there are no corpses present, it is well within expected norms to create one. Traditionally, the sacrifice is picked from the summoners.”

An exaggeration perhaps. But it should stop Nadir from trying any foolhardy notions anytime soon…for now.

Azrael the cat-toted-horsehead-amulet laughed in a dead voice only the Reaper could hear as he watched the children scamper away from the crypts.

“Hmph. Azrael, feel free to get off your high horse, it wasn’t me who ran all the way here just to scare some kids.”

Another voiceless chuckle. The cat didn’t meow, never could, but that doesn’t mean the horsehead amulets couldn’t ride around on a living creature and take in the sights. Sentient, but locked. At the very least they were less trouble than before.

“I trust you can keep an eye out on the crypt? There’s been a summoning of sorts, preferably not of the children-incited kind.”

Azazel flicked his ears. Or perhaps that was Azrael. Grimm wasn’t exactly paying enough attention to the cat as he examined the key. Once housed between dead grasping hands and ruined bones, its ivory gleam weakly glowed as he placed it against the surface of the tomb. It wasn't exactly the norm to invite the death god… it wasn't as if this was going to be a divine tea party(what a shame).“Stay.” he commanded Azrael, and turned the key.

~~~​

The figure that stepped into the council’s room was as ancient as it was forgotten. Little more than a primordial force, a shadowy mass that was covered by robes that did not so much obscure light as devour it. There was no face, this was the face of the Reaper before there had been faces, before there were bones to die but there were yet things to end. It was the face the first divine deaths had seen, the face he had worn before each and every dying god, a final comfort before oblivion.
“Ah, greetings. I hope I’m not late.”

 

[Barbas]

Deep beneath the earth, there is a great, lightless cavern. One that served as the refuge for a dying God. Akin to an old man preparing to draw his final breath, the snake God sat in his stone chair, and would actually appear to be a corpse were it not for his labored breathing and the occasional rattling of the decaying armor that encased his mortal form.



Discomfort. If there was one constant in Belgrin's existence, it was this. Each and every moment of every single day was filled with a plethora of annoyances that trapped him in a state of perpetual discomfort.


The aching joints. The headaches. The tiredness. The occasionally blurry eyesight. They all played their role in his misery, but they were also far from the most disliked.
While irritating, the Wyrm could handle these physical annoyances, especially on the good days when these conditions lessened somewhat. No, the only thing he could not get used to was his breathing. Or to be more precise, the wheeze that could be heard whenever he breathed. It was not even particularly loud or debilitating, but it never ceased and served as a constant reminder of his current condition. His weakness. His ever-approaching death. This was only made worse by the fact that, while an effective hideout, the cavern he chose to be his lair was dreadfully quiet. No sounds of animals moving about. No sounds of leaves moving in the wind. Not even the sound of running water. At first, Blegrin appreciated this silence, but eventually, he came to despise it after he was left with nothing to listen to except that wretched wheeze.


Sleep was his only escape, but not even that had some complications. Some might have issues like bad dreams, but he had an entirely different problem For Belgrin, sleeping was easy. Far too easy. He would easily fall into deep slumbers, ones that, while not as long as the hibernation period of certain animal species, lasted longer than he was comfortable with. He did not know exactly how long these periods of sleep typically lasted, but he did know that they lasted far longer than he was comfortable with. These were dangerous times, after all, and one should always be ready to act if some problem were to arise. It was only fortunate that he chose a hideout that was properly secluded and had servants that could guard the few surface entrances.



For this reason, Belgrin would attempt to fight off the urge for as long as possible. Like always, he was on the brink of succumbing to this slumber once again. He had devoted much of his concentration to fighting it for some time, but he could not hold it off forever. Fortunately, though, something was able to ward it off just before he succumbed. Something had been prying at his mind for the past few days, but it was only just now that it was able to become strong enough to garner his full attention and even revitalize him to some extent.


Even when Belgrin had just become of it, he was able to instantly recognize what it was. It was a call. A call that he hadn't heard in my years.


A small part of him wanted to just ignore it out of spite, but that would be a foolish decision, and he never acted like a fool. That, and hearing the chimes after so long managed to pique his curiosity.



Rising from his ancient chair with a sigh, the weakened God inserted his key into one of the cavern's cold walls, forming a doorway to Utos's realm. He then walked through the newly formed door and found himself in the council room.



His eyes passed over each of the chairs and their occupants, until they stopped on one of the empty seats. Slowly, he made his way over to it and sat down.


There, he sat quietly for a few moments before finally speaking. "I hope you can forgive my tardiness," He said with a wheezing rasp." Punctuality is a virtue, but it is one that can be difficult to adhere to during these trying times."

 

[seasonedcat]

for a while, the days continued the same for Aimar as they did when he was Cyrus before Aimar. Aimar continued his work on upkeeping the farm, the chores took longer, and he found the tilled soil returning to its former lumpy self. Even with his new name, Aimar did not gain any of the younger god's skills, only able to make clumsy imitations. Today, however, was different.

his plain dinner was interrupted by a low hum from the key hanging from his neck, surprising Aimar. Aimar delicately held the key with a somber look. He had only just received his new title and was already expected to use it after so little time. If only Aimar had been able to make it this long, a much better addition to the council than the new Aimar would ever be.

Aimar sat inside the run-down farmhouse, the key atop the table as he gazed down at it. He wanted nothing more than to never taint the presence of the other gods with himself. He did not deserve to stand next to them as their ally. Fluttering his eyes closed, Aimar focused on the small force inside him, the one that came from Aimar. The last gift from a dying god, a wish. Aimar was unsure how long until even this part of his friend faded, but for now, it coated the dim fire that was Cyrus. It would hide his sins from the other gods as long as he continued as Aimar.

closing his eyes like this, he could feel the warm hug that was Aimar. Someone who could make even a tainted soul like him feel at home. The cloth against his damaged eyes absorbed the few tears that managed to free themself as Aimar collected himself. Standing up, he held the key, turning to the door as he did so. Placing it gently inside it, he turned it, feeling the magic gently against his face along with the rush of wind.

Aimar took a few steps forward, feeling the world around him change as the door fell shut behind him. Aimar swallowed thickly, immediately being able to sense the other gods around him. Guilt gripped him tightly as he filtered through who was there, eating away at him as he tried his best to seem small. The warm breath of life that was Tes-Nenet shocked Aimar greatly, causing him to anxiously begin to tear at the skin on his fingers. Images flashed through his mind; tremors began to build up in his body.

he could feel the thick blood on his body and see her dying face. He could see Tes-Nenet when she realized what had happened; he could see Tes-Nenet holding her dead child as tears streamed down her face. His breath shook gently as he tried to ground himself, his back hitting a pillar, causing him to flinch violently. He needed to collect himself, but his mind was filled with a violent image every time he tried. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed his panic tearing away at his skull.

Aimar focused on a voice that spoke, saying something unimportant, but tried to think only of the words, repeating them again and again in his head as it tried to run itself in circles. His hands shook, and his breath stuttered, but he wasn't spiraling downwards anymore. At least for now. Thankfully the true thing that would have broken him wasn't here. She wasn't here. He was thankful for that.
mentions Juju jmann

 

[R U S T]

Alcurad | Ectu


Deep within the darkness of a cave within a mountain, Ectu would be sharpening a long curved sword, fire crackling as it slowly burned the logs and the animal meat that was punctured by a sharp stick, slowly cooking the meat. Ectu would be staring at nothing but the blade and piece of metal in his hands that was sharpening the blade he held in his hand. Deep within his own mind, Ectu was arguing with himself.

“ Perhaps, the best plan for us is to keep low and hidden within the caves during the day, it seems that would be much safer for us-”

Another voice of his cute the other out of their statement.

“No you fool! Must we highlight the fact of our goal? The murderer of of our beloved Aveila still roams the Earth! Cowering away in caves and the darkness will only slow our goal of having Severed Heavens blood in our hands! Maybe we should just give up and hideaway-……”

“ That would be completely illogical! While our chances of finding him are higher, we are better fighters in the night! We must abandon the day and hide in the night!”

“Enough. I believe that we are all aware that Severed Heaven is stronger than us, so it would be better to strategize a plan rather than simply confront him. He is the god of war after all, and one do the strongest gods-. So fighting him straight on would not be the brightest, but-”

He thought for a moment, thinking of a specific voice that did not talk to him, and rarely ever revealed himself. Though it’s existence in his mind was surely there. And it scared him.

Perhaps maybe that could be of his plan.

But before anything was said, he what’d a loud chime. And another then another.

“So the gods are meeting once again….”

“Those gods? What about that god?”

“Obviously he’d be there if he’s still alive-“


