all the ashes in my wake

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

A calm therein, after the initial insurgency, and he maneuvered along at his pace, winding through corridors and alleyways, vivid streets, a simplified tour while Chulane mused and he wandered. Deimos had already had his moments of raging or striving to understand the deities, the ways they interacted, worked, or divided; still learning, still comprehending, still musing in the alterations of this earth and the last. There would always be more to come; either bleak, perplexing, or fortuitous, muddling and murmuring through the dark. It was stokings of blight, or configurations of Ascended properties, or anything else mixed in between – parallels and juxtapositions, rising tides, and the feral unknown. Promises of benedictions or oaths of heresy, tucked away in the back of minds. What was to come, what was to fail, what was to rise from ashes and plumes.

To hear the word beautiful describe the grounds gave the hellhound the slightest pause; a momentary desist in his step. Perhaps he’d never thought of it that way – gaze always on something else, a distant horizon, a shade of a memory. So he nodded, accepted it, with the slightest snort.

That Chulane was willing to go, his wandering ceasing, instigated a turn of his cranium. Let me show you two places first, if you ever decide to return. Otherwise he’d have been an inadequate host and tour-guide – turning down a particular crossing of roads and tracks, expecting the leopard to follow. His intentions were to provide a safety net for fellow Outlanders, should they meet paths and cross again. The Sword’s movements only ceased when they arrived at the Shield’s , and he sat down in front of it, with the slightest of tail wags. The darkened exterior and interior didn’t portray the livelihood and aromas, the favored threshold of days upon days. Perhaps it was mere sensation then, a composed and content predilection in front of its aperture; a flickering of ambience through attuned statures. This is Amalia Chandrakant’s bakery. She can tell you far more about the gods. He waited, for any inquiries, any questions, before they maneuvered elsewhere.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

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.

Chulane

fridooh & whimzi @ deviantart

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The world was overwhelming. Perhaps that was why Deimos had started drinking the moment he’d entered. But from staggering ignorance came experience, immersing and wandering into the thresholds, into repairing buildings, into fountains of knowledge, interloping, connecting, parsing parts of scruples together until he thought he knew was what he was doing. The ability to adapt and assimilate was crucial in these parts, where one moment differed from all the rest, or another instance was a reflection of the first, and they came together in a revolving void or precipice. Chulane would learn, as the rest of them had, through trial, error, mistake after mistake, savoring the seconds not spread into absolute bewilderment, and then settle into the acrimony, the hostility, the constant unknown. It would become normal.

But sitting before the bakery only instigated potential of guiding fixtures and figures. A sanctum, a sanctuary, a refuge with more than just scones and bread, and he tilted his head, nearly a mirror image of the feline. If the lightest of smiles pressed into his hound features, he let it remain, piercing eyes sliding over the familiar edges of faded signs (a note of repainting in the back of his mind, when the realm ceased its antipathy long enough), of lantern lights, of lavender sprigs and plumes long since buried beneath crackled, embittered leaves.

The question almost made him laugh. For all his understandings of the nuances along the Grounds, there weren’t any priestesses – but certainly Amalia would’ve been amongst and amidst the most devout. No came first, and then the rest sauntered within. She is the Shield of Safrin. A guard, a tether, a line, to stars and cosmos, to strength, conviction, oaths, and assurances. She was more than that too – but he only permitted the latter to linger amidst the bonds.

Then, when he thought the leopard was ready, he shifted to leave, to trace over other familiar paths.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

The General clarified, explaining that the woman he was referencing, this Amalia, was not a priestess, but a Shield. The term intrigued me, the many possibilities behind its meaning dancing along the different trails my imagination conjured. What did it mean to be the Shield of a god in these lands? Was it similar to a priest or priestess, or more like a nun in service to the catholic religion on Earth? Was she a defender, putting herself in the line of a threat to this herald of a god?

But what could be a threat to a being that powerful?

If everything I had learned of these beings so far, only something very powerful could possibly threaten them. Why did they have need of a Shield?

Perhaps I was thinking too much into this. (Or maybe I was not thinking enough.)

A lingering remnant of something a bit more than amiability was clearly evident on the bond, and I found myself looking again at the hound, seeing him in a different light - more curious than ever to visit this place under light of day, to meet him again, to learn more from him. Idly, I wondered if he knew Kiada, or Jigano - as General, he must know of the Grounders venturing to Halo to improve chances of survival of the oncoming season. Hell, he was probably the one to arrange it.

"I look forward to meeting her, come Flowerbirth," I said with earnest honesty, before once more falling into stride with the hound, trusting him inherently to guide me, to lead me to the next gem of information, knowledge and support that I would rely on in future ventures to this region.

