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Fantasy Shepherds of the Long Gone

Sub Genres
  1. Magical
  2. Supernatural

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxxHe felt bad. Of course, he'd always felt bad, since really letting the reaper's life sink into his understanding. An endless servitude, thankless. The way it wore on the other was more clearly displayed than ever, and it almost made Misha exhausted for him. Would he trade Ghost- if such a thing was possible? The question floated through his head, and as he thought on it, he spoke "Ha, perhaps. Then I'd be out of a job. Although maybe that's a good thing... I mean, have you met the people running the system? The more complicated it is for everyone else, the easier it is for them. This afterlife food chain is brutal..."
 

tooth

it/its
Ghost nodded, a sigh as he relaxed, ever so slightly. Talking to Misha about his frustrations seemed to immediately ease him, being able to voice thoughts he'd otherwise have no opportunity to. "It is. And I am never really sure if the ascent is worth it."

Ghost sat back, redirecting his gaze up towards the sky, the stars reflecting in his glazed-over, tired eyes. "After all these years, I'm not even sure if there is a god--or gods? None of my brothers or sisters have ever met such a thing, and none of us know where we came from. Who is to say these souls are going somewhere when they're gone?"

He closed his eyes, slumping. "Perhaps all we are, are cleaners."
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxxMisha arched a brow and then turned his gaze upwards "No god, huh? Popular belief among humans. Maybe the prize for being a good person is just getting to do it all over again, different. As someone or something else. And if you do it wrong- you get to be stuck being 'wrong' in some forsaken pit that's over a hundred degrees. Seems a little...rigged." He made a face. If even death hadn't met God...How suspicious. Then again, who was he to think about things above his pay grade. Although, that would stick with him through the years "If we're just maids- Wonder what happens when the house is finally clean..."
 

tooth

it/its
Ghost shrugged, the weight on his shoulders nearly visible. "Who can say. Maybe I finally get my vacation."

He stood from where he sat, pushing himself up with his scythe and walking over to Charlie's corpse. He leveraged the end of the scythe underneath the soul, prying it out of the man's body without leaving behind a wound. He held the wisp in his hands, before tossing it to Misha.

"Keep good care of him for me. At least for the trip down."
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxx"Would you even know what to do with yourself if you got a break?" Misha scoffed softly, amused, before he jolted to catch it gently. He wasn't sure that the soul could feel anything like this, but he was still careful with it none the less. Even if there was nothing more to Charlie than what story he'd left behind and the memory of him- if any. Some people live and died without a trace. Perhaps sometimes that was the better way to do it in this world.

Misha held it with two hands, closing his fingers around the wisp, although it didn't feel like much. One day, this would be him. In some other poor bastard's hands. Another harbinger, more than likely. Would they be as kind with him, then, or would he be another job before they continued the cycle? Who was to say. He sighed before looking back up to Ghost instead "Yes sir. Couldn't be in better hands...Er, as far as a trip to Hell goes." He winced, before offering a reassuring smile. Partly for the other, partly for himself.
 

tooth

it/its
Ghost chuckled something low and half-hearted at the comment. "No, I probably wouldn't. I've walked for so long I'm not sure my legs would know how to stop." He leaned on his scythe, staring down at the corpse one last time. He turned this stare to Misha, and the exhaustion plain on him could make anybody who met his gaze tired in their own right.

"My sentiments make me tempted to take the trip down with you. If the devil doesn't bar me at the door."

It was no secret to Misha by this point how Ghost felt about the devil. There was a history there he'd never communicate, just a frustration he had frequently voiced. The wish to go down to a place he despised so much indicated that this Charlie was more than just a sentiment.
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxx"Worst case scenario, he bars you. Best case scenario, you get a friendly trip down to the Arizona of the spiritual world. Come on, it's a lonely trip otherwise. And Charlie doesn't look like he's in much of the mood for conversation." Misha made a peek between his fingers at the wisp, that pointedly made no movements or sound otherwise, before looking back up at Ghost expectantly- and somewhat hopefully. He was never fond of trips down to Hell, even if it was literally half of his job. The flames always licked his skin on the way out as if to remind him of a promise made long ago, inescapable and patient.
 

tooth

it/its
Ghost groaned a noise of consideration, clearly thinking on it. His eyes closed, he leaned his head back and forth as he weighed invisible pros and cons. Finally, with a sigh, "Very well. I'm sure the bastard is too busy for me anyway." The reaper tapped his scythe, a resolution being made with the action.

The thud of the scythe echoed, and Ghost looked to the side with a melancholy. "... It's been a long time since I've bothered to make the trip." He turned his gaze to Misha, expression mixed with a reservation about this decision. "I hope you don't mind leading the way."
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxx"He's too busy for most people. Even his own demons, I hear." Misha nodded, agreeing with the other man. Whether he was actually agreeing with him or pulling the words out of his own ass was anyone's guess, however. Still, he very carefully held onto the wisp as he turned "Of course not. I'd probably know how to get there with my eyes closed at this point. And if I didn't, it wouldn't be hard to follow the smell of sulfur and brimstone."