~~~
Once he had arrived to the meeting Ectu would stand before them, staring and looking at each for a randomized time until his eyes wondered towards Severed Heaven. He didn’t say anything , but only stared as he walked to his respective seat.

His seat rose from the floor, a seat of pure darkness as it then revealed a marking of a broken slab, showing his godly symbol. As he sat down he looked at the other gods before nodding.

“Apologies for being late to this meeting.”

He said simply. The iron mask he wore hiding his slightly disfigured face, trying to avoid bringing any more of a uncomfortable feeling and energy towards the other gods.

 

[Zenritch]

Marzena| Mare

A young lady entered an unassuming inn in an equally unassuming town. Her presence turned a few curious heads towards her direction, betraying the fact that visitors and outsiders were a rare occurrence. Despite the interest that the youthful stranger generated, especially with the long object wrapped with cloth strapped to her back, and the white puppy sleeping on her head, it seemed they weren't as keen to press her for details, which definitely made things easier for the girl. Nowadays, it seemed more and more mortals are being influenced by the inquisition's motto of unquenchable curiosity. That is to say that she's been encountering more and more people who wanted to fuck around and find out. In hindsight, maybe choosing the form of a young lass projected as much vulnerability as it did with innocence. But what's done is done, and she wasn't going to waste the little power she had left just to change her appearance all over again.

"Hello, little lady. Are you traveling alone? Where are your parents?" The middle-aged innkeeper said in a friendly and gentle voice. Mare could detect a tinge of concern in her voice, which made her guess that she has children of her own.

"I'm travelling alone. Mother and Father were killed by monsters." Mare said matter-of-factly in a monotone voice, which surprised the innkeeper, sympathy evident in her eyes.

"Oh you poor thing, Someone as young as yourself shouldn't be out and alone in the world. Aside from bandits and monsters, you may encounter some evil god that can afflict you with all manner of curses." The innkeeper warned.

Mare sighed internally. It would seem that viewing the once benevolent gods as nothing more than lunatics that cursed everything the breathed was common nowadays.

"It's a miracle you made it here safe. Recently, a rather nasty monster has made its nest in the nearby woods. Some of the most capable men went into the forest to slay the beast but most of them didn't come back... and those that did were afflicted with madness after the encounter."

The mention of "madness" piqued the young girl's curiosity, as she continued listening to the details the innkeeper provided.

"A lot of the townsfolk have been suffering from nightmares as well. Even my own daughter refuses to sleep for the past few days because of the nightmares she experiences. We've put a request for the Adventurer's guild to slay the creature and even requested help from the inquisition, but nobody seems interested in going out of their way to visit a backwater town like ours to slay a mons-."

"I'll do it." The girl interrupted the innkeeper, the sympathy in her eyes now replaced with shock. Even the curious patrons who eyed her before, stared at her with renewed interest. "Please have the reward ready when I return."

Before the innkeeper could stop the girl from venturing into what she was certain would be her death, Marzena had already left the inn and made a beeline straight for the forest.

It didn't take her long to find the trail leading to the monster's nest. Makeshift weapons and armor were scattered like breadcrumbs along with dried blood and bones stripped clean of flesh. They all led to a clearing where a creature that could only be described as an unholy marriage of man and mare lay sleeping, surrounded by the spoils of the brave yet foolish townsfolk that tried in vain to end its existence.

"So it was you after all, glénti."

After hearing the girl's voice, the creature awoke from its slumber and snarled at the sight of the white-haired child. It threateningly pounded the ground with its front hoofs while the human half clutched the blackened spear it had previously used to massacre an unknown number of mortals.

In retaliation, the dog sleeping on Mare's head reared its teeth and growled threateningly at the monster. For a moment, it appeared to be afraid of the white dog, but after realizing it was no longer the same creature it once knew, the Knightmare slowly approached both of them, weapon at the ready.

Mare stood her ground and looked on at the creature, not with fear but... pity. In reality, this monster was once one of her most loyal minions, inflicting no harm to mortals other than the nightmares it brought. Back then, it could speak and engage in conversation with her, but now not a hint of intelligence remained in its hazy red eyes. At this point, death was the only mercy and salvation she could provide to her old friend.

Mare rolled out of the way as the monster's spear struck the spot where she stood. When she recovered, the cloth wrapping her scythe had already disappeared and she performed a quick slash, that severed one of the creature's legs. It howled in pain, and outstretched one of its vaguely human hands to grab her, but the diminutive figure dressed in black was too quick. For its efforts, Mare swiftly dismembered its free arm before she tried to climb on top of the creature. Unfortunately, it managed to buck her off with enough force to send her crashing to a nearby tree.

The creature then aimed its spear at her face and threw it, but Mare managed to tilt her head slightly to avoid the spear by mere centimeters. She stood back up and rushed head on towards the creature, ducking and sliding moments before it could hit her, and slicing its rear legs clean off as she slid past them. Now without a weapon and only an arm and leg left, the creature collapsed to the ground, seemingly accepting defeat. Mare calmly approached the monster, gazing at it with the same pity-filled eyes as before. As she raised her scythe to deliver the killing blow, she heard a voice call out to her.

