Better Than I

The glade was one of his favorite places to visit. It was serene and offered the peace that being surrounded by nature allowed. He would often walk barefoot in the grass, just feeling at one with the plants, with the dirt. Desmond’s faulty memory put him at a disadvantage of fully understanding the truth of himself and of others, but one thing it gave him an advantage in was communing with the world around him. In the same way the people could count on the sun rising every morning, the world stayed the same, and he loved it for that reason. He counted on the familiar to stay as such, and he always made time to spend with nature, feeling the grass and the moving water around his ankles. Such a simple experience calmed his soul more than the social obligations he gave to himself. Such obligations were necessary, though. He was a healer, helped people when they were sick or injured. He needed to be available for people, so he was, but times like these were saved for his soul. He prayed to the Old Gods primarily, though the concept of generality could argue he was simply praying to whoever might be listening. That was why the discovery of this new shrine drew his attention. He had prayed countless times at the shrine in the temple with no answer. In honesty, he never expected an answer from any of the gods, much less the old gods, who certainly would have better things to do than to answer a young healer’s prayers. There was nothing extraordinary about him, nothing that the gods couldn’t find in anyone else, but he held onto his faith. He knelt in front of the shrine, sitting out four candles in front of him with a gentle hint of a smile on his lips. A white candle was set on the far left for the god of death, a life blue next to it for the god of life, a green candle next for the god of nature, and then a lavender candle on the far right for the god of all. One by one, he lit the candles and bowed deeply on his knees. There was no doubt in his mind that his prayers would go unanswered, but that was the point of faith, right? ”If the gods speak, I must listen,” he began in a whisper. ”My gods offer me language, and I give my voice, just like the ocean roars for the shining moon in a hollow sky. My gods are saviors to me in the way that I am allowed to taste the riches of a pleasurable existence, an unfearful dying, a more sublime awareness. My tongue is sweeter for having spoken for you, my hands stronger and kinder for having worked for you, my spirit purer for having touched you through healing your children. If my gods call, I must open myself up to them and the wisdom of their speaking, for their words being a deeper truth than I will ever know.” The answer of one of the gods, while he hoped beyond words he would be graced with an appearance, was pie in the sky hope. He knew that. He would never think himself important enough or anything close to that to be blessed with even the haunting voice of one of the deities he worshipped, but it was his duty, his honor to pay homage to the beings who blessed him with the skills he had for healing, for strength to continue on every single day when his heart wanted to give up on him, for even something as simple as the ability to walk, to speak, to breathe on his own. He was thankful, and even if he didn’t get an answer, he wanted to display that gratitude. desmond Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul

"Shhh..." A gentle whisper; the ghost of a breath. Clasping fingers, tearing flesh. The warmth of love. The chill of grief. Healing hands that cannot heal oneself. Hello, Desmond. The noise carried further than it ought to, rustling around the shrine like the sound of dead leaves, like someone calling into a void. One by one, the candles blew out - and as they did so, what natural light there was in the shrine dimmed considerably, then faded to absolute black. Silence. Desmond would feel, as soft as velvet, a familiar touch caressing his hands. Warm, comforting; a lover's touch. Lips pressed against his neck and a heart beat steadily against his back, somehow familiar, somehow belonging to him without being his. The white candle flared into life once more and strangely it gave off enough illumination to fill the shrine. Desmond's face was inches from a bone white mask, which stared emptily into him. Ribbons of fabric writhed and swathed about them, reaching, stretching - if Desmond dared to look he would notice that they were positioned, all of them, to snatch him up at any moment. "Hello, Desmond," said Ludo. LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own

