#ostegoth

I was playing Darksidera II again and is just me or Ostegoth implied that the Nephilim killed his peoples and world, with them forgetting about it?

This phrase always left me believe this:

The history of my people was burnt to ash, along with our world. Forgotten even by those who... destroyed them.

It can gives a depth of how Nephilim easily forget or forgot the races and worlds they destroyed, with just a few worth remember to their standards. After all, Ostegoth people were likely merchants and were likely not warrior worth of the Nephilim memories and conquests.

My entry for Darksiderstober Day 26 "Merchant". Decided to draw my two favorite merchants from Darksiders, both Ostegoth and Vulgrim in my bebez style. Hope ya like, prompts are here , and stay tuned!

Art and style are mine

Ostegoth and Vulgrim belong to Darksiders universe

Prompts by @another-darksiders-blog

You didn't really care for Death in the beginning, nor had he cared for you. But you had honestly come to consider him a friend. This was intensified, of course, by the fact that he was the closest thing you had to one now.

Why? Why? Why?

You knew it was selfish as you stared into the empty eye sockets of the mask and wished so desperately to see orange eyes roll. You knew deep within your heart that he was at peace when he went, protecting what he thought was worthy of protection.

And that included you.

Despair to one side, Dust to the other, and Harvester lay before you. You knew you had to take care of them, but no one had told you how or who to ask.

Dust squawked in warning as the heavy thuds of sandals approached. By the grunts and the faint, hollow taps of wood on wood, you knew it was just Ostegoth.

With great effort, he lowered himself to the ground next to you. For awhile you sat in silence, staring at the now closed doors of the Tree together.

"I keep expecting him to walk back out. Yell at me for taking his stuff. Something." You didn't look at him as you spoke.

"If that is your belief, I will sit and wait with you." The merchant tapped the ashes from his pipe and began to delicately refill it from a bag at his waist. Every move was deliberate in the silence that stretched once again between you.

It was his turn to break it. "The hardest part of the climb up is finding the first foothold."

"My heart is too tired for some vague spiritual guidance right now."

"Today, you will start your journey. Tomorrow, you will do the same, but it will hurt a little less. And the day after," he sighed the smoke from his lungs, "even less."

"I don't know where to start."