"̷H̸o̸w̷ ̵u̸t̵t̷e̸r̵l̴y̸ ̵p̸a̸t̴h̶e̵t̶i̶c̵.̶ ̶I̸s̶ ̴t̵h̵i̷s̴ ̵t̴r̶u̷l̷y̸ ̷h̶o̷w̵ ̴y̵o̸u̸ ̴t̶r̶e̵a̵t̸ ̵y̷o̸u̷r̵ ̶s̸u̷b̸o̶r̷d̵i̶n̸a̶t̵e̵.̸ ̴K̸i̶l̷l̴i̴n̴g̸ ̶t̶h̶e̴m̴ ̸f̴o̶r̷ ̸s̵o̸m̴e̵t̷h̵i̶n̷g̷ ̵t̸h̶e̷y̶ ̶h̷a̵d̶ ̴n̴o̶ ̷c̴o̶n̵t̷r̴o̸l̴ ̴o̶v̶e̷r̵.̶"̷ ̸ The voice said in a mocking tone. "̴T̷h̴o̸u̸g̸h̷ ̶i̴t̷ ̶w̴o̸u̴l̷d̷ ̷s̶e̶e̶m̸ ̸t̴h̴a̸t̴ ̵t̶h̷i̵s̷ ̷r̶e̴s̸u̷l̸t̶ ̵i̷s̴ ̴t̵o̶ ̶b̷e̵ ̵e̷x̶p̴e̸c̵t̴e̵d̵ ̸f̴r̵o̶m̷ ̴a̶ ̷f̸a̸i̸l̶u̵r̴e̷ ̵l̸i̶k̸e̵ ̴y̸o̸u̴.̸"̶ ̷

Spoiler: Non Crazy Text

"How utterly pathetic. Is this truly how you treat your subordinate. Killing them for something they had no control over."

"Though it would seem that this result is to be expected from a failure like you."

"No... that's.. not true... shut up!!!" For the first time since the battle, doubt and insecurity clouded Mare's mind. The confidence and ruthlessness she displayed was now absent as the girl dropped her weapon and fell to the ground. She was rocking back and forth, both hands covering her ears in an attempt to drown out the voice, but her actions were futile as it kept getting louder and speaking harsher critiques.

