i see you shiver

@dextercosta​

“whaaat, you got me here for like, the rest of my life, man.” rod reached out, shoved at the likely taller tiefling’s shoulder, his hand warm. “take some responsibility.”

his arms folded across his chest as his acolyte went on. “jassin – gotta meet the guy, then. seems chill.” his eyes moving to the side, “not like I ever smoked, but still. maybe there’s a mentality about it. turn a massage into a talk with my long-lost dad. or a run down a slope.” rod kept his eyes open for the altar, whatever form it would take. “you get along with the other acolytes?”

The tiefling chuckled after Rod’s brazen gesture knocked across his shoulder. It seemed Rod was both wise and strong. Which should be obvious given his stature, but... to weild both qualities remained a promising sign.

“He is ‘chill’.” Morgan replied, still finding humor in the notion. An engraged Jassin would actually stir some fear in Morgan’s gut, should he ever witness it. For acolytes such as themselves who served kings and queens, to go to such emotional lengths was no surprise either. “Never be hesitant to treat yourself often. To bask in the riches you’ve earned by coming here... well, it is not earned, this is your birthright.”

The garden was revealed. Hues of emerald green and purple blanketed mostly by the heavy sheets of powdered snow. Steps from the back door were pillars of cut obsidian. Most shards just inches away from being tall as Rod, and others reaching overhead. There were some ashes and natural objects littered upon the stone these large shafts of obsidian framed, but it was clear the alter was consciously well kept. A stool of dark wood and velveted cushion was nestled between the natural structures, but a matching velvet zafu sat before the alter to aid in proper kneeling. “The scroll I gave you has a simple prayer... I’ve no doubt you will memorize it in time. The ribbon is meant to shroud your sight.” Morgan explained. “Your senses and vision will highten when you properly focus. See how others fail to see.”

He wasn’t in much himself. Julian usually wore button-ups and slacks, even around the camp itself. Any time he deviated from it involved quests or seasonal affairs. Today, at the acolyte’s steps? It was a product of a quest. Morgan appeared to be in the middle of something–should he have left, tried again later? It was too late; the door was open and both confused. Julian cleared his throat, gesturing to one of his arms. The feathers were gold and, in the right lighting, had a metallic sheen. “Hello,” he said back, suddenly feeling awkward. 

Hello….?

“I was wondering if you or the other acolytes know how to…reverse this. I tried to do it myself to no avail.” He didn’t want this forever, nor to try and pluck himself daily like some kind of afterlife torture. Julian’s own acolyte had suddenly gone quiet with him; he didn’t know what happened or where the firbolg went. 

The situation was stacked with bewildering circumstances. Strong gold feathers stuck out like sore thumbs when framed by the pale snow behind Julian and the muted tone of the home and teifling before him. This was certainly a first. “You’re gonna... have to take me step by step through what happened exactly.” Morgan stated, more to please his personal curiosity than to unearth a solution.

one by one, the pile’s stacked on rod’s held-out arms. the scroll set a worrying furrow in his brow, but the rest of it all smoothed it away. morgan wasn’t about to assign him a term paper, ask him which impossibly named bones were where, or pull case studies and expect him to know names and dates.

that brief spike of fear was enough to rouse the demigod fully, his attention blooming toward morgan like an idle flame stoked to life. “a ziggu-what?” he chimed; the word sounded familiar, but he got more grins from letting people explain their passions. (plus, it kept him from bad assumptions.) “an hour, a day, however long this is. I’m yours, man.” his grin was wide and casual as he moved to follow at morgan’s side, knocking his elbow into the tiefling’s arm. (his hands were full.) “are there more shrines? outside the big temple with everyone, where anyone can hear you?”

After a breath, Morgan digressed, “Don’t worry about it.”

There was no need to get overly technical about the matter. Rod wouldn’t ever be an acolyte himself, what spurred Morgan to offer this was his wards interest to learn. That wasn’t the most common trait in demigods. The tiefling huffs a short laugh, “I’ve no intention of keeping you at the alter so long. Unless you want to stay. Consider this a tour.”

As they walked, Morgan listened for more of Rod’s specific questions. Some, he wasn’t so prepared to answer. “I believe most of us keep a personal alter... or many.” He smiled at the thought this caoxed up. “Hera’s acolyte, Jassin, could turn a smoke break into his time to convene.”

In Morgan’s hands were a small scroll, a thick velvet black ribbon, a hollowed rams horn, a bound batch of cypress bark, and finally a smoothed obsidian stone. “I can teach you to use these on your own time, but... if you’d like, I can show you a shrine I designed behind my home. It’s nothing compared to a real ziggurat, but far more individualized than the temple.”

Yves smiles, knowing he was much too self-assured in his beauty than most. “Is it of-putting?” he wonders. Viktor didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but Viktor was the type of man that would kiss his feet, ignoring even the most deadly of his boyfriend’s flaws. “Why, is your demigod not great at fighting?” Yves had yet to figure out who this guy was in charge of.

The answer was very… politically correct. Yves was amazed at the guy’s ability to speak without offending anyone. “That sounded practiced,” he grins, rolling his own apple from one side of the tray to the other, having no visible interest in eating it anytime soon. “What the hell happened to make you watch what you’re saying so much?” And would Kieron ever snap to the point of adopting this manner of speaking? “Do you know my acolyte? The sun elf?”

Morgan smirked as both of his clear silver eyes came to squint at the puzzling son of Aphrodite. Practiced? “It is the accurate answer...” He chuckled, unbothered by the possibility of such truths not being what Yves wished to hear. The tiefling pushed his plate aside and took a drink of warm, spicy cider before adding anything more. “You prefer the careless type?

... My lord is not influenced by the history and politics of tieflings. My lord is not Ares either. Combat is calculated.” Though this wouldn’t be the first time someone assumed he was a war hungry beast due to inheriting such horns. “It’s a choice.”

He shrugged, remaining honest as ever. “Not terribly well.”