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higher and higher a whim a desire - Delphia - 10-03-2020
It is cold. The air is thin. And yet, nothing.
Her hands remain as empty as the land was barren, the sky meshing with the sea of snow covered crags creating a frozen hell. Soon the time would come when she would see him again, and what would she have to show the God of Death? Nothing. There was no treaty to be made with the Ascended and her goddess. The souls of those who had died remained lost. And though her toes were numb with cold, hands kept warm only by the warmth of her companion curled in the pouch of her heavy coat, she trudged on. She could not bring herself to relent, for to give up was to fail the one being who gave her life purpose. Delphia had no other reason for living than to serve Mort, and if she lost purpose or use, why did she remain in a world her soul had no right to be in? It had walked through the beautiful realm of Vi once, however briefly. To walk it this second time was a sacred blessing - not a gift - for it came with a price. Serve Mort, aid his work, and his blessing will ever be with you.
But night would fall soon, and with it, the bitter cold. She could survive it in the realm of the deceased...but why. Why? The question plagued her mind ceaselessly, each pondering making her steps heavy and slow. Why?
Delphia sighed, a puff of air curling before her lips in the cold, before she turned to descend the mountain once again, fruitless in her task.
RE: higher and higher a whim a desire - Noah - 10-17-2020
Many saw his world as a wasteland. A frozen hellscape where they could not believe people lived. But here he was--alive and well--thriving. The hunter moved along the Fangs with ease, thickly furred feline paws carrying him across stones and crevices he could never traverse in his human form, or even his reindeer form. Pure joy and satisfaction pulsed through his veins and out into the attuned bond (should any be around to hear him, to feel him) as he moved through the icy mountain range.
A small weasel hung from his jaws as he moved, something he caught in the Fangs. It was a small morsel, only enough for him to enjoy. Once he found a nice, flat rock devoid of ice and snow, Noah laid himself out on it to enjoy his catch. Fur-tipped ears swiveled around atop his broad head as he ate, and although he reclined himself in such a position, this form leant him the agility and speed to retreat or attack at a seconds notice.
After he swallowed his last bite, was he interrupted. A woman--a cold looking woman--moved into his line of vision. The feline stood up, and watched her for a moment with icy eyes, before reclining back onto his haunches. Simply, he watched her, perched atop his rock--his throne on his frozen fortress.