"̶̨̟̏͠Y̷̫͈̌o̷̠̲̐ǘ̷̪̼̐ ̷̝̿c̵̼͓͐͌o̸͓̝̅û̷̱l̴͈͎̉̂d̶̛̩̑n̶̡̒'̵̢͈̉͂ț̴̻͌ ̶̤̖̀p̵̗̣̊r̷̲̂ȍ̸̧̠̃t̴̬̏e̸̺͊̎c̴̼͙͊̉t̷̢̅ ̷̮͖̎y̸̬̝͑̉ȏ̷̖̽u̴̱͚̔r̶͙̰̈́ ̶̞͎̉p̸̺̬̽ḛ̷͂͑o̶̼̰͆p̵̠̏l̵̲͆e̵̟͕͐,̵̥̇̇ ̸͓̇y̶̻̋o̶̭͌̋u̷͎̇ ̷̮̉ḉ̷͕o̶͔̩͆ų̴̪͑̽l̶̰̮̿d̷̯̭̈́n̸̰̞̉̌'̵̪̎͘ṭ̴̔̈́ ̷̤̖̂c̷̘̞͌ũ̷̲̈́ŕ̷̰̒͜e̷̬̽ ̶̛̘͘y̵͖̿o̶̠̓u̴̜͓̿r̸̝̹͒͝ ̶͇̈́̆l̵͚̟̾̀ǒ̴̥̤̕v̶̳̔e̵̠̓͗,̵̯͌͜ ̵̦͇̇̋y̸̘͙͘ỏ̶̫̬̆ǘ̸̳̻ ̶̨͚̀̚c̷̪͌o̷͉̓u̷̮̦̐l̷̢̿̀d̴̖͔͝n̸̪̦̏'̸̰͋̅t̸̩̍ ̸̪̋ḧ̸̥́́a̶̝͈̋n̵͎͝ğ̸̩ ̴͖̫̕ỏ̸͎̈ņ̴̮̎ ̴͙̠̓t̴̯̘̿ȯ̷̭̲ ̸͉̉͋ṯ̵͆ḥ̶̃e̷̫̖̊̚ ̶̢͚͋͆p̷͖̈͝o̸̳̞͗̾ŵ̶̞̒ę̸̒̈r̸̜͎̋̈́ ̴̛̟̉a̵͙̠͑n̵̬̜̽̊d̷̛͜͠ ̸͎͐r̵̢͙͌͊ẹ̸̺͂͠c̵̳̒͋o̷̝͋g̵̜̭̀̽n̶̨̿̔ḯ̷̡̟̊ţ̸̛̀î̸͍̤̈o̸̔ͅn̷͓̬͊ ̶̳͑̇y̴̟̔́ó̷̬û̸̻͐͜'̵͎̳͠v̸̪̋e̶̗̣̓͝ ̸̑ͅb̸̻̎e̴͙̒ȩ̷̃͊n̸̹̋ ̵͎̀ș̵́͠o̴͍̎̋ ̵̱̦̀͘d̵̖͛e̶̢̥̐̾s̴̺̫͑p̵͉̣̏ē̴̝̌ȑ̶̭̼̿ȃ̴̤̕t̷͙̑ẽ̶̠͔ ̶̨̰͐ṭ̴̤͑o̶͍̐ ̷̫̌p̸̰̾͐o̵̫̿s̶̡͛ś̶̡̭͐e̶̟̬͗͝s̸̻͗s̴͓̀ ̴̛͛͜s̷͓̗̎i̵̙͑n̴̢͉̕c̴̤̐͠e̷̲̽̈́ ̷̥͆y̵̥̻̓o̸̗̺͑ū̷̱ ̷̼̪́r̴͈̩̾e̷͈̰̋ĵ̸̡ë̷̤́c̶̬̟̅͝t̴̠͎̅̈e̸͓͎͆d̸̮́̒ ̷̩̀͌ẏ̶̹͓̊ò̸͎u̵̡͋r̵̬̉ ̸̳̫͊͑t̵̼͍̐̊r̶̨̲̈́u̸̞̓̕ë̶̟́̐ ̷̳̽̇n̵͔̚͝a̵̼̓̈́ͅt̷̮̐ủ̸̝͇͛r̵̖̈́ë̴͎́.̶̼̀̆ ̴͍̣̀A̷͈̾ṇ̵̋̚d̴̖̃̅ ̸͖̗̎y̷͓̤̓̚ọ̶͕̃̈́ủ̵̧ ̴̺͘ͅč̸͖̳͠o̴̳͑ú̴̩̿l̵̝̫͆d̵̡̧̑̓n̴̟̍͜'̸̡͘t̵̢̽ ̶̞̲͛p̷̫͆r̷͓̽o̵͍̔̿t̴̺̊e̵̳̳̿̈́c̸̲͂̎t̶̡̒̅ ̴͈̮͘t̶͕̪͐̈h̶̨̧͒a̷̧̍̉t̶̐̍͜ ̶̠̙͘p̵̘̟͘͠à̴̡t̵̯̿h̶̢̋è̷̺͓̓t̸̙̒͒i̶̟̬͐c̷̟͗̓ͅ ̵̼̓̃t̸͇̩͑h̶̑͝ͅi̵͕͓̓ǹ̴͎͉̓g̵̜̮̽̿ ̵̞́i̷̧̲̐̕ǹ̵͍̹ ̶͕͑̌f̴̯̘̊r̸̼̪͑ȍ̴̝̳n̴̝̏̏t̶͖͝ ̵̮̎o̷̤̳͂f̷̝̃͜ ̶̗̞̌ý̴͍ŏ̸̡̰́u̴͈͌̃.̴̭͎̒̐ ̴̯͐̄T̵͓̯͊̿h̴̢̏̀a̴̱̤̅̓ṫ̶͈̜̌ ̵̬̣̾̾w̶̜̎̿h̷̥͊̚͜i̸͔̾t̵̞͎̆e̶̙͌ ̴̛͓͇̾m̵̢̯̉u̸̲̥͘͝t̸̗̙́̚t̷̬̕ ̵͍̚w̷̡̰̕i̵̼̣͌l̴̙͓̿́l̸̛͓̈ ̷̥̈́̓s̵̡̭͌̆ő̶͔͇ǫ̷̯͑n̵͎̖̍̄ ̷̧̉s̵̨̹̎̑u̶̘͔͌͠f̷̱͠͠f̴̰͈̓́ę̵͚̒r̷̟̭͠ ̶̰̾̀t̸̬͕͊̐h̸̛̥̹̊e̴̘̬̿͝ ̶̟͊̍s̶͈̞͑a̸̡̽m̶͇̾̽e̶͕͇̔ ̶̫̂f̷̢̜̆a̵̱̩̒͝ť̴̾͜e̶̜̝̎.̷̢̲͋ ̵͓̟̈́͌A̴̠̬̍n̷̺̙̉̋d̴͈͗ ̸̳̯̈́ẇ̶̙h̶͍̘̓͝ę̶̹̑ǹ̴̜ ̴̻̑̚t̵̟͚͛h̷̛͚̥e̴͓͛̄ ̵̟̮͊m̴̞̍o̵̮̥͆ŗ̸̯̉t̷̖̆͝a̴͚̼̎̕ḷ̶̒s̸͕̼̔͋ ̸̜̾h̷͕̺̏å̷͖v̸̺̜́͂è̵̤ ̸̘͑̿k̵̭͐̉i̵̮̎̾l̸͇̂l̴͓͑e̵͖͕̒̄d̴̪̩̐̂ ̴̜̉ȅ̴̫̠v̷̭́̕e̵̛͓̟̓r̸̜̉͘y̴̘͋ͅȏ̷͉̕n̵̟̈e̵͉͙͛̚ ̶̡͙͌͋t̵͍͍́h̵͔͝a̴̮͚̽̓t̴̘̚ ̷̻̏ś̵̗͍͝ŏ̸͔͎ ̸̻̐ṃ̷̲̍͂ư̶̯̰̾c̵͔͐͜h̴͖̃͐ ̴̬̊h̶̬̊͝a̴̲̔s̸̠̞̏̕ ̴̝̉̈t̸͓͔͂̋h̶̞͆͝o̸͎̓u̵̱̒̋g̸̼̋h̸̤̃̽t̵͓̝̅̏ ̸̟̓a̷̰͙̒b̸̘̀o̴̮̍ủ̴̯͚ẗ̸̝̪́̆ ̸̡̙̉y̸̝̳͂o̸͚̪̓͋u̸̜̖̾̓ ̶̩̣̐̈́į̵̰̍n̴̹̬̾ ̵͎̅t̷͕̣̿͐h̴̼̰̑͂e̷͔͐ǐ̶̦ͅr̷̩̯̿̌ ̴̧͑̈́ĩ̵̠̍n̴̨̋̈́s̴̫̥̓i̸͖͕̇g̸̖̽̒͜ṉ̸̤͌͝i̷̼͂f̵̰̋̉i̴̪̱͑c̵̡͔͛a̸̬̎̾ñ̶̜͗t̴̜̯̓̾ ̵̺͆̔l̶̛̰̎ĭ̴͍v̷͔̋ë̷̮́̚s̵̘̊,̴̢̈́ ̶͔͔̈̇ý̴͔̯́o̵̜͐u̴̓̈́ͅ ̵͇̐͐w̸̟̃͐i̴̪̪̋̈́l̵̹̣̈́̊ḻ̶̛͖̇ ̷̻̹̋p̵̳͌e̴͚̍̎r̸̬͐͊ĩ̴̲s̶̠͍̀͑ȟ̸̘̥͝ ̸͔͓̃̈́ạ̸̚s̴͈̊ ̴̳͎͠w̸͉̿̓è̶̤l̸̲̳̂̍l̸̻̏.̷̙̼̊͌ ̸̤̿Y̵̤̓͠o̸̺̔ú̴̞͝ ̴̖̹̄͝w̶̖̣̋͝i̶̧̍͛ļ̷̂̊l̷̢͝ ̴̟͕̀d̷̯͛i̸̧̥̅e̷̢̦̎̆ ̶͙̯̉̚k̵̛͇͎̓n̴̯̜̿̾ó̶͈͕w̷͖͗̈i̵͙̓n̷̥͙̐͊ğ̷̬̞̌ ̴͕̇h̷̳̑̽o̵͓̖̓w̶̡̄̓ ̵̢̈́t̴̺̃̇r̷͍̄͛u̵͈͒͝l̶͚̼̈́͒ÿ̸͚̪͝ ̷̜̏̅h̷͈͍̍e̷̖̣͆͐l̵̫̈ṗ̸̞̺̽l̴͉̙̓̽ē̸̖͓͗s̶̱͝s̷͍̪̈́̂ ̷̛̫y̴̭̾ö̶̝ú̷͜ ̵͖͂ȃ̷̲̤r̴̼̽e̶̞͘.̴̈́ͅ"̴̹̑ It taunted relentlessly, its voice warping into an amalgamation of friends, loved ones, and the various citizens she once knew yet failed to protect.

Spoiler: Non Crazy Text

"You couldn't protect your people, you couldn't cure your love, you couldn't hang on to the power and recognition you've been so desperate to possess since you rejected your true nature. And you couldn't protect that pathetic thing in front of you. That white mutt will soon suffer the same fate. And when the mortals have killed everyone that has so much as thought about you in their insignificant lives, you will perish as well. You will die knowing how truly helpless you are."

"Shut up... shut up... shut up... ShUt Up... Shuttup... SHuTtUp... SHUT UP!!!!!" the desperate cries of the girl echoed throughout the forest, but little did she know that it was as quiet and still as she had entered it hours ago. Only she could hear "The Voice" and the whispers it tormented her with.

The warm sensation of something licking her cheek snapped Mare out of one of her "episodes" and brought her back to reality. When she opened her eyes, Kana was eyeing her with concern and whimpering at the sight of her mistress. She gingerly held her and embraced her, remaining motionless for a few minutes to savor the warmth and reassurance her most faithful companion provided.

After dusting herself off, she picked up Dreamsbane once again and finally put glénti out of its misery. She ensured to give the creature a proper burial in the forest before returning to the town with its spear in tow.

