Ocrus

Shiloh’s anger was birthed from a rage he kept hidden, one that was unleashed when his fingers touched his face or gripped his neck. Or when his Mother in the sky glared down upon his shoulders in all her full might. The rays of Rahu coating his skin to unleash those parts he hid for fear of what they made him. For all the burden upon his shoulders he carried it always for the protection of those he loved. He was a hero without ego, without need to prove just provide. And it came at a standing price that Shiloh just took. He always took it.

"There is no way to release it. It’s too intertwined with my soul, every atrium of my heart, coated as my fur upon my body, and entangled into all the endless voids of my mind. Even my spirit mourns for a freedom of all I carry, and I can not hope to drop those chains, because it is I only that can carry such weight and still manage to get up. To live, and fight. Protect, and survive," at his words he shifted slightly, taking on more of his natural face that he felt was his own.

A small blending of his wolf took on the crackling sound of shifting bones, like pebbles being poured slowly upon a wood floor. His brow densed along his forehead, shifting downward along with his jaw accentuating into a sharper, well defined line. The very tips of his ears pointed, blonde and chocolate fur phasing through human skin just in patches along the top planes of all his muscles. He blinked around amber rings that consumed the hazel enough to blend the two colors into a brilliant emerald. Shiloh smiled back, teeth slightly pointed but not hindering to his speech, though his voice was gruff, deeper in tone than he had spoken before. 

What stood before her was Shiloh as England saw him, and what he saw himself as in true face. He loved both his homid and wolven parts of himself equally, and this blending always came natural for him. Even freshly bitten, it was always his baseline to pause his form here, and being able to talk to her in this way filled him with a sudden mixture of consuming loss, and further disgrace. That he couldn’t walk around like this all the time had taken it’s toll on him.

Shiloh’s bare feet anchored to the ground, the soils cradling his heels, and arches in a loving embrace. The chill soaking up his skin to dampen the natural warmth of his body. Though through all his words, minute movements twitched his powerfully sculpted muscles in continued want to run. He stood still, chin raised confidently to prove he was just that one small- simple yet as she put it powerfully defining word— fine.

But mortal confines could not hold her true form, would never hold her true form. For even the thickest of flesh could not keep back the raging hurricanes that swirled underneath her flesh, and no ribcage could contain the fires of Hell themselves. No, not even a vessel made of steel could hold back the plagues of the Goddesses themselves. Swarms of locusts swarmed in her mind, and tidal waves of blood washed over her tongue. And so, with the briefest distortion of her features into a grimace, she allowed the Goddesses to lead her mind away from the temptations of the darkness in her soul, and back to her companion. 

''I have lived for a very long time, Sir Garrett.'' Her words were delicate, as light shone down through the holes in the foliage above. ''Much longer than any of you, or your kind have.'' As the light shone through, strands of silver hair, hidden amongst the golden hairs, stood out starkly, and her eyes shone with her age. She had seen galaxies collapse upon themselves and stars burn out, and the forming of the most precious of jewels, the same jewels she found sparkling in his irises. ''And I have seen men, much like yourself. With broken souls and chains made of the weight of their guilt, their anger, their pain.''

Fingers began to move once again, plucking the strings of a heavenly instrument as the sun grew brighter, and the leaves themselves seemed to bow away in the presence of suck an ethereal glare. ''But I see resilience in you, Sir. As I look upon you.'' Lips curled into a smile, one much less wary, now a grin as though she knew his entire future painted her visage. ''Your body has faced many hardships, and yet, you have survived.'' Her hand gestured to the scars that still shone from beneath the fur, raising an eyebrow. ''And I am sure, if I could see your heart, the battle scars upon it would be just as telling as the ones marking your flesh.''

''You have survived through these past demons and plagues, and you shall survive through this. Stand a little straighter Shiloh, find the beauty of the world you exist within not only in the trees, but within your mind.'' Her expression turned back to one of solemnity, her eyes flickering shut as the Goddesses continued to feed her the words that were supposed to console a man weighed down by darkness, a darkness, that they had not yet eradicated from their own vessel's body. ''It is not the darkness that eats away at your soul, but your acceptance of it. It has found a home in your pain, a solace in your rage. And should you not change, it shall do exactly what you believe it has already done; destroy you.'' 

