When Peace Beckons

Neoma Neoma stood in the obsidian chamber, a tepid line on her face uncertain if it were a smile or a frown. She blinked in the darkness and breathed, not because she had to, but because she loved the tickle of the ashes in the heavy air inside her lungs. She had been here. Many times before. Many times. Each time lost in the one before, like an endless food chain. Each new iteration of darkness consuming the one before, but as much as she'd like to forget, as much as each darkness ought to cast away all the light of her memory, time and time again it would fail. "Rhue. Rhue. Rhue." The name of her father would fall upon her lips, as her toes slid over the obsidian walkways and she spun. The rhythm of her feet an ancient dance she had danced with Rhue. Her hands whisked through the air as she held her elbows out. Pretending he was there with her. He was there with her. And always would be. "Rhue. Rhue." She spun until she felt the inner chambers of her head spinning, and she spun even more until she decided to stand still, and allowed the spinning to continue until it ceased. And the memory of her father remained. Staring at her. Reminding her she was both a gift, a curse, his biggest love and his biggest mistake. "Rhue." She uttered it one last time, though she did not know why. She stood in the dark, her hands falling slowly to her side. Her father's spirit locked in her memory. Maybe it was time to forget, just so she could stop spinning. Stop spinning. Stop. But the darkness remained, and she still did not want to leave. She opened her senses to her surroundings, aware that The Climb may not have been as unpopulated as it once was. Remember. Or don't. It's up to you.

Dantalion

how the fuck am I supposed to know

It is very much not as unpopulated as it was. Or, if you ask Danta, it is becoming just as populated as it had been at the beginning, before he had drifted into the long slumber and Mother Dygra had chosen to rest her bejewelled bones alongside them. Either way, the obsidian chamber is still a sacred place for the Ancients, and so it is with only a fraction of his usual swagger that he sets foot inside.

Through the darkness, he strolls towards the bowl at the centre of the cathedral, passing by Neoma to get to it. Not needing to know her reasons nor her story - yet being the key addition to that phrase - Danta merely offers her a cursory nod as he goes to make his offering.

With a shard of obsidian in hand, he opens a cut along the back of his hand, waiting for it to well and stream before directing the flow of crimson down into the bowl. All for their mother, every drop worth it.

if we're in love or if we're in pain?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Neoma Neoma remembered the stillness in her bones and then the painful cracking of her spirit the day Mother Dygra granted her the new strength, that which Rhue had specifically beckoned her not to conjure. Ever since, Neoma knew Mother Dygra had a rather impatient attitude towards her. Neoma accepted her stony prison, seeking the darkness within the darkness, turning away from the gift of life Mother had given her. She herself never had a mother that cared. Never had a mother that bound her hair back in a bun, taught her to use her eyes to communicate, or breathed in her the importance of blood, of life, of giving with the future in mind. As the man slinked past her, her hurts returned, rattling within the deep recesses of her sides. Neither had she any kin to call brother or sister. Only strangers who sought counsel, sought guidance, sought things she herself only learned from Rhue. So whenever she'd awoken over the years, the other figures around her seemed but like dreams. Dreams she kept just as distant as the figures in her nightmares, forms she knew may return and resemble those she cared about, but would never seek to touch herself. That is, until today. When the memory of Rhue was no longer enough to keep her satisfied. Neoma followed behind Danta, one of many shadows she had known wandered in here but never sought to draw near to. Her steps light across the obsidian. As his offering dripped for their Mother, she turned to him with a somber, yet pleading expression colored by the dark. "For Her." She lowered her gaze as the sharpened nail of her right thumb cracked the skin of her left palm. Neoma refused to wait until his time was finished and allowed her drops to fall like his, daring to test the gesture of their blood intermingling in the same offering. Her first act alongside someone she hoped to call brother. Remember. Or don't. It's up to you.

Dantalion

how the fuck am I supposed to know

Cool blue eyes flick over his shoulder, once, twice perhaps, as he notes the movement prowling in his vicinity. A kindred spirit - he can tell that by the subtle yet predatory air to her gestures - but not one to treat with suspicion. Especially not here, in this hallowed chamber. He isn't surprised, then, when Neoma appears at his side, though those same eyes do widen a fraction to see her adding to his offering, before a smile begins to curl at cupid's bow lips.

"For our mother," he utters, his voice rumbling off the black and cavernous walls. Offering his new companion a gracious nod, he uses the sleeve of his coat (a ruddy red thing reminiscent of the scoundrels in Torchline) to stem the flow of blood to the back of his hand. "Are you newly awoken?"

if we're in love or if we're in pain?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Neoma “In a way, yes.” She tries to stifle a painful moan that escapes like a drop against the crystal echo chamber. “In a way, no.” She pulls her hand to her chest, clenching it tight enough so that the blood stops its flow, but not enough so that she’d tire from holding it. “Many times I’ve awoken to sleep again. Unwilling to let go of my dreams. The past that haunts me.” She bows profoundly, feeling the weight of her shoulders drag towards the floor. Then rises again. “Neoma. You may call me by this name. The name Mother patiently beckons me with.” She turns her face wistfully towards the floor, a gesture of shame and regret. But in a moment of resolve, looks back up to her fellow Ancient. “You?” Remember. Or don't. It's up to you.

Dantalion

how the fuck am I supposed to know

"The past can be bitch like that," Danta says; its haunting nature, its pain like a deep bruise that still hurts to touch even weeks later. "I have only been awake for a few seasons again myself." But it wasn't his dreams that kept him under, no; it was just the rolling expanses of lava, the hot stone, the pull of heat and blissful slumber. Not any more, though.

"The present is quite something," he tells her, as if that might help to soothe the experience of awakening at last. "I recommend coming out to see it, in the sunlight. Granted... it is Longnight, at the moment." And here he reaches out to offer his arm if she'd like to take it. "You can call me Danta. Your name is as lovely as you are, Neoma."

if we're in love or if we're in pain?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!