If she didn't generate enough buzz before when she initially arrived at the inn, everyone's eyes were practically glued to her when she returned. Many have witnessed the Knightmare use its weapon to hunt down travelers and townsfolk alike, thus nobody questioned its authenticity when they saw it in person. Even the innkeeper's sympathy-filled eyes were replaced with disbelief at the sight of it.

In return, Mare got a complimentary stay at the inn, as well as the reward money for killing the monster and bringing back its weapon. She had barely stepped into the door of her room when a bright glow radiated from her pouch accompanied by a low humming sound. When she discovered it was the key that produced the hum and glow. She sighed, not really wanting to attend a meeting after a tiring day, but it had been over half a century since she last met her kin.

Hesitantly, she turned around and used the key on the room's door, opening the entryway to Utos' realm. Upon stepping through the portal, she noticed barely noticeable, yet concerning changes to the space. There was a stillness to the air as if the whole realm was stagnating, though she supposed it couldn't be helped, given the sorry state most of them were in.

As she approached the meeting area, she saw that a lot of her kin had already arrived. There were a couple of friendly faces, and there were also some she rather had not seen again. As she reached the table, she was a bit relieved that Einar was nowhere to be seen. Wherever Utos had hidden his sleeping form, she trusts that it is somewhere far frim the prying eyes of both mortals and gods alike. If he had been here in this place, her heart couldn't have taken the sight of him after she had spent all these years searching for a cure in vain. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel weakness and despair. It was cathartic to acknowledge her own failure and shortcomings and it motivated her to try harder.

As she met Utos' gaze, Mare couldn't help but feel sympathy for the god. He looked unwell... even disturbed, yet he remained steadfast in his duties. She gave him a thankful nod before proceeding to take her seat on a rather simple chair with the marking of an owl perched on a bed etched on it. "Greetings, brothers and sisters. My heartfelt apologies for my tardiness. "

 

[Juju]

Utos & Cervasis
Solirus Sunsmiter Barbas seasonedcat Rust Zenritch The True Plague jmann Arai AiDEE-c0 palmtree219 ThatWhichShouldBe SirDerpingtonIV Historia Calamatium
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Cervasis arched their back and hissed at Guardian’s change of posture. Eyes flicked to the sword and narrowed.
<<“God of Thoughtlessness thinks that will stop us from swatting? It needs another to knock some sense into it!”>>

With neither side backing down, it looked like a fight between a cat and a bleeding suit of armour would soon take place. Thankfully, before violence could break out, Utos stepped in. He didn’t say a word, just tapped a finger on the table to draw the cat’s attention. Cervasis’ ears flicked back, then their head, and all rivalries between themself and Guardian were put aside.

Cervasis trotted back to Utos, tail held high, and rubbed their head against his hand. The cat then laid down on the table in front of Ruaka’s chair, paws tucked under their fluffy chest. They glared at Guardian with all three of their eyes.

“Ah, greetings. I hope I’m not late.”

Utos smiled thinly at the death god's arrival, as if amused by a private joke. “Never too late, my friend…”

His eyes passed over the newcomers, giving them a nod of reassurance to their apologies.

With the current council members assembled, Utos was ready to address the group. He stood up slowly and placed his hands on the marble table for support. He had always valued poise and structure, and even now went to great lengths to maintain this. A flash of pain crossed his face, but he took a moment to recover and kept it from his voice.

“I thank you all for answering my summons, and I must also apologise for the lack of communication over the past decades. As the withering took hold, I have been careful to conserve my strength for a day when the council would have need of uniting once more.”

He glanced across the etched marble table, grand yet more empty than full. Some had been slain in the battle against corruption, while the others had yet to show their faces.

“The Inquisition has grown considerably while we become scarcer and weaker by the day. I have taken note of their activities, and the fate of our fellows. From what my sources have gathered, the Inquisition has destroyed the remaining followers of Bilisis, Jericho, Lo’sha and Grymdlewynn. It is almost certain that those absent today have shared a similar fate. We all have had precious little contact, so forgive me if this news is sudden.”

While Utos’ voice was as composed and steady as ever, a grim shadow had settled over his face. Among those missing were Ruaka, and Utos had devoted a good amount of the past 50 years into searching for his trail. To admit his demise must have been a great source of pain.

“Very soon I shall be counted among them. When the two moons reach their zenith my very last worshipper will be executed.”

He paused. All gods present knew what it meant when a god lost their worshippers, and so Utos let the silence speak for him.

“By my contract I cannot interfere.” His eyes sharpened, as if even when facing death the thought of breaking his contract appalled him, “By their contract, no amount of torture can make them speak of their fellows…yet the inquisition found my devotees all the same. It is beyond me how they were rooted out, but I daresay it was the same technique used to hunt down and eradicate the elusive people of Lo’sha and Jericho. Let this serve as a warning to you all, and any who still cling to hubris.”

He looked frailer now, his proud stature somehow no different than a scarecrow strung up by tight threads. “Upon my death the contract that bound this council together shall fade into nothing but the word of those who made it. The Divine Council, as we know it, shall henceforth be disbanded. Its future, should it have one, will be up to you who remain. I only urge you all to remember dignity in what may be the final chapter of our godly legacy...”

With this said, Utos wearily sat down in his chair. Cervasis leapt down to curl up on his lap and the two listened to the distant flow of water while they waited for the other council members to speak.

---

→ The meeting isn’t over yet. I am giving you all an opportunity to ask questions and have your characters react to the current news. Depending on what questions and reactions are present, I will move the plot forward a little bit.
→ I will make Utos responses as questions are asked so feel free to talk to him and the other gods.
→ There is no post order, and since it is mainly conversation you can make shorter posts than usual. A short paragraph with dialogue is enough.

 

[Sunsmiter]

The Reaper​

Location: Divine Council

How ironic. The Reaper allowed himself a thin smile, detectable even when he had no face. It was always bad luck when the Reaper appears not as a grinning skull but as a grim absence, a foretelling of a divine death. And now, here they were, with a dying god and a broken council.

How deeply ironic.

The death god spoke of nothing, although the hollow hood that was his face may have shifted in sympathy. “Beloved Utos.” Even the Reaper himself knew not of what became of gods when they died. “You will find rest, whether it be oblivion or rebirth that awaits you.” While the Reaper may have had no face, not even a grinning skull, there was no mistaking the comfort within his actions, the simple act of soothing one so close to the grave. With practice, comes perfection, and the Reaper has long since perfected the grim art of soothing those who had no more sand left in their hourglass, and no more time left for their clock.

Casting his once-dreaded gaze through the assembled gods, the Reaper’s gaze was as cold as his missing scythe. Harpe had been torn away, its absence as terrible as a missing limb. Once they were gods. Now, they are little more than mortals. “These gods you speak of…they are dead, are they not?” A shame, really. Bilisis had been impressionable and Grymdlewynn had been completely unironically a somewhat close acquaintance of his. "Then I wish they may find peace, whatever may await them.”

But perhaps Death would be kinder. Utos had faced his demise with dignity, who was he to deny him that? (Well, he literally is Death, but that’s beyond my point). “Please, if I may ask, where will this execution be held?” Grimm did not believe that he could offer salvation, but perhaps peace would not be too far from his intentions. A quick and painless death leading to a merciful end.

