My emotions had spiked, prickled, reacted before, much like a wave stirred up by a speedy, enthusiastic wisp of wind, but much like a wave, it settled quickly, as the idea of the gods, and their various desires for slaughter and sacrifice, became something that I compartmentalised, tucking it away to process and consider later. It wasn't the "healthy" way to live, but it allowed me to focus on the present moment (and I just didn't want to think on them, and the full implications of their power and demands right now, I had more interesting things to see and learn and worry about). Deities and gods and mystical beings of great unimaginable cosmic power - I'll gladly get home and geek out about all that in the privacy of my quarters, where I could write out my own notes and compare them to the many books I had picked up from the Palace and now the Athenium as well.
I was ready, filled with anticipation, with expectation that the hellhound would hear my words, my intention, and bid me farewell. But instead his gaze sought me out, his words halting me, inviting me to learn more, to return to this place sometime in the future. Warmth at the idea filled me, pleased that I had made enough of an impression on the General to warrant an invitation (though perhaps this was standard process, and I wasn't that special at all).
Feline footsteps fall in behind canine, easily tracing the path he laid with senses that thrived despite the evening light deepening and darkening our surroundings. We ceased before a place that seemed to stir remnants of easy contentedness within the hound, a subtle shift in his posture and through the empathetic link that our attunedness lends us. 'Amalia Chandrakant,' I repeat with the tone of a promise made, an oath sworn, a serious nod tilting my cranium. Though it is closed, shut down for the day, smells linger of the previous day's activities, the life that passed through, the delicious things that were baked and sold and consumed. It was homely and wholesome, and I couldn't help but want to smile at it, and hoped the bond was able to convey that. 'Is she a priestess?' I ask, wondering what else might give one so much knowledge of the gods that they are recommended by the townfolk to newcomers seeking further knowledge.
I was ready, filled with anticipation, with expectation that the hellhound would hear my words, my intention, and bid me farewell. But instead his gaze sought me out, his words halting me, inviting me to learn more, to return to this place sometime in the future. Warmth at the idea filled me, pleased that I had made enough of an impression on the General to warrant an invitation (though perhaps this was standard process, and I wasn't that special at all).
Feline footsteps fall in behind canine, easily tracing the path he laid with senses that thrived despite the evening light deepening and darkening our surroundings. We ceased before a place that seemed to stir remnants of easy contentedness within the hound, a subtle shift in his posture and through the empathetic link that our attunedness lends us. 'Amalia Chandrakant,' I repeat with the tone of a promise made, an oath sworn, a serious nod tilting my cranium. Though it is closed, shut down for the day, smells linger of the previous day's activities, the life that passed through, the delicious things that were baked and sold and consumed. It was homely and wholesome, and I couldn't help but want to smile at it, and hoped the bond was able to convey that. 'Is she a priestess?' I ask, wondering what else might give one so much knowledge of the gods that they are recommended by the townfolk to newcomers seeking further knowledge.
Chulane
fridooh & whimzi @ deviantart