There were a multitude of ways to get to Hell depending on one's species. Some Harbingers had their own straight away tickets. Older Harbingers, one's that had sold away their eternity- an option Misha would be given once he'd paid his dues on his current deal. For now he, and most others like him, had to find specific 'hotspots'. A play on words, as it were. Gateways into Hell that could be opened if you had the right knowledge. Some of these gateways were even popular attractions among humans, often visited by paranormal investigators and the likes.
 

tooth

it/its
Reapers were not granted such privileges, however. Finding a way down to the depths was usually predicated on a lot of luck or the following of a particular vendetta. As far as Misha knew, there wasn't a single reaper he'd ever met who was ever interested in making the trip in the first place. Most hesitated at the idea of Hell itself, let alone going there, and it was clear that the subject was a touchy one. Ghost never expressed anything resembling this wish before, but his reservation soon turned to a resolute anger as they made their way to the nearest hotspot, the embodiment of death's knuckles white as he gripped his scythe so securely.

It was a dark patch of forest, death lingering in the air from so many who had ended their lives there. Charlie himself not being far off from this patch of land, locals considered it something cursed and unnatural. The footsteps of the two echoed across the trees.
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxx"Never put them somewhere pleasant do they...Couldn't put a gateway on a beach for a change...Maybe in Hawaii, I don't know..." Meanwhile Misha mumbled and grumbled, mostly to himself but completely audible as his eyes shifted from left to right. He'd joked about the smell, and while they would be hit with both scents once they'd passed through the portal; the real way to find a hotspot was to feel for it. Somewhere that made the hair on the back of your neck stand straight and your skin crawl. In fact, the gateway had been put here due to the unfortunate deaths that had happened here, and not the other way around as locals would breath under quiet breaths.

Trudging through the now seemingly even darker forest, Misha twisted around a tree to step into a tight fit clearing. Ironic enough it seemed to be the most lush, as not even the animals dared to approach it. They could feel it too, and they knew better. Birds fell silent around the area. There wasn't a single sound to be heard here except for the two of them. That, and the sound of crackling, crumbling, smoldering ground as Misha opened the gateway. The clearing seemed to set itself ablaze, stopping at the tree line, hellfire unable to burn anything past that. The heat itself made Misha want to gag there and then as it smacked him full force, pushing out from below as if having been waiting to escape. Almost comically, a stairway presented itself, diving deep beyond what the eyes could see "...Or a railing. How about a railing." He sighed, stepping down.
 

tooth

it/its
Ghost being so surrounded by death, he was neglect for the feelings the gateways would give onto others. The forest was just a forest to him, the deaths here just natural occurrences that any space would be filled with if you went back far enough. He followed Misha, looking around for any sign of the something darker, only noticing it when the birds went quiet and the ground got hot. He stepped back, positioning his scythe in front of himself for defense as the gateway opened up, setting the surroundings ablaze, and easing only slightly when nothing horrific jumped out at him. The heat drew sweat across his brow, but he otherwise didn't react to it, his body enough of a husk to take the brut of it.

"Aye, a railing is too much of a luxury for this place." He followed, his scythe being used as a walking staff.
 

BlueJae

Risen from the dead
xxxxxMisha watched the man pull his scythe forward and made a face "What are you worried about, you're a walking tank. With a proper weapon." He could only imagine how easy his job would be if he were anything like the other man. Or, you know, had a scythe at his disposal. Walking staff or not.
Misha was skipping steps. He could feel his blood beginning to boil, but couldn't tell if that was an exaggeration or a fact. Dropping a soul off in Hell wasn't so much throwing it into the flames as he'd originally thought on his first trip down. It was the same time he'd learned some demons were less monstrous, and looked more human than creature. That in itself had been terrifying. But Hell was as much chaos as it was organized and functioning. He would give the soul to it's proper torturer based on the crimes Charlie had committed throughout his life. Once the demon collected the soul and confirmed it's place, Misha would be allowed to leave as he pleased. He had never witnessed what happened were you to bring the wrong soul to Hell. He did not want to.

He would find his final footing on what appeared to be a bridge, one of many, all of which stuck out from a center piece like legs on a spider. The heat was obliterating here. Fire flowed under them, through the rocky structure, and crackled out into the air. In the center were six towering spires, hooked at the top like fangs. In them, Charlie's soul would be weighed for the final time, and assigned his enteral damnation "I wonder if they have offices down here. With AC. Or just a fan. Airflow. Lakes of fire and magma, because that was such a great choice in aesthetic." Misha grumbled, mostly to himself, striding along.
 

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