She moved forward, eyes opening as they adjusted to the light around them. Her body glided towards the half-man, half-wolf, and yet, there was a caution to her grace. As though the mortality within her veins cried out in fear of the pointed teeth and sharpened claws. And yet, her hand reached out, and her finger reached out to lightly rest upon the man's temple.

"Then you know that I am also fine then?" he asked as a question though the words came out more a statement. Lifting another sharp edged piece of mulch to toss at the bucket with another non satisfying ping. The mulch unfortunately came from the tree he had punched and uprooted with his bare hands. He was determined to show his Mother some respect after and chop it up for the Ports people, but he hadn’t found the want to move yet. Time always was a fickle thing here in Athoria. When before he could take weeks to meditate, stay wrapped in his wolven form while he connected with her. Now time was back to the slow pace of the humans, which he liked most of the time, but lately it was building a resentment.

Finally, his eyes opened, hazel hues sparked with golden rings of his Garou landed squarely on the creature. Taking in her scent that clung into the air, painting her steps, and the path in the distance that she took to reach him. How the creatures of the forest didn’t foresee the power of a wolven nose, that it told him so much about her with one good inhale. Her own emotions saturated the air, and his hunter born eyes combed her features with a detailed examination in want to know why. 

He shifted upward from his sitting position so to not be rude, and offered a better show of himself that resided only in a cloak, and a pair of worn shorts that he wore when he ran. To feel exposed in front of a stranger was an understatement. The Ports and his friends knew of his body, what he wore as reminders, but it wasn’t like that now. Upon her gaze she would see the hundreds of small scars littering his skin across his chest and arms from all his battles in England. The most prominent being various puckered circles on his left bicep and on his thigh from a silver spike impalement, and a starburst on his right shoulder from tearing through a silver laced door to get to Emery. Both earned in Athoria while protecting three people he cared about when peril attempted to rid the world of those he loved. She would see his arrowhead brand, sheered into his right inside forearm that represented his freedom from Silas. And that his loyalty had shifted to another land to other people. And the jagged scar across his left palm that fit perfectly into the silver blade on his ankle from a constant infliction.

But the two scars she wouldn’t see were the ones along his back. The cloak covering his skin that bore his RADFULR brand of an oval with three horizontal lines through it dead center of his spine, and the claws that tore through his skin to deface it at his banishment. 

But maybe she wouldn’t care. He didn’t want pity from her but maybe understanding for the things he did, and the choices he made. That he felt exposed but proud of his life. All the scars included.

Ocrus took a step closer, fingers still twisted to keep the piece of mulch hovering over the bucket, as though the wind itself was a marionette, and she, the puppeteer. And her eyes burned into his closed lids, trying to burn the images of deteriorating cosmos and burnt out stars upon his eyelids. ''Fine.''  She sounded out each letter, as though such a word came from foreign tongues long forgotten, her voice dripping with wisdom older than the stars themselves, a vast knowledge that stretched farther than any ocean ever could, and was taller than the most charmed of trees. A knowledge that was not meant for mortal minds, and yet, had trickled into her mind as the voices of her makers had trickled into her ears. 

''Fine, is being content with what you have, not what you need. Fine, is accepting the idea that you cannot change what you cannot control.'' She grew closer, and as his eyes flickered open, she met them with her own, wide-eyed gaze. Gold hues danced across the blues of galaxies long forgotten.''And so I ask you, kind sir. Have you accepted the hands of despair wrapped around your neck, and the nails of rage sinking into your flesh, as companions? Have you resigned yourself to a life of hunched over shoulders and a broken back from carrying these demons?'' Her lips curled into a smile, one that was not of kindness or sadness, a mere baring of teeth. ''For if such is true, you truly are fine.'' And with the growl of her final word, the mulch dropped into the bucket, letting out an ear-splitting clang of wood against metal as the gust of wind disappeared into the grey skies above. 