 

[Barbas]

Belgrin sat in silence as Utos spoke to the assembled Gods, carefully listening to each and every word.



He never cared much for most of his fellow Gods, and was, for the most part, apathetic even when it came to the ones that he typically had better relations with, but hearing that more of their limited number had died stirred some negative feelings somewhere deep within him. Not feelings of sadness or anything other ridiculous nonsense. Such things were reserved for mortals and the more pathetic Gods. No, what Belgrin felt was fear. The fear of dying like a miserable wretch. The fear of being condemned to the oblivion that lies beyond death. Fear has a tendency of crushing the weak, but for Belgrin, it actually served as something akin to a source of motivation. It reminded him of what he was struggling against, and why he should never submit.




"I completely agree that it is vital for us to retain our dignity. We have all felt the ravaging effects of the withering, but we are still Gods, and must adhere to the standards expected of us. We must maintain our self-respect, and refrain from indulging in pathetic defeatism."




Juju

 

[The True Plague]

Ultio for his part, has just been staring at the table before him. After all, besides a polite and shallow nod from Utos, the young god had not been acknowledged nor nothing to acknowledge. No words spoken to him, no glances his way. Perhaps a consequence for never getting to know his fellow divine, huh? No matter. He can find other ways to be entertained as he waits for the reason they've been called! Like... Like... Ah yes, this table!

You see, this table was rather interesting. Nay, not for the design. It was obvious why a round table was chosen. It helped with the idea of a group of equals. Nobody at the head of the table, nobody hidden from view of another. However, he found the material to be more interesting. You see, this table is made out of tabl-

If anything could've pulled Ultio from his thoughts, it was what Utos had to say. Speaking so casually of the loss of four more gods at least, and revealing his own imminent demise... On some level, Ultio couldn't help but feel bad for him. In all honesty, out of all the gods that Ultio felt the Inquisition really could claim vengeance against, Utos wasn't it. The man has done nothing wrong, to his knowledge. He even was the one who bound them all by contract! It just wasn't right...

"I... Have a question." Perhaps he speaks out of turn? Perhaps a different god should speak first? Unimportant. "Well, really two, albeit directed at different people. First, Utos." Albeit his eyes remained hidden, it'd be hard to ignore how he turned his head to gaze at the doomed god. "How... Trustworthy are those sources on the others? Is it possible they've missed some?" Although the corruption, the withering, and even his own actions have somewhat hardened Ultio's heart, a fragment of the caring child he once was peeked out.

Hoping, likely in vain, that his fellows weren't truly gone. Albeit, perhaps for some selfish reasons, given he's yet to see any of the scant others born during the war. He didn't want this to be how he found out he was alone...

Before he could ask his next question, the Reaper spoke up with one of their own. A fair question, truly, however, it merely added to the questions Ultio had. For example...

"Would you happen to know, say, the names of the ones personally handling the execution, Utos?" The God of Vengeance, asking for names of those whom are doing the act that will kill a fellow God? I wonder why he'd want that...

"Apologies, I lied about having two questions. I do have a third one. For everyone else." Ultio's gaze would return to the center of the table, as he fiddled with the mask on his mortal disguise. "How do each of us feel about the Inquisition? Are we against their actions? For them? Do any of us see this as justice for the wrongs we have committed?"

Slowly, he'd clasp his hands together, settling them onto the table. "Are we going to do anything in retribution for what they've done to our worshippers? I ask, for the simple reason that this could be the last time we all meet. The Divine Council's time is waning. It has been fifty years, six moons, and thirteen suns since we all last met, as Utos pointed out. If we adjourn without any plans on working together, who knows if we'll see each other again. How many of our fellow divines no longer are with us since the last meeting?"

"Do we as gods choose to fade away peacefully, or rage against the dying of our light? Is it dying with dignity, if we choose to do nothing?"

Juju Solirus jmann Sunsmiter Barbas seasonedcat AiDEE-c0 palmtree219 Rust Zenritch SirDerpingtonIV ThatWhichShouldBe Arai Historia Calamatium

 

[Solirus]

At the behest of it's master, the cat returned to his side and Guardians attention now pierced the master, yet upon being able to more clearly see, the one seated across was none other than Utos. What scarce he could remember of him, was positive, he remembered memories of respect and understanding. His hand no longer gripped the hilt of his blade and now hung on the side. Once enough divinities arrived, Utos spoke once more.

From the depths of his very being, Guardian felt a tinge of sadness, yet could not express it in any way. His fellow god, his friend, was but mere moments away from an uncertain oblivion, that would only leave the rest of them with silence. To think that he did no recognize his voice earlier, something inside Guardian wanted to come out, to explode, but it could not, Guardian would not allow it.

As other gods began to talk, sharing their opinions and asking questions, their voices were drowned in Guardians head by his current goal. Standing from the seat he had stolen, Guardian walked slowly around the table, fully healing his wound just before reaching Utos. His gaze empty gaze gazed directly at Utos as he lowered himself so he wouldn't need to look down upon him. He slowly and carefully placed his hand on Utos's shoulder, "Before... you part from us... let me see your face one more time... so I may remember it... my good friend" Guardian struggled to utter his saddened words.

Juju

 

[AiDEE-c0]

𝕻𝖆𝖚𝖕𝖊𝖗

​

With her chin lain upon the table, Pauper's tired eyes followed the faces of the Gods. She recognized them, but the sight of her kin caused a strange feeling to come over her, a sensation she had been struggling with for quite some time. Although she knew their names, the shapes of the Gods lacked any sort of meaning. They were simply that—shapes—abstractions which meant nothing on their own. The dawning of that realization disturbed Pauper. It was like an uneasy haze had descended over her mind, depriving her of a connection to others. Or, perhaps. . . They had nothing to do with it? Her stomach rumbled.

Thankfully, her daze was broken by the approach of Tes-Nenet, who plopped an apple into her outstretched hands. It took a while to register, but after a few seconds of blankly staring at the fruit, Pauper rapidly brought it to her face, sniffing its surface as if to ascertain whether it was edible. Having confirmed this, she whimpered out a small 'thank you,' before digging into the apple with her uncut, dirtied nails. She paid no heed to Cervasis or the frankly unhelpful remark about taking care of herself, instead focusing all of her efforts into carving out two, similarly sized crescents of the apple's flesh. Triumphant, she kept one of the pieces for herself, sliding the other across the table to the closely-seated Severed Heaven. Ignorant to the happenings of most of the Divine War, she couldn't truly grasp why the majority of the Council disliked him, and in fact the two had maintained a strange kind of vagrant friendship. Even if she could scarcely tell what that friendship even meant to her nowadays, she still felt an innate impulse to share her spoils.

At the talk of death and the Inquisition, Pauper vacantly turned her head. Still seeping with water, her turning caused a few stray splashes to fly around her, wet fabric sticking to the sides of her face. In between speaking, she intermittently nibbled on the apple slice like a small rodent, as if anything more than a crumb at a time would destroy her frail stomach. Her voice was without timbre, more so a distant murmur than the declaration of a God.

