bottomless & real

"One day the magic will come back, and Chaos will once more rule the world. All of it. Do you not think so?" the nature of her voice matches her outward appearance: haunting and veiled in ancient mysteries. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide, and the moon will spill into the ocean and the ocean will flow into the vein of the world. One day, ancient, arcane powers will fill the void of the earth and none shall dare deny its divine glory again. goes unsaid. Instead, says she: "You are a pellar... and yet. So very unafraid of death and the gods." more of an observation than a question.

even an ancient thing is a child to death. that is how she sees them, mages and witchers and mere mortals alike ; they stumble unheedfully into danger, they create it unthinkingly for each other, they spurn the very hands that could aid them if they would only reach for each other, hold onto each other, aid each other. "you will want the common folk on your side when true war comes, miss," hel's voice is gentle - - - not chiding, but friendly and soft despite the reeking smell of ash and flesh heavy in the air, "and though i do not doubt you could cause a great deal of harm if you would like, there are more of them than you ; and even if they cannot catch you, then will catch others and burn them in your name if you give them cause - just or not."

she knows there is the knowledge of one who has seen war in her words when perhaps ragna the pellarwoman would not have seen such horrors. that is the good thing of this disguise ; a pellar is well-read. a pellar sees truths in the carvings on thrown bones and the dregs of a cup of tea. she can fall back upon that if she is questioned too heavily. the flowers in her hair smell a touch too strong as hel turns - - - the smell of a perfume sprayed in a house touched by plague to cover the scent of cloying death. she smiles gently and shrugs one shoulder as they step away from the pyres.

"Would you like to repeat that again?" Loki asked in a hiss as he took a slow step toward the boat captain. His dark leather boots pressed against the old, worn, wood of the docks. Blue waters swelled into white-capped waves as the sky blew icy winds into shore. "The free city of Novigrad is now locked?" He questioned as if he was daring the man to agree with him. Rarely did Loki keep up with the humans of this city. Speeches, announcements, rules- It was all drivel. Men telling gods how to act was damn near disgusting. The thought of it alone made acid sting his throat. Before the captain could speak Loki grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in nice and close. "I have work elsewhere, and I bought myself a seat on this boat to get that work done." He ground out his words as if they alone could hurt this fool. "I suggest you get moving or reimburse my ride and my wages lost or-" He spin them both and shoved the captain's heels to the edge of the dock, holding him by the front of his shirt so he would not go plummeting into the cold waters below. "Pary to the gods you don't freeze before making it to shore."

"relax, kit," her voice is a gentle chide from the end of the dock that carries on the cool, wet breeze. hel stands quite still there with one hand upon the dark shawl that covers her shoulders and is drawn up over her head against the whipping wind that draws off of the water, the other curled 'round the handle of a basket that clinks with glass phials and jars. hel knows the man before her - kit - is more than he claims ; she is fairly certain he knows the same of her. that does not mean he ought to threaten to drown random humans for faults they have little control over, "the poor captain scarcely controls the city gates, nor does he pay your wages. i would think the fare for the ride is more than enough recompense."

There were a few of them he had kept an eye on, if only to know when to avoid them, as to not have them know he was alive. But now it didn't seem to matter aymore, the life he had so carefully try to build crumbling down. Baldur knew all of it was on him, no fingers were pointed elsewhere than at himself. Still, it did't mean none of it hurt, even after all this time. The God felt like there was two he owed a visit to, Freya and Hel. Facing Hel felt easier than the other option. She had to have known he wasn't truly dead, would surely have been asked to roam her own world to search for him. And as if the chaos of showing his face wasn't enough, the Eternal Flame had decided to take a even stronger hold on the city, something that deeply troubled him. He had come to care for the humans and nothing good could come out of this. "Hel," he said softly as he neared the other. Vidar's words still rang inside his head, how he had been deemed a traitor for not avenging him and he could only hope not many had paid the price of his choices. "It's been a while."