She took a step back, turning her back to him with a whirl of her skirts as she gazed back at the forest behind them. It was something that had always astounded her, something that even the Goddesses themselves could not explain. For it seemed, that with each mortal who carried their sorrows, their grief, into the thick woods, the forest kept a part of it. As though it was constantly echoing the despair of those long past, and  the trees vibrated with the emotions of corpses buried beneath their roots. Each soul made an imprint on the forest, and his too, had done such a thing. For the trees seemed to hang low, branches weighed down as though first winter's snow had already arrived. And the mockingbirds, perched upon the highest branches of the forest, sang out with a solemnity as though they were giving condolences to the dying ecosystem that lay below them. 

She looked back upon the man as he spoke, eyes flickering up and down. And she saw his scars, each jagged mark that covered his body. Each seemed to glow with it's own story, it's own emotion. As though his scars were caricatures that captured a moment in time and kept it for eternity, scrawled upon his body like a story yet untold. ''Shiloh, what a pleasure to have crossed your path.''

She moved with the grace of a decadescent queen to a country in mourning, delicate turns of toe forcing ebon claws to scratch the ground with the fury of her rattling bones, leaving gashes in a tremored wake. Where the shadows of her skin met the shadows of the earth, the metallic slivers of argent anklets jangled around a pair of pike-point legs. Her feathers were the remaining char of ancient fires, volcanic excretions that had once compressed into premature continents cooled and split, though miles and atmospheric pressures above, by oceans vast, yet forever linked by the unscrapeable scabs of crust and the molten mother who so birthed it. She turned her head at the sound of an intruder and a sun was held in stasis in her eyes, eclipsed in full by the darkness of an alien moon, its light devoured into the sharp shape of a corona-like crown but belonging to an orb which was not strictly impenetrable. The movement sent a star shooting through that cloistered universe, a scintillic meteor that glided through her cosmos of consciousness towards another sun, another system; she saw another shape, another trespasser.

The night was disturbed by the fractured soundscapes of unquiet caws from maneater maws, a rapturous sermon delivered to no audience but the sound of their turgid voices and the echoes of expression that rippled as each wail was met then reciprocated. Trees shivered in response as the breeze wove the noise through their long, stagnate forms; their branches provided pews for the corvid congregation whose true number was indecipherable - not from the darkness of their surroundings, nor the disorienting discord of their vocal vacillations.

Somewhere between the splendor of Monir and otherworldly ephemera of Fern, the forest of Hallowed Oak began to grow thin as one walked east toward the land of three lakes that were aptly dubbed Trinity. That oft forsaken outcropping was rumored to harbor great gatherings of transmutable beasts, legends of increasing cruelty frequently ushered forth from the lips of mortal men belonging to more civilized societies, who feared the yarn to act as a metaphor for propensity of the same in their own nature, or harbored some genuine belief in these storied beings… or both. However, if the path strode was in the obverse direction, westward, then the density of the brush was markedly more. It was easy to grow confused when the sights seen were repetitious to an exponential degree. It was easy to be drawn in by the sounds of a ritual in reverberant progress.

The moon shone down upon a small break in the trees, its auroral light aglow in a cooler rendition of the warmth she had greedily stolen. Opalescent hung her gibbous form, gleaming with an interest whose intensity was dulled by the distance of the dead void of space from terra firma to lunar terrae. In that clearing, bands of crows encircled a stationary pair: one, the queen and her bejeweled legs scarring the earth, and another, her expired king, whose heart was pierced with the elongated shaft of a hunter’s arrow. Around them danced their countrymen and women, with jaunty steps that followed a jangly, out of time rhythm. These tangible ripples that expanded from the suffering center each rotated opposite of one another - if the first moved left, the second moved right, third left, fourth right, and so on, and so forth until the outer limits were reached. Most curious about that last line, circumferentially the largest of all, was the presence of a man among the avian ranks, dutifully following the animalian celebration that wasn’t altogether any more barbaric or uncivilized than those displayed by humans, those that frequently took place around maypoles, fueled by the friskiness of spring. … Even if it was in quite different company, and on the cusp of a frigid season.

