The Sword was eternally hesitant to approach shrines; no matter previous circumstances, efforts, upheavals, and successes, he almost presumed the worst. His bones hadn’t been merged into deity requiems and strains, been built instead on faith and belief in one’s self, in his own actions, in his own merits, in his own abilities, and the strength of others. How they’d come together. How they’d endure. How they’d persevered.
But failures reigned hard, from previous intervals, from unwinding seasons, from the cycle of another to approach. Too many had been lost already, and the latest had just been a stark reminder of how they were never truly prepared. He’d tried in the previous winter, presided in efforts to oversee with the rest of the militia, with those willing to help, and still, it hadn’t really mattered.
So, perhaps it was time for some guidance.
Nothing else to turn to, he wandered across the familiar plains, the earth orchestrated for the goddess’ sanctity. Zuriel followed close behind, and his eyes flickered to the sights and sounds of yesteryears – properties formed by their abilities, ashamed that he couldn’t produce something so harmonious, so beautiful now. Instead, the invocations pulsed and waned between his hands as he kneeled before the shrine, as Zuriel stood along his side, as a metallic mirror formed, small, marked and carved in stars, and he placed it along the ground. To be accepted or ignored again. [say]“Safrin,”[/say] he whispered, the words barely invoked towards outlines of setting suns, of grasping starlight. [say]“I would like to speak to you about LongNight.”[/say]
But failures reigned hard, from previous intervals, from unwinding seasons, from the cycle of another to approach. Too many had been lost already, and the latest had just been a stark reminder of how they were never truly prepared. He’d tried in the previous winter, presided in efforts to oversee with the rest of the militia, with those willing to help, and still, it hadn’t really mattered.
So, perhaps it was time for some guidance.
Nothing else to turn to, he wandered across the familiar plains, the earth orchestrated for the goddess’ sanctity. Zuriel followed close behind, and his eyes flickered to the sights and sounds of yesteryears – properties formed by their abilities, ashamed that he couldn’t produce something so harmonious, so beautiful now. Instead, the invocations pulsed and waned between his hands as he kneeled before the shrine, as Zuriel stood along his side, as a metallic mirror formed, small, marked and carved in stars, and he placed it along the ground. To be accepted or ignored again. [say]“Safrin,”[/say] he whispered, the words barely invoked towards outlines of setting suns, of grasping starlight. [say]“I would like to speak to you about LongNight.”[/say]