What right did any mortal have to speak to a god? He supposed that was for the gods to decide for themselves... And it seemed his worthiness was to be judged. As his words came to an end, he sat back on his heels, his eyes remaining closed, lids flickering as he tried not to squeeze them closed. His sat in silence, hands placed flat upon his thighs, simply listening, breathing the smoky scent of the small flames. A sound that seemed almost like a breeze’s whisper drifted to his ears, bringing a chilling warmth to his soul and coaxing the slightest shudder from his body. Still, his eyes remained closed. The glow of the light through his lids began to fade, and he finally opened his eyes in time to see the last candle go out, somehow casting all of the light from the shrine. That wasn’t right... There was more light than just what the candles brought. At least, there should have been... And yet, despite the crushing blackness, the haunting silence that he could have sworn allowed him to hear his own blood moving, he wasn’t afraid. Perhaps he should have been, but he wasn’t. Desmond felt a touch on his hands, and all at once, his breath was no more. Then, lips touched his neck, and it seemed to him that time had stopped. When was the last time he had any kind of touch outside of healing? His mind drifted to Chester; the man whose love was unparalleled for any who it touched, those hazel eyes that made Desmond understand what home meant, those blond curls that would just never lay right on his head... Tears sprung to his eyes as they fell closed again, the image never to be forgotten burning brightly now. The rippling muscles and flawless skin shredded, the lifelessness in once vibrant and caring eyes, the fresh blood pooling around his not yet stiff body. He felt a heart beating himself, yet knew it wasn’t his own, as his best in tandem with the new presence. Was it new? Or had it always been there? His memory was faulty, but surely he would have noticed his heart echoing with another. Only when the white candle came alive once more did his open his eyes, which burned with salted tears against the crisp air. The sight he was greeted with... Gods, he almost lurched backwards, but he found he was nearly paralyzed. He blinked at the faceless mask, two more tears streaming down his cheeks, whether as a reaction to the being in front of him or just what remained of the resurfaced memory, he didn’t know. His bright blues couldn’t tear away from the mask, a figure so close he could have leaned forward just barely to touch it. He wouldn’t dare. His peripheral vision, however, allowed him to see the cloth ribbons in their constant movements, as though gravity had no effect on them. It said his name, then. Desmond drew an unsteady breath, unsure that he was even allowed to draw it in the presence of the...god? Was this a god, or was his mind playing tricks on him again? It wouldn’t have been the first time. The white candle... Death. ”Hello,” came the healer’s shaken voice. He didn’t move, swallowing the ache inside of him that was such a constant part of him he almost forgot about it. ”How would you wish to be addressed, my-my god?” The last thing he wanted was to offend a god... Ludo desmond Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul

Chester... As if in response to the resurfacing memory, the Shrine around them pulsed with a gentle light that reflected off the bone white mask. If Desmond didn't know better, he might swear that the being before him looked amused. The mask tilted gently, like it was cocking its head, and one of the ribbons of fabric snaked about to tilt the healer's chin up. "Ludo," it said simply. "But there is another name writ upon your heart, isn't there sweetling?" Surging back, Ludo seemed to hover about the Shrine now, its writhing blackness flickering amongst the candles as if at play with them. "Gods, gods gods. You all call so often, and yet you know not what you want when your calls are answered." More to the point, they were never specific with which one they called. LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own

It was right. Of course it was, it was a god after all. Wasn’t it? Desmond wasn’t one to question his faith. This deity, Ludo, was the one in power here, and Desmond knew much better than to question the faith he had in the gods, especially when one had actually materialized in front of him. Regardless, it was right. There was another name. It was a name that haunted his dreams and made his heart swell. A name that opened his heart to begin with. A name that truly was haunting to think about, to even say because of the memories that crawled to the surface with the utterance. Was that so bad, though? Is that why Ludo was here? Did that have something to do with it, or was it just the off chance that the broken soul was actually privileged enough to be in the presence of one of those he worshipped? ”Forgive me, Ludo,” he whispered, bowing his head again when the god hovered above the shrine. ”I didn’t mean to disturb you. I only wanted to show my gratitude for the life I’ve been given, for the ability to serve the gods, to serve you.” That’s all he wanted to do. Desmond believed himself to be a worthless man. His mind and heart pained him daily. His soul felt heavy wherever he went, but he tried... Gods, he fucking tried every single day to make sure others didn’t experience that pain, didn’t suffer any more than was absolutely necessary. That’s why he learned. His touch was as gentle as it could be. His arms were open to any who needed. He was there at all times of the day when someone needed help. He just wanted to help people, for people to feel loved. And for him, the gods were involved in that. He wanted to show the gods that they were loved and appreciated, that he knew everything he was capable of in life was a gift that wouldn’t have been given to him without the gods granting it. Was that really so bad? He wiped his eyes, daring to give the smallest smile up at Ludo, but not standing from his place on the ground. ”I wouldn’t believe myself worthy of receiving an answer to my calls,” he said honestly. Who was he anyway? ”All I want is to serve you, and to help people. If you could tell me how to do that better, I would be forever grateful.” What else could he ask for? Nothing. Even the pain inside of him helped to drive him to help, so he wouldn’t wish it away. He just wished, hoped, prayed that Ludo would consider his request. His only wish was to serve. desmond Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul

If Desmond had disturbed Ludo it certainly didn't show - indeed, as the young healer all but buffed its ego, it busied itself trying to spitefully prod over the blue candle in the shrine. Its mask angled up to stare at him (as much as that might seem possible, anyway) as he finished his plea, Ludo rising up with its ribbons of fabric swirling about it like a cloak. "To serve..." it said slowly. "To serve me?" The laughter that echoed from within the mask might almost have been childlike, surprised and delighted all in one. "Well, alright..." Abruptly the wreath of rags opened, reaching, stretching until all light was smothered. Ribbons of it writhed all about the Glade, making Ludo appear like some grotesque spider. Its faceless mask regarded Desmond for one second, two. Then it surged at him, enveloping him in black. Ludo left him there, lost in shadow, for perhaps a cruel amount of time, but it would pay off. Slowly, at first, the healer would feel and hear Chester, but he would never actually see his lover. Warm hands cupped his face and strong arms slipped around him, safe and secure. Soft lips pressed against Desmond's, a familiar scent carrying itself about the Glade. Then finally, Ludo spoke, whispering softly into the mortal's ear. {This part of the interaction is a secret! It has been PM\'ed directly to Desmond} "What say you, sweetling?" Ludo asked. LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own

Desmond knew that he was supposed to choose his words carefully around a god, but he never did. He spoke honestly, from the heart, as he always did. Whether or not that would play to his advantage or disadvantage, he didn’t know. Part of him wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. The young healer gasped slightly, from fear or shock he couldn’t tell, as Ludo suddenly appeared vast, ever expanding in all directions. Light was snuffed out completely, then finally, Desmond felt himself practically consumed in a darkness he had never experienced before. How long was he there? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? He truly couldn’t say, as there seemed to be no real sense of anything but nothing in the blackness. Fear seeped into his veins, but it lulled eventually, as his mind adapted to the emptiness. He thought that his mind was playing tricks on him as that voice…that beautiful fucking melody of a voice that haunted his dreams…started to surround him. It felt natural, right, warm, safe in the dark, as he then started to feel the man he had lost what seemed like forever ago. Once again, a tear slipped from Desmond’s eye, as the warm embrace he thought he would never experience again greeted him. Even when Ludo’s voice interrupted Chester’s, even when he consciously knew that it wasn’t real, it didn’t matter to him. The healer held onto the feeling, practically dragging him to an existence of complete peace. It was beautiful and light, contrasting so much to the heavy world he lived in. He listened. He listened to Ludo’s strangely soothing voice as it spoke. He listened and part of him caved inward on himself. ’What say you, sweetling?’ What could he say? What was there to say? Desmond looked towards where the mask had been and swallowed the shakiness in his voice. ”Your words guide my mind,” he said softly, flickering a smile and wiping away the already drying tear trail on his cheek. ”I’ll do it.” And I'll do it quite willingly. desmond Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul

I'll do it. "Wonderful. That is wonderful to hear." Ludo surged up and fluttered about the shrine, hovering once more before the lit candle. "Pray to Ludo and Ludo will deliver peace. Your hand will help guide those who hurt to the same freedom. To the ultimate freedom." Its faceless mask nodded to Desmond from across the shrine; if the healer was not mistaken it might have even seemed that Ludo was smiling. With a quiet nod to the mortal who had pledged to do its bidding, the candle extinguished once more and plunged him back into darkness. When that veil of black lifted and the natural light of the Shrine returned, Desmond would find before him an ornate lantern, within which burned a white candle. Regardless of weather or time, the candle would never go out or lose its fuel. It would be there to light the way for Desmond from now on. {Desmond has received a magical item! It has been added to his profile.} LUDO Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own