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A flutter of fate.
Flitting moths on White wings,
Forbidden are the Black books,
Written by the Grey Dust.

Upon the sleeve of his robe, it landed. Having flapped its paper-like wings, traveled far from nowhere and everywhere, the delicate white moth appeared. An omen recognized by the learned ones, and most certainly by the Order which bears its namesake. The question becomes, would Darius Gordock be familiar with the chosen familiar of the Lord of Whispers? Or would he like so many others uncouth and ignorant, brush it off or crush it into oblivion. The fate of the moth of course, would reflect the fate of the one who it chose.

Yet should the mage leave it be, and perhaps take notice of the presence of the moth, it would take wing once more and seem to encircle his head before flying ahead of him. Through the maze of reality and other falsehoods it would guide him, but only if his mind was sharp as the moth flitted in and out of this plane with every flutter. A test was it? To follow the white moth which blinked through the dimensions as it flew, only the worthy would become a champion after all. One chosen to inherit the secrets of everything not by divine favour, but self-merit.

And so it flew, slipping between the veil, phasing between until they would arrive at the edge of a black gate where it would land at last. Floating in the ever void, directionless, caught in the realm between the realms as X extended the gap between. Should the mage have kept up with the insect, then he would be sense the presence of divinity.

"Darius Gordock." A faceless form seemed to rise from the fabric of the realm. While the Creator forbade the gods upon earth, and the mortals in the realms of the gods, there was no such restriction in the realms in-between. A secret loophole one could suggest, as X revealed himself to the mage. "What secret do you seek?"

A secret meeting was no so secret. Between brothers, but in the between was X. Or at least as the void morphed to reflect the two gods upon the old grounds discussing amongst themselves. Darius should know of these other gods perhaps, and yet they would be unable to know of the scrying, although perhaps they should know that X was most likely privy to their conversation either by his books or his hidden presence. All the same, Darius should be careful when dealing with the Lord of Whispers, as talking to one who has seen the answers before posing the question merely poses the illusion of choice does it not? Would Darius remember any of this? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It depends on his answer. It could go... either way.

---

"Gifts from my Goddess..." Dyleon smiled, covered in the blood of innocents Slaughtered. The blood rain fell upon his form, cleansing him of unblooded flesh. Like a dark baptism, he was anointed by his Goddess, in the blood of her enemies. There would be blood, more blood and more blood, a field of endless carnage. The death count was so little compared to the gallons of blood drenched upon their combined armies. His black hair turned red, yet never stiffened from the drying by the washing of fresh blood over his body. What leathers he wore soaked itself and what skin he bared drank the ichor into his veins. 

The wounds healed up, fed by the sanguine caress as Dyleon pulled the arrows out of his chest, ripping out the red feathers and shafts. He had no heart, those fools aimed true, yet would never kill him in such a way. A dozen arrows dropped to the stained earth. Three swords clattered as with a grunt the champion of blood pulled them from his side and arms. An Axe was driven into the mud, dislodged from his back. For all they did to him, nothing compared to the devotion he had for her. They could piercing him with thousands upon thousands of arrows, hack his limbs off his body, grind his bones and place his head upon a pike... But leave him his heart, in her hands where it could beat... he would still be alive and pull himself back together again for her...