Chulane

fridooh & whimzi @ deviantart

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

His pace was more defined now, not leisurely, but a semblance of a savage wake again, maneuvering, motioning, on the insistence of Flowerbirth, choking down the noose, the dread, the inclination they’d all make it until then. Experience gnarled, gnashed, and burned down his throat on the insinuations of yesteryears – where they hadn’t listened, where they’d opened doors and allowed havoc to reign, where the blistering enamel of fire curled from his palms, and he brought the shelter down around them. Maybe he could lacquer it to another goal, to ensure they’d remain, they’d be steadfast and resolute, that apertures wouldn’t be easily accessed, that somehow, someway, they’d make it through in one piece.

But he knew better.

It was why the Sword insisted on being strong, on carrying the weight across his shoulders, on being the damned, the infidel, the cretin, the powerful, the potent. Despite those nuances, those unwavering chords, it never seemed to be enough. Others still perished. Others still died. Others still wandered out into the twilight’s void, never to return.

A growl threatened to loosen from his chest, and he ambled forward, grateful for the distraction, down another main street until they reached the militia grounds. Here he could at least smother and drown the uncertainties, the soulless voids, in the comfort of familiarity – gaze landing upon the training grounds, outstretched in the autumn air, focus inherent on the potent things laden within: armories, onslaughts, armaments, and fortifications. These are my barracks. If you ever need to find me, I will likely be here.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

I had some vague awareness that I probably came across as naïve, as foolishly optimistic, as too innocent, too happy, too unscathed by this world. The way I was raised, the life I led before being pulled here, was unique as far as I knew - others had certainly been portalled from Earth, but none that I had encountered, or heard of, from the same modern times as me.

It was difficult for me to be able to fully empathise when I had not directly experienced the same cosmic forces interrupting my life, though I did my best to be courteous, to welcome the information given, to learn from it, to do better. Everything I had learned so far indicated that I simply had a lot more to learn - my very survival might depend on it if the history of this place was anything to go on. While the gods of this realm held my interest mostly from an academic, sceptical atheist point of view, I needed to be aware that there was so much else to learn too - skills of combat notably came to mind, as well as more familiarity with this feline form.

So it was with the sweet bliss of ignorance that I was not aware of the full effect my optimism of surviving until Flowerbirth had on the hound, I merely followed him as he led me through the township, following paths walked by many, to a ground that looks much like one would imagine a personal training camp to look like - only with extra pointy things like swords and arrows. He was the General, it made sense - and I wondered at the possibility of testing myself here come Flowerbirth, when I return.

It would probably be foolish to test myself directly against him though, as I get the feeling he would squish me much like an ant beneath a boot. He seemed a competent trainer however, firm and clear in his wants, and he had generously and patiently dealt with me and my questions so far.

"I'll be sure to look you up," I confirm, letting the gratitude colour the bond, the conviction that I intended to return very clear. I was going to survive the Deepfrost, I was going to grow stronger and more capable - and I was going to return here, to meet Deimos as a man, to shake his hand and hopefully earn the title of friend from him.

"I should be getting back," my words are tinged with a hint of mourning, regret that I must depart this place. It is larger than Halo, and so the opportunities within are greater, but Halo was where I landed, it is where I will live out the Deepfrost, at least. After that?

"Let me know if there's anything you would like brought back from Halo come Flowerbirth," I offer, and had I been in human form I would be smiling a slanted, kind smile. In this form, I tilted my head in that ever-present curious gaze, seeking yet more answers from the hellhound.

Chulane

fridooh & whimzi @ deviantart

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

If one was sharp, intuitive, and willing to learn, ignorance eventually bled away into understanding, comprehension, and experience. Deimos had none to offer Chulane about Halo, save for the multitudes of dangers, but the Hollowed Grounds held enough sagacity and wisdom to spread to other regions. Should they all survive, the leopard would be welcome, as most were, to the sights and sounds of spring, to things not so immersed in bloodshed, monsters, and misery (one hoped; and he thought that with a vivid grain of salt).

And he should’ve been getting back, it was true; before snowfall, before Deepfrost settled its chill into their bones, before brief, stark reminders of worlds the Sword had held before (aloft and beholden), were sunken and forbidding. The offer extended towards him caught him by surprise, noted by the tilt of his hound head, the confusion circumventing through; never quite knowing what to do when kindness was bestowed in return. Just survive. Take care of yourself. Who knew what could happen amongst the mountains.

Who knew what would happen here, really. They could predict and strive and attempt all they craved, wanted, and yearned, and sometimes it still held no meaning.

See you in Flowerbirth sounded like an oath, a promise, a conviction he’d made one too many times. He still immersed it within the bond though, in case he could ensure it would ring true.

Then he lifted his head in a silent farewell, and meandered back towards home.

{FIN}

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts