#weptduty

DISCO ELYSIUM // accepting . @hinterlnds @weptduty

The All Mother tends to her gardens; in the distant there is a soft fluttering of wings - both of those made out of feathers and those of scales and her laugh is crystalline and as soft as the early morning sun that pours in.

   "No child is born with a name taken and chosen by themselves!" she doesn't look up, instead she used her own lithe fingers to cut through the flowers that had come to full bloom. Plucking one, she slowly allows them to fall on the basket "It is always their mother that picks it."

Cutting another bud, she glances towards where Landalen stands. Dark eyes watch him carefully for but a moment. His brow is heavy, mind preoccupied. Mythal had come to learn that even the oldest of her children came to this place, sooner or later, they all looked upon their hands and wondered:

I did not choose this, did I? I was brought here. What have I done?

The panic sets in and Mythal wonders if the flesh and blood of this world would always feel too limiting for one whose lines were drawn by her hands. But the People were too born of flesh, no longer by her hand, no longer by her will alone, but born unwilling all the same. And with each first breath they drew life into this world. To find a place within, to find the love for the wind, the sun and the sea.

To taste the labours that they had worked so hard to provide: was that not worth being brought forth from the simmering, unknowable and distant breathing of the world for?

   "It is a beautiful name, is it not?"

She smiles and it is warm. It warms up the air around them, the flowers bloom softly turning to her as she walked now towards her child. One hand falls on his shoulder, bringing him closer. Fingers as warm as the first rays of sunlight, the caring protected fingers of a mother pulling a lost child into the safe harbour that is herself.

𝒯here was recognition in their eyes now, the reprimand and disapproval to what had been thought no more than a wandering elvhen encroaching too close to the gods unbidden giving way to something more appropriate to one closer in rank. Now it was a disapproval of rank.

Ghilan'nain did not blame him. She hardly looked the part of any divine entourage, much less either priest or favored of the Lady of Fortune. Wispy seawave eyes looked down to examine herself; all the trappings and armaments to mark her to Andruil had been left abandoned in the goddess's wing of the city, save the stark mark of her Lady's vallaslin.

It was hardly appropriate, and no doubt she would hear scoldings from more than merely Landalen when others got wind, but it was their nature to be distracted. It was a rare thing to return to Arlathan, and curiosity was, as ever, a powerful and directionless thing.

   "I see..." she starts, pulling in the air and as she exhaled she felt the world breathe out with her. The air was fresh, crisp and the wind as caring as the hand of one's love upon their hair "the future of our People."

Her laughter is carried by the wind and all around them the small streams all come to a standstill, the wind fully caught in between her dark fingers. In the distance she can hear the music they will sing in the streets. When she stepped atop the grass she could feel the patterns of stone beneath her feet. When she breathed she heard the many breaths right before their laughter, her children's laughter echoing through her ribcage like the beating of her own heart.

Her dark eyes look to Landalen as she holds his hand. With him and Wisdom by her side, she could stand by the shores of each body of water and see it.

   "Clearer and clearer," her hands are warm and she can hear their heartbeat sync with hers as she pulled him closer, walking across the small stones of the clear water that slowly reflects the sky above. With a wave of her hand, in the water, spires of gold and green rise. Elves just like them walking the streets. Mythal looks to the world with eyes wide open and she hears its heartbeat in her own ears like her own "I can see it reflected in the surface of this river."

It would be a thing of beauty. They would get to see and feel it all. The way of the wind against the tree leaves, the taste of food upon their tongues, the fruits of their love upon their hearts. The vision was equal parts intoxicating as it was breathtaking. Even when she closed her star-filled eyes, Mythal could still see it. Just by dreaming it, by seeing it at each moment she breathed, she knew that it would become a reality.

They would come to them, and they would aid and fulfill their every need. She would provide them shelter, food, the soil and the sky above would belong to them all.

Mythal smiles openly, pulling him closer to her and kissing his forehead before she steps into the water. The wind erupts around her once more as she laughs, lifting the water until they meet the clouds above "It fills me with joy."

                    __

   "I see..." pausing, her mouth hangs open though she has the word at the tip of her tongue "Us."