"Everything is a seed we have planted; that is the only difference between Pauper and the mortals. Perhaps it was Pauper's purpose to seed the world, but she has lived too long and is no longer needed. If so, then the best thing to do is prepare to rest. The Gods are suffering, but if they retaliate, mortals will also suffer. Pauper would prefer them to be smiling and happy, and would be happy herself if they stopped hurting each other. She can make this happen only by fading away."

She expressed her honest stream of thought, feelings and ideas she believed to be her own. For a moment, she stopped, her eyes dimming further and her lips pursing as she spoke.

"Pauper would be too sad. . . living an eternity without her sister."

 

[Arai]

Altaqula

Goddess of the Water

- Irritated - AiDEE-c0 The True Plague - MORTAL FORM

So. That was that. Utos was finished, and the laws that bound them to these forms would fade from existence, like fog burned away by sunlight. As Altaqula sat back in her seat, she observed the reactions of her peers with some jaded view. Guardian was up quickly to offer condolences, and Grimm was drying to offer solace and some comfort to Utos, which actually comforted her somewhat. They'd known each other for a long time at this point, and Utos had, for many of those years, been the only force capable of getting them in the same room, willingly or otherwise. She was grateful that Grimm was still around. If anyone would have any idea of what awaited them beyond this world, it would be the God in charge of that passage. For all she knew, the Reaper would be the last creature left standing once the world was a hollow husk, devoid of life.

Several younger voices piped up, attempts to sound valuble among the last of divinity. Belgrin made a statement about self respect, to which she nodded her agreement at him. There was no reason, especially after so long, to throw a tantrum in her final years. Ultio's words attracted her attention, and she shook her head.

"How... Trustworthy are those sources on the others? Is it possible they've missed some?"

"We all received the call," she started, her voice low and loud. "It's impossible to ignore for too long. If they haven't arrived today, then the liklihood is that they have fallen already," The woman stood, leaving her cane leaning laziliy against the coral seat. "The actions of the inquisition, while awful, are no less or more than what we inflicted on the world ourselves," she said, her eyes not meeting some of the older ones, some who had known her history. Time may heal wounds, but it also makes things...complicated. "It's not justice, but it is merely the next steps in history. If our time is over, then that is how the waves have fell,"

"Do we as gods choose to fade away peacefully, or rage against the dying of our light? Is it dying with dignity, if we choose to do nothing?"

That irked her a little. Though she wouldn't dare say it, it was typical that the God of Vengeance was advocating for vengeance. To mention it would likely just incur anger, so she chose her words carefully. "I think for all we have done, we have earned the right to rest peacefully," she retorted. "We've earned the right to decide how we end. To die among those who have trusted me for so long would be an honor, regardless of the work of the inquisition," Part of her was surprised at how much she meant it. The past 40 or so years she had existed as Quinel had been some of the most eye opening of her many, many millenia.

Pauper seemed to agree, in her own strange way that she had, though her statement echoed Altaqula's own. "The work is complete. If we are not required, then we should retire and enjoy the fruits of our labour, and then depart," Though there was some part of her that wasn't convinced by her own words.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

"Do we as gods choose to fade away peacefully, or rage against the dying of our light? Is it dying with dignity, if we choose to do nothing?"

Severed Heaven

---

So. Utos would be dying soon. Death came quickly, it seemed. The Inquisition had more and more reach... Severed Heaven snorts as chaos reigns in the assembly, Ultio's words as barbed and bitter as always. Vengeance. Gods were as defined by their domains as they allowed themselves to be, and Ultio had drank deep of his own nature. Of course he would think of retribution; just as a bird would think to fly or a flame think to burn. Severed Heaven had once been such a god. But now he had much more practical concerns. The God of War stands from his throne, looking across the table at the other, assembled Gods.

"There is a matter far more important than vengeance or mourning at hand, first."

Severed Heaven's eyes settle upon Utos, his face having not changed at all from its placidity.

"The Artifact. With Utos's coming death, it can no longer be kept here. We must now find a new place to defend it, and a new Keeper. Even should all of us die, the Artifact cannot be permitted to be destroyed. Lest the World be irrevocably doomed."

He tilts his head.

"No reason for this world to die with its gods, after all."

 

[Sunsmiter]

The Reaper​

Location: Divine Council

He too would die one day. Perhaps in agony, like the goddess of treachery, perhaps in silence, like so many of his fellow gods. Perhaps when all else was gone, he’ll be left, the last candle guttering low before being snuffed out, for there is nothing more to die. But there is no point ruminating upon it now, was there?

"How do each of us feel about the Inquisition? Are we against their actions? For them?”

Upon Ultio’s words, the Reaper’s scrutiny turned to the younger god. “If you were to ask my opinion upon the Inquisition? Troublesome. Who are they to proclaim dominion over who lives or dies?” It is not so surprising that the Reaper was rather… displeased. The greatest sin(according to him, at least), was murder.

“Do any of us see this as justice for the wrongs we have committed?"

“And as for our sins, for what we have been condemned for…”

The Reaper’s grin was as cold as tomb ice.

“There is no justice in death.”

And of course, he would know.

The way the Reaper callously replied almost seemed cruel, if not for the fact his faceless grin was filled with sadness instead of mirth, understanding that had stemmed from an unlife of death. It was as if the word reminded the old god of something, of something he’d rather forget.

Just like how Misericordia was never avenged, there was no justice in her death, nor was there justice upon the grave of her traitor priestess. There was only the means of an end.

"Do we as gods choose to fade away peacefully, or rage against the dying of our light? Is it dying with dignity, if we choose to do nothing?"

“Do not presume any of us will die with dignity.” Again, one of his cold, mirthless chuckles, almost cruel within their frost. But there was no bite in the Reaper’s voice when he spoke. “There is no such thing as a dignified death. There is only death, and there is murder. This, as far as I can tell, does not resemble death so much as murder.”

The Reaper seemed to pause for a moment to gather his thoughts, frowning slightly at Altaqula’s words.

"I think for all we have done, we have earned the right to rest peacefully, we've earned the right to decide how we end. To die among those who have trusted me for so long would be an honor, regardless of the work of the inquisition.”

“You certainly have earned a peaceful death. I will not fault you for your wish.”

Sighing, almost instinctively, Grimm’s skeletal fingers tapped upon the surface of the table, curling around the bones of a scythe that no longer existed within his possession.

“Many mortals wished to die in their sleep, you know. It was, for them, the best way out. A peaceful death after a long life. It was said that if a soul died during their rest, the Horsemen would gently carry them into the afterlife. But sometimes the Horsemen would trip…and the victim would be spared for another night.” Grimm seemed to pull his attention back to the current matters with considerable effort. “But sometimes, they wouldn’t die peacefully. Sometimes, they had no choice given their circumstances.”

The absence of Harpe made it so much more difficult to…remember such circumstances. To remember such souls. His scythe used to carry so much of the burden now left to him alone.