As soon as Týr had taken off their coat, they went to their bed, knelt down on the floor in front of it and took out a thick book made of skin, which they had kept under their bed. It was an old book and it contained many of the stories that the people of Novigrad and far beyond had told each other about the gods. Týr had found it hilarious when they first saw it, so they had to get it, but they never bothered to read it, and now they only used it to press the flowers they found and wanted to show Hel.

she watches them move, sliding the familiar shape of a heavy book out from beneath the bed. "it's alright," she replies easily as she watches him rifle through the pages with deft hands until he finds what they are looking for. the flower is taken with a delicate touch and she turns it carefully in her hands. "pressed works just as well to look at as fresh," gaze drifts from the flower to týr and then back again.

Such terrible a notion, had she thought then, no more than a girl of five and ten moons; how foolish must one be to truly believe that. To die, she had thought, had always thought, still thought, to die is to be extinguished; to die is to lose all light, a cruel, unfair fate. She was not afraid of death- no. She was repulsed by the idea of it- the idea that something or someone could put death itself in her path; that something could take away her choice; she would leave this world, when she chose to do so. The cruelty, the finality of it meant nothing to her; the unfairness of it though- that, she could not accept.

"The Flames." was her plain answer to her, her voice ice cold and distant, like wind in the leaves of summer trees. She watched the pyre made raw and thick with burning, feeling some thing deep inside of her turn cold and bitter,  that endless rage she had felt as she had stood all morn before the pyre, watching her people burn, rising higher and higher, until, she too, was fire herself, her anger a match, struck and sparking.

Her gaze was aflame with fires of fury and wrath, too, a violent shade of blue, like stars pouring from the sky

"and where are their gods, now?" she offered in answer, feeling the heat of the fire before them spill into her skin- her cheeks, her neck, every last inch of her body, burning with it. She tore her gaze away from the fire, then, to cast it toward the woman stood near her, now, her eyes twin flames of violet-blue fire. "they mock the prayers of burnt and burners alike."

Faith. what a cruel joke.

"oh, they are closer than you think." there is no question to these words as the pellarwoman smiles gently at the mage before her. her own face flickers and shifts in the firelight in a strange and almost unnatural way - but only for a moment. blink once and it is as though half her face has sunken in to a skull, blink again and both cheeks are full and slightly pink in the firelight. her eyes are golden one moment, golden as flames or molten metal, and then a cool and indifferent blue the next. a trick of the light, perhaps. a trick of the eyes, seared too long by flame stared into for such a period.

"some are likely cheering over these matters," humans devouring each other leaves less to obliterate at a later date, "others less pleased. trust me, you would not want their intervention," so oft when her ilk meddles in the matters of humanity it only ends in more souls drifting through her realm ; no matter how much they try to aid they seem to destroy with their overly powerful fingers, "i fear there would only be more bloodshed if they tried. though i'm sure you know the old stories of what occurs when gods meddle in mortal affairs ; i will not lecture you."

her shoulders roll in a gentle shrug and hel turns her gaze once more towards the flames, towards the vague shape of what and who began it still lingering. they are safe, now. they are quiet in her home. they are free of pain, of suffering, of life. hel likes to think herself gentle. not kind, necessarily, but not the harsh and deliberate hand humanity so often thinks of herself as. death is not an END, really. it's something else. a beginning to something mortals know nothing of and thus fear.

"hardly an accusation ; simply a what if," hel smiles gently and motions for him to walk alongside her, "oh, i have no worries for my own head. they won't come out here for some time, surely, and when they do i will be gone." hel does not doubt those who reside in the city are in graver danger than a pellar on the outskirts ; she does not flaunt magic so openly and could hide behind the deniability of selling teas and no magic for a day or two long enough to vanish. besides, they cannot kill death.

It was a rare sight that Týr wasn't surrounded by people he barely knew, and that his walls weren't as high as Yggdrasil. The truth is that no matter how much they surrounded themselves with people, these strangers would never truly know the god, not really. That's why they so often found their way to Hel's hut, where they could pick flowers with her and enjoy a moment of peace without expectations. An almost silent sigh of relief left his parted lips as she agreed to accompany him and took his arm. He hadn't realised how much he needed to be with someone who understood him and who allowed him to let his guard down.

perhaps it is because she is used to being around people, or perhaps it is because they know each other so well, but it is easy to read the relief on their face at her acquiescence to the request. týr has always been the more personable of the two. in moments of great stress hel would be glad to be alone ; týr requires company.