   "Like looking through a cracked mirror. Or..." her brows arch and she gives him an apologetic smile "I guess, ever shifting waters."

Not unlike shadows, she supposed.

   "It..." fills me with dread. That they should be stuck in this place. Not quite able to move from the past and now left wandering without a clear goal or meaning to their lives. She wondered what sort of power must have kept them there - if it had been by choice or that too as part of the many things she didn't know about Mythal, about the Evanuris as a whole.

Perhaps it was her own heartbreak that spoke it, that broke her brows and broke her gaze from him down to her own fingers. Down to the anchor on the hand. She wasn't sure how to feel about it, beyond the immediate reaction of disappointment and heartbreak at the understanding that they knew they were out there and worse that they thought so little of Asharen's people. She would need to sit with it for a while longer.

   "It is not the answer you... were expecting or perhaps would even want, I'm sure." she adds, cutting through the silence and glancing up to them through auburn lashes. There is pity in her eyes, yes, and she hated that it was so transparent. Pity, anger, disappointment. She wished she could help them, but she felt that anything she was to tell them would be met with the same aggression that she had met in the temple. She wasn't sure she could hold herself to what the Inquisitor needed to be, not in that moment, not about this "But... It is the truth."

approval + (prompt) // not accepting // @wepthonor @weptduty

   "Will you leave me also, Landalen?"

Do you think me a heartless monster too? she asks though the words take form in all other ways except in her voice. Light eyes look beyond the murals that would be destroyed in the morning. A mother in mourning, she knows this is one of the things she cannot stop. To allow or show any more sympathy or favouritism would be to paint herself into a corner.

Perhaps she was already in one; and perhaps the bars that kept her in place simply resembled the halls shed walked too closely. Her attention moves from her champion to look upon once more to the Wolf's murals. The fingers that had brought a symphony to the world touch the golden mosaic and it feels cold - she had once shown him how the cliffs fell under the weight of the sea, how the wind fluttered the leaves of trees. How warm the sunlight felt atop skin.

How could he leave her now? Now that they needed to be strong more than ever. How could he turn his back to the work they had all done, after all that they had done? After all they had sacrificed?

   "When I was young and the world was still to be made," she starts and the gold beneath her finger dulls, from beneath the wall a deep green starts to crawl, cracking stone. Taking a step back, she hears the breaking of her heart just as easily as a earthquake would make itself heard "I never thought that I could feel such sorrow and not be made undone by it."

It was such a wonderful thing, to know that your form was immutable and that despite devastation that all might fall apart but you should remain. Changed for there was no living without change. Cruel and unwavering change would come with the strength of a river, the roaring of the wind in a storm. You could surrender to it, rise after it takes you to the destination it wishes. Or you could struggle and drown.

   "How wonderful it is," her long fingers press against the falling tears over star filled eyes and long dark lashes. The tears are pushed them into the valleys that make out the wrinkles upon her flesh. The shine left behind is one made by real tears upon real skin "to be woven of flesh and bone."

MARASENNA + 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐅 // @wepthonor @weptduty // accepting

They were growing bolder. These beings that Mythal had brought and given form; these faithful made him think that any edge the All Mother had had once was now transferring to her Faithful, leaving herself exposed and toothless. Surrounded by wolves and yet completely unaware as she continued to grow her forest.

There had been a time when these specks would not have dared speak to him, with their tongue or otherwise, they would have had their sighs bowed for you did not stare at the Sun with unshielded eyes. And now there stood one of Mythal's champion, having climbed the mountain and thinking themselves worthy. Perhaps they spent too long in her presence, growing comfortable that she was just like them. And perhaps she nurtured that too, it was in part what had kept her control over her Faithful.

They loved her. And yet forgot themselves, forgetting to think how their actions and words reflected on her.

Elgar'nan turns and they both stand alone as he made her way towards where the Goddess rested. The Eyes of the All Father as bright as the earliest sun, rays in the early morning. Beneath these halls, he stood like the light reflected atop a still body of water. Blinding. And hiding the depths beneath.

   You start and finish with the All Mother.

He does not use his throat to speak; the air around them twists and screams as his eyes narrow over the champion. The sentinel forgot his place, but He did not. Mythal might want to keep them close to her heart, close enough that they might stab her but Elgar'nan was not like them. The thought repulsed him and the walls around them reflected such, the white marble now washed from the light pouring from the All-Father, there is no darkness in the room except the one pouring from himself.

approval + (prompt) // not accepting // @weptduty @wepthonor

   "Did not realise all of Mythal's Sentinels could be quite so..." they talk, standing beside her a perfect reflection of her.

   "... grim?" she completes, cocking her head and watching the scene unfold, stepping back into the darkness of their shadow.

They watched from a distance.

He stood separate from the rest, detonating import of some kind. She had never truly dealt with anyone besides typical temple soldiers of Mythal, the number of sentinels and penitents truly spoke about how the All Mother seemed to not be in the mood. But that was not her problem.

   "Quite."

   "Looks to me..." she turns to them, the grin audible behind the dark helmet "They all share the same mood."

And, perhaps, the same thought (and therefore brain power), or perhaps that too belonged only to the All Mother, but that she would never know.

Still, it was interesting that she would send someone of technically a higher rank to meet with them. Quite interesting. It could certainly mean that the Goddess was perhaps in a more fragile position than she would like to admit. Moreover, the stark lack of Elgar'nan soldiers providing support in the periphery spoke for itself. Ga'rajelan could not help but smile behind the faceless helmet.

The woman holds her dark glave parallel to her body. Nas'taron (twin soul) looked to her, before slowly picking up their shield and sword.

   "Looks like this will be fun." she hummed, starting to march towards the figures dressed in white and greens. Nas'taron, now keeping pace beside her snorted, rolling their shoulders.

A crack at the base of their neck could be heard from beneath the layers of dark armour.

BLACK SAILS SEASON 2 - ACCEPTING / @hinterlnds @weptduty

   "Ah, well" she starts and feels her mouth turn into a grimace. Her brown eyes lack any empathy for the other's plight. If Orla had stopped the engine in her head from raging, she might have taken into account the other's situation - but her experience so far had been that any and all elf that had come into her life that had not belonged to this age had some level of fucking opinions and complete disregard for the responsibility of what they had done. What they could do to fix it.

She wasn't excusing her own role in this. But she sure as fuck didn't set fire to the whole world by herself - she could eitther be an annoying, insignificant worm or so she could be the woman that had set the whole of the North aflame by helping the Dreadwolf unleashing the Gods of old. She could not be fucking both "That's really too fucking bad."

She prowls, her hands resting on the pommels of her daggers as she walks around to where the other had turned his back to her. Maybe it would have been better to call the Inquisitor, she could likely fix this, get them to listen to her, to help? Maybe, but the Inquisitor was in the South trying to keep the situation from unraveling.

She would have been a far better fit for the things that someone in Rook's position needed to do. But they didn't have the Inquisitor. They didn't have Varric.

Orla stands in front of Abelas, brown eyes looking up to them with rancor. With fatigue. With tired fucking hands. She didn't turn her face to look away, not when the dragons had attacked Minrathous. Not when they had nearly destroyed Treviso with the Blight.

Where the fuck were they? These people that claim that wanted to help?

   "You want peace?... To be left alone? So do I," she sneers "but, unfortunately, your friend has made sure that's not in my cards."

It's only fair I fucking return the favour, if not to him directly - then to any that seemed to have been close. They were all selfish, incredibly selfish and self centered. The world had once ran around them and their roles, their positions, their Gods and now they would prefer to burn hers than to help fix the shit they had set in motion. Orla would have burnt down the Magisterium to ashes, but it would have been with her standing at the base, with a grenade in her hand.

They had the ability to look away, but she could not but fucking stare, to see it all and to not be angry that they still refused to do nothing "He chose to make himself my fucking problem, that's what I'll fucking be too; and we're running out of time."

Her mouth curls, her hands move away from the weapons, falling to the side of her body with fists curled into whitening fists. All that she had was the little that she knew of the Inquisitor, the little that she had been told. But fuck it, that would be enough - enough to either get him to help or enough to get him out of her way.