“They were going to die. I’ve told them so. And these souls knew about it. Some wouldn’t try to fight me. They’d lie down and accept whatever cards I had dealt them, no matter how cruel they may have been. And I will freely admit….” Whereas, the Lady of Light had never existed and they were no more than the Reaper with different ideals and a bloodthirsty blade, the Reaper couldn’t exactly ignore his sins. “...once I had been quite fond of rigging the deck. While many souls have gambled against me, and lost, many simply never gambled at all. They chose to fold, even when they had nothing to lose. Most souls die when their clock runs out, simple as that. But some souls, the brilliant ones, the hateful ones, they chose to fight. To hide and flee whenever I drew near, even when I had told them it was hopeless. Many never escape my grasp. They die in silence, in agony, in whatever cruelties they have found themselves in. But some succeed. Some manage to escape my judgment.”

The Reaper shrugged. “No one can ever outrun me. But I assure you, mortals can stay ahead of me in this race for a long, long time before they are finally ready to rest. After all, they had nothing to lose."

Looking over at the empty seats, the deep sense of tragedy and eternal sorrow that has always surrounded the death god seems to amplify. “They didn’t deserve this fate.” It is unclear if he was talking about the missing gods or the dead worshippers. “Their only sin was faith.”

The poor souls. Mortals, snuffed out for a god that could no longer answer them. He speaks no further upon the subject.

Severed Heaven’s intrusion and his bluntness was refreshing. It lets one forget, even if there is so little of them left to forget.

“Very well then…where would you suggest it be hidden? The Garden of Bones is one possibility, I have heard of fugitives fleeing to the cemetery for refuge. But be warned. Even I cannot navigate its treacherous abysses.”

 

[Juju]

Utos & Cervasis​

---

Sunsmiter
Utos nodded at The Reaper’s reassurance, his eyes downcast, “I am grateful for your kind words, though in truth I have made my peace long ago. To make a sound contract one must account for every possible future. My end has been thought over in such careful detail that it is almost a memory. If I have any regrets it would be that I must rest before my duty is truly fulfilled…”

He fell silent again, petting Cervasis’s dark and glossy fur. The cat was purring now, just barely audible to the gods closest to him. He scratched the creature behind an ear and flashed a fleeting smile when Cervasis cuddled against his stomach. After a moment's respite the grim look settled back into his face.

“The latest word I received of the aforementioned gods was the inquisition’s successful eradication of their people and worship. Even still, I kept watch for any activity out of hopes my sources were misinformed.” His eyes followed The Reaper’s gaze towards the vacant seats that would never be filled again. “If they have not answered the call, then I must accept that the news of their deaths is indeed true.”

“As for my old friend’s execution, it will be held at The Sanguitorium of Ylares.”

---

The True Plague
Utos listened to Ultio’s questions, allowing the young god to speak his mind before giving him an answer. “Worshippers within my contract may not speak in lies to any of their fellows, and cannot speak secrets to our enemies. I trust them completely. That said, my devotees acquired much of their information from the knowledge passed on by merchants and caravans far and wide.”

His tired eyes lifted to Ultio and glinted with mild approval. While Ultio may be considered the youngest, and perhaps inexperienced god, he made up for it with brilliance and a desire to challenge what was known. Such inquisitiveness was something he could have shared with Shiie, had he known her before everything went so very wrong.

“I too questioned the information received, afterall what one wholeheartedly believes to be true may not be so. No contract may change that. Over the years I have gathered all the information I could on the activities of our council, even those thought to be lost. The trail did indeed end for our missing council members, yet my summons were the last of my tests. If they haven’t answered my call, even with a messenger in their place, then I have little reason to question the evidence before me.”

Utos frowned at Ultio’s next question, something that was to be expected from the god of revenge. “Seeking retribution will not change anything, nor do I seek to be avenged. Even if I were to tell you, Ultio, I could not give you their name. It is unknown to me.”

As for the last of Ultio's questions, Utos simply sat and listened to the comments made by the council. For the first time since the council's founding Utos would be unable to have a say in this critical decision.

---

Solirus
“Ah, there you are, Guardian.” Utos said softly, a relieved smile on his face, “I had wondered if you’d join us in the end.”

Like all of the other gods, Utos had clearly seen Guardian’s entrance into his realm. It was almost as if he wasn’t even talking to the armored god in front of him, but someone glimpsed far off in the distance.

Utos’ eyes softened as he turned his face towards Guardian, as he requested. His features looked worn, young – as many mortal forms of the gods appear – and yet aged beyond the years. Dark shadows had firmly taken root below his blue eyes which despite it all remained as steady and clear as the lake of his realm.

“I’m afraid I am not quite the same as I was." His chuckle was bittersweet "I do hope one day you can remember me for what I did, and not what I am or became.”

---

---

~~ Mini plot advancement ~~
ThatWhichShouldBe Solirus The True Plague Sunsmiter Arai Barbas seasonedcat Rust Zenritch AiDEE-c0 palmtree219 SirDerpingtonIV Historia Calamatium ​

---

---

"The Artefact is the true reason for this meeting." Utos replied to Severed Heaven, voice weary.

Simply bringing up the topic made his shoulders sag, as if from an invisible weight. Utos glanced between Severed Heaven and The Reaper as they discussed the new location of The Artefact. Utterly exhausted, Utos did his best to keep his composure.

"There is no need." He said, voice smaller than usual.

He reached into a pocket to produce a ring of delicate keys. He plucked one off and passed it to Cervasis who held it between sharp fangs and leapt up onto the table.

The three-eyed cat bounded across the table and placed the key flat onto the very centre of the marble surface. It sunk into unseen ridges, which flared outwards with a dull golden light. There was a crisp sound of marble grinding together as the centre of the table opened up and a pedestal rose from the ground.

All of the gods, or at least the ones that could see, knew what The Artefact looked like. Afterall, they had been there when it was blessed. It was a sphere of perfectly interlocked rings, giving the Artefact an appearance of having no clear beginning or end. Each of these rings slowly floated in a circular orbit around a central source of light – the very essence of the gods’ divinity. In Utos’ fashion, these rings were slotted with keyholes, ones that would match each council member’s key. If one were to horribly oversimplify the most powerful divine artefact to date, it could be considered a very intricate and powerful lock mechanism.

It had been broken from is use in destroying the corruption, and afterwards had lost most of its glory. Cracks had formed onto the rings, some of which had shattered completely, and the light source representative of their power had faded into an ember. The rings had stopped orbiting, but still they floated in their appropriate places.

What sat upon the pedestal was nothing like that.

In fact, it was hardly anything at all. Black flakes littered the clean surface of the pedestal, forming a pile of rusty grains and ash. Not even a glow remained.

“What you see has been recent. I cannot pinpoint just when, but it has occurred within the last year. My realm’s fragility has limited my ability to personally check on The Artefact. At most, I was able to oversee its status on a yearly basis. When I received word of my death my first priority was to assure its safety. I returned to find it in this state.”

Utos paused, frowning deeply with concern and remorse. Cervasis had returned to lay on his lap, though was now looking out upon the lotus-filled lake. Their ears were pricked up, tilted towards the sound of running water.

“I cannot say for certain what has caused this,” Utos continued, his face crestfallen, “But I can only presume our withered powers can no longer sustain it. Perhaps our recent losses have finally reached a tipping point?”