Covered in the colors that reigned in the absence of light, his dress was a voluminous assemblage of silks expertly woven together to not constrict the necessary movement of his sanguine, dagger-toed steps. About his neck and shoulders were draped an overabundance of pearls whose strings were broken with the sheen of a different gem - sometimes the coquettish blush of rose-colored crystal, sometimes the verdant shine of emeralds, sometimes gilt facets of poorly chipped pieces of pyrite. His hands held what would have been a train if he was stationary or simply walking, but now was reduced into bunch of fabric clutched by skin that was stained with a commixture of soot and oil, flecked with a finely ground glitter of mica-dust.

The sight of it all gave the appearance they were courting the death of their compatriot. It was a funerary ritual that was steeped in the formality of gestures rather than thoughts and words turned by a human tongue; actions and precise gestures that spoke volumes more to the loss of a loved one than the simple offering condolences ever could. The cacophonous aggregations of those still obscured by the shadowed curtains of their perches shook the sky. Death, in the flesh, returned the delight offered by those curse-born creatures of ash.

Though the queen had seen the approach of another, the rest of her associates seemed to pay no attention except for the man. He stopped when the line circled near, and extended his hand in offering.

They danced to the tune of death, the whistle of bone-chilling breezes and the rustling of bone striking bone. They danced for her. Too many times had she watched men, mortals, dance with passion in the name of another, raise their voices into one harmony to sing out in the name of a man-made God. And they had made out death to be a man garbed in a black cloak, with ashen skin and skeleton fingers clutching a scythe that would strike all who saw with a blow of death. No, she was no black-hooded figure. She was the beauty of rotting flowers, the beauty of blue tinged skin, and stiffened limbs. Those who earned her presence when she came for them, saw the beauty of black holes embodied in a single figure, were able to gaze upon the dark mystery that was the Goddess of Death.

And yet, so many had strayed away. Her name no longer fell upon tongues, mortals no longer looked up to the heavens in search of her. Even her own children, the elven race, had left her. Oh, they would scurry up to their alters and sing out in praise. But it was always in the name of flames, of earth, of water. Even the elves had forgotten about her, and had turned to visions of a man cloaked in black. And despite the words she spoke through the lips of Ocrus, none seemed to take such things seriously. Even as she swept down from her perch in the sky, to lay her lips upon the bodies of those destined to join the other stars that she hung in the universe, they did not pray for her. Even as the final breath was uttered, and the heart slowed, they did not believe it was their time, did not believe, she would come. Mortality, seemed to promise those it held under it's claws that they would exist for one day longer, would breathe another breath, would see another sunset. No, they no longer believed in the comfort that came in death, no longer looked up at the stars and saw their fallen companions. No, they would rather believe in a mysterious figure cloaked in shadow, than a beautiful maiden with vortexes in her eyes.

And it was in that moment, that she found herself moving forward, the limbs of her vessel moving towards the circle. None took notice but the group's Queen, who watched with muted eyes, before turning her attention away from the oncoming stranger. It almost made Iratalott cackle at the cruel irony of the situation. Even Queens find no time for the Gods. 

The circle opened as a man held out an ink-stained hand, beckoning for her to join their dance. And she found her own hand snaking out to connect his his. Lily white flesh streaked with blood as the silver thorns pierced her vessel's flesh, streaking down to rest between their hands, like a chalice to be offered in sacrifice to the raven Gods they prayed to. She joined their dance with ease, and as time passed, her movements grew more and more frantic. Each step she took, and earthquakes tore the earth apart, each turn of her body, and the skies rained blood. She could feel her vessel's body shaking with the violence of the earthquakes the Goddess created, and could see the blood pouring from the wounds upon her collarbone. And it was then, as the body reacted to the presence of Death herself, that lips could no longer hold back the songs of the dead, and her silence could no longer be contained. 

She sent the message to the mind of the man who had opened up his hand to her, and who held the blood of her mortal between his fingers. It would be he who recognized her as death before all, and soon enough, all, would cower in her presence. Even the ravens, who watched from above with gleaming eyes, would fear her.

Shiloh tossed another piece of bark to ricochet off the edge of a tree and land perfectly into a bucket like he wasn’t even trying. It was almost frustrating, his aim perfected over the years to the point this little game was nothing more in complexity than breathing. He scuffed at the barrage of thoughts of his upbringing that kept drawling his mind in circles, but instead of launching into a run or a hunt he only offered another flick of mulch followed by another ping in the metal bucket. Like anyone could understand his relationship with Silas, his maker, and father— My enemy as much as my everything. 

Shiloh remembered the coldest of nights in England more than the warm ones. Where the furnaces ran hot from kindling and coals to keep their cabins cozy in the snowy winter weather. He hated how thick his coat got that time of year. Golden strands filling out to cause the chocolate and tanned hairs to fade into a nearly all white coat. His upbringing was filled with so many extremes that he sometimes forgot those moments that weren’t bad. Like snuggling Cenric in bed with no shame, or hunting hibernating bears for their pelts. Celebrations marked the New Years with moots through the woods where their howls at the moon kept the roads cleared for weeks. Sometimes if they were quick enough and if Silas approved, they would steal ale from Awre, or make the trip up to the brewery in Hereford and carry a few barrels back.

He seemed to have traveled into his own lost thoughts. All those men who found themselves in a battle worthy of proving their loyalty and strength deserved these moments of silence. To the world they seemed to carry that small burden on their shoulders harder. Like being male marked a level of significance for acquiring your ‘manhood’ in a way most bloody, or in an act of heroism. It really wasn’t the case, but lately Shiloh thought about how much his human parents urged him to win. To constantly be in the lime light like someone really was gauging if he was strong enough for them. Only when Shiloh had thought it to be a King, it was actually Silas. Maybe it was an upgrade to what he could have been to his Kingdom- would his King have taken him as a Garou?

A nail scratched at a cuticle, feeling exposed out here which was in turn making him feel sick to his stomach. He wanted to hit a tree again, or maybe phase until he caught wind of a fox or deer and fed until he was sedated. Of course quenching the coursing hunger bred into Shiloh, and his constant need to hide who he was in the Ports was starting to take it’s toll on him. Even more with all the people he thought loved him walking out; leaving him to start over. A circle. Always a circle Shiloh Garrett.

He was tired, angry, and grieving. Some days he smiled and laughed for hours, then crashed into a comatose state that left him in bed for a week. There was a name for that. Ronin. That was it. That was the shame leaking it’s way into his head like a demonic whisper.

He didn’t know how much longer he could do all this. Everyone said he was worth life. Why then did death hold a tether to his soul? Why then did he not have the bravery to talk to Vargulf? Why then was he settling on dying a ronin because he felt like he belonged no where; with no one he wanted in it? Did they not understand if they left him…

And yet, she found her moving ever closer to the source of such emotions, diamond train dragging in the dying leaves, feet striking the ground silently. It was not she, that wished to go to whatever, or more likely, whomever was emitting such emotions. For those who felt them, were beneath her, and she deemed that the silent serenity of the forest had earned her presence. No, it was the Goddesses that urged her forward. For only they could make her rotting heart feel, only they, could make her find anything mortal residing within her soul. Debocnaul moved her left leg, urging her to cleanse the mortal's soul of such pain. Sutahatg, her right, urging her to bury the pain within the planet, and allow it to transform into bliss. With each moment, Ocrus begrudgingly resigned herself to her ethereal orders, with a grimace and dragging of feet.

She finally found the source of the emotions that plagued the forest, the source of the thoughts that she had read without knowing to whom they belonged. It was from the edge of the trees that she watched him, standing out starkly against the trees. He was a large man, and though the grief his body exhibited seemed to make him appear of smaller stature, she could see the muscles, and feel some sort of power beneath the veil of mortal emotions. She was never one to fear others, for fear was something of an insult to those who used her as a vessel and the powers they had. But, Ocrus was no fool. She would have to be careful with the creature, volatile minds did have the pesky tendency of snapping at the most inconvenient times. 

It was with a narrowed gaze that she observed his game, and listening to the flick of wood against fingertips, and the piercing noise of metal being struck. And she remained in a state of mild fascination until her finally caught her scent on the passing breeze, and growled out that whomever was in his presence, should take a step back. A chuckle bubbled in her throat, but was quickly drowned out by the Goddesses as they shoved another emotion down her throat.

Compassion. 

It had struck him, struck him deep but he did not dare speak about the words she had spoken. Why would any Goddess care about him, he who had been the plaything of females in his youth a toy to be chewed, broken, ripped apart, torn so deeply inside, and raped by his own sisters. Why would a Goddess who created a society where him and all males were slaves could ever have anything to thank him for? He wanted to ask her, Ocrus of any elves would know, but he was too afraid of the answer. Calliope had been his salvation and saviour, Elwynn found no reason to worship the feet of any other woman.

Then she returned the question he’d asked to escape the thoughts of what she had said. It was an eerie thing to be next to such a powerful female and yet she was so kind, so gentle with him. It shook him to the core. Calliope had known Elwynn since they had been babes, her love for him had been a constant thing though rough in nature, Calliope wasn’t one to be gentle. Tadiel had been a young child when they brought her to them, and now almost a woman grown she had had her tenderness for him because of how Calliope had brought her up. This one, Ocrus, was a high standing elf, one that obeyed the laws of the Goddess, one whom all male should fear as they feared the Attoses, but there she was being kind to him. It took everything in Elwynn not to begin to cry, his heart did not know how to deal with this. He was afraid it was all a trick.

He cleared his throat and grabbed the wine skin and drank. Looking out in the distance his eye brows furrowed again as he seemingly was trying to see something that was not. “Please forgive my word, Counsellor, but I’ve never found any love for the Goddess. My youth spent with the children of men have made me more inclined to worship their Gods. But even they don’t seem to care for me. Why would they? I’m not one of them,” he took another rink from the wine skin, “The only Gods I worship are the Forest, the Rivers, Love, and…,” he wanted to say and Calliope, but he refrained, how could anyone understand his devotion for her? They had not been lovers for a very very long time, but they were one together nonetheless.

"…and something that has kept me alive for as long as I can remember."

It was a growing problem amongst the elves, something that Ocrus was sure, would lead to the images of fire and blood she had been shown. The young elves, particularly the males, had begun to stray, fleeing from the Goddesses, and the way of life adopted by the elves in which they were inferior. She could only regard those who had strayed with sadness. For like Elwynn, too many had turned to the mortals, and had found their home worshipping at the feet of false Gods. And it was a tragedy not yet foretold, that when the earth rained fire and the rivers ran with blood, that the Goddesses would not show them mercy. They shall burn for their sins. And the notion that such a thing was inevitable, gave the counsellor a great sadness, and yet, there was a glee she found within it. To watch them burn, and to listen to their pleas as they fell upon the deaf ears of the goddesses to whom they had drowned out in their mortal lives. 

Her body trembled as she returned to her right mind, and the darkness that had sunken it's claws into her soul relinquished it's grip. She returned her attention to the elf before her, lost, with eyes full of shattered dreams. The tenderness remained, but her eyes hardened, full of an intensity brought on by the forces within her that made her body tremble with fury. ''What you worship, is what the Goddesses have made for us.'' She gestured to their surroundings, basking in the tides of moonlight. ''Every creature, every plant, has the fibres of the deities woven into their very makeup, rivers flow with their tears as they watch more and more elves stray from them.'' Her hand snaked out, and gently rested upon his chest before falling back to her side. ''And what is in your heart, the emotions that run through your veins, were put there not by the Gods the mortals pray to.'' A small chuckle fell from her lips. ''No, their Gods would not be capable of such things.'' 

When he rose from his reverence to her he gave her his best debonair smile and motioned back tot he water. “The Goddess hasn’t been here in ages, but I’m sure your presence will remind her of what she left behind.” He was all compliments to her, in truth he usually kept quiet or went away whenever a female elf would come near him in Fern, even at home with Calliope he would run and hide in the library away from them, but this one had greeted him and that, that impressed him. He had heard about the Counsellor, Calliope had mentioned her often but  as usual, Elwynn had done everything to avoid such a person. Only Calliope had ever shown him kindness, she and Tadiel, but Tadiel… was a whole different matter.

She moved to the edge of the water and knelt down, fingers snaking out and running across the top of the moving water. She could feel the power that had once been in the water, the electricity that hung in the air around an area which had once been a place of worship. Crystal tears of the elven people, her people, had tumbled into the once-clouded waters of the stream. And they had prayed, with the purest of sorrow dripping out of their eyes, that the Goddess herself would protect their land from the Faeries. The place was older than she was, and yet, the pain still coursed through the river. ''The Goddess never left.'' Her eyes did not move from their fixed gaze on the running water, but she raised her voice, assuring her companion heard her. ''She has always watched this place, has threaded her very being into these stones, into the water.'' Her hand rose from the water, and she watched as the crystal droplets tumbled from her fingertips. And as the words were whispered into her mind, she couldn't help but offer a soft smile at the water before rising to her feet. ''She is happy that you have found this place.''

Fern was a splendour to be seen at night. Not only the lights, but the many chants of the females rose in such mesmerizing beauty that it would give Elwynn often a moment of calm in his mind. He had bugged Calliope all day to come with him to Goddess Cove, but she was so busy with official affairs that he would have to go on his own. He got dressed in his best archery outfit. He wore it often simply because it had quite an elegance to it and made him seem respectful to the least. Goddess Cove would have many people that night, all female, their males waited on the sidelines. Elwynn had other plans than to stand outside and worship in distance.

He walked quietly through the hidden alley ways and made his way to the Cove, there he took a quick turn into the green vegetation and slid into a hidden passage. There he walked a while until it opened up into the forest, right near a stream of water. It had been a bit of a long walk, and all up hill, but in the end he knew it would be perfect.

The place he finally found where the stream passed was hidden, but also incredibly beautiful and there stood many elf sized statues of the Goddess all weeping with hand open to the water. It had been a prayer place, a sacred place long ago when they established Fern on Earth, but now it lay hidden and forgotten in the woods. He walked up and removed bow and quiver. He sat them on the ground and then sat next to it. In his satchel he had brought an apple and began to eat it as he looked around.

Had the Goddess not been a fearful thing to males maybe he could grow to love her. He like to muse that one of them was like Calliope. That she was a pure heart filled with love and respect for him. That she could be someone who treated him as family and not a subordinate. He took another bite from the apple and gaze upon them all. All sad faces whom looked upon the water. He wondered if his mate ever cried anymore; he’d seen Calliope cry but that was eons ago… back in Araiel, far from Earth.

And yet, as Ocrus' voice was woven in with the voices of her own, she had never felt farther away from the creatures that inhabited her body. It was bizarre, that in a place so alive with the spirit of those she devoted herself to, there was no sign of them. Not a single whisper, or vision, had presented itself to the elven counsellor for the entire evening, nothing but the ghostly hymns of the elven women's voices. And yet, she could find no solace in their songs, no peace in a mind that was free of whispers and foreign thoughts. For as she listened to their songs, she could hear their screams. And as bodies sporting fabric plucked from the earth itself flickered past her vision, all she could see were the ashes of charred corpses. Her visions had become more frequent, the Goddesses' message more urgent. And season by season, she was beginning to no longer see elves; the creatures of beauty and light that she had devoted her very existence to aid, but skeletons. 

It was then that she knew that a place full of such light, and such hope, was no place for her. Not under this moon, not beneath an empty sky. And so, she moved away from her position, a blur of midnight-blue robes and black jewels as the other elves' voices wavered, and they exchanged weary glances as the vessel of the Goddesses disappeared into the trees. 

Ocrus did not walk without purpose, but rather, allowed herself to be led. For she could feel their power pulsing through her veins as the hymns faded, and were replaced by the sound of a forest at rest. The deep breaths of the lifeforms around her, and the streaks of light from the moon above, that struggled to pass the cover of leaves above, guided her. And as she continued to move, she could hear their voices fill her mind, words they spoke not, but rather, gently murmurs of unheard prophesies, and melodic tones. 

Finally, she found her feet stopping, and her mind blossoming, opening itself up for the goddesses to use. But none answered, simply continued to whisper, and to hum, as her mind was alight with the stars of her goddesses. But it was at the shifting of a body, and the sound of teeth tearing apart the flesh of an apple, that they fell silent. Moving forward with slow, and assured steps, she finally found the creature who had been making the noise. Her lips curled into a smile as she took in the male elf, one of softness, and yet, her eyes bore into his, commanding his respect. This is no place to practice gluttony, not in the lost shrine of those she served.