“it is decided then.” Said the elder Fakir. A title he none could doubt about. His long hairs were gray and even white. His well-tended beard ran down from his gaunt, wrinkled face. One could mistake him for being tired, but Darragh knew the old man still had more life in him than one would think. Many of the Fakir around grunted. Perhaps not all in agreement but certaintly all in acceptance. Even grim-faced Darragh had resigned himself to the fact that the Cenél could no longer stand alone. The irony was perhaps that the now growing infamous tithe requests of the Čeleviak Tsardom would be paid by the food and tools given by the Dûnans. Darragh’s eyes wandered over the shape-sung trees standing around the grave. With his back towards the dark, deep cave. They were in the shape of the Cenél gods and goddesses. Each painted with the colors of their seasons. Bright green was painted upon the shape of a young woman, holding a babe in her arms, Seva. Vibrant yellow was painted on the twin gods of summer: Orrai, god warmth and the fullness of life and his brother Malgog, god of war and martial prowess. Finally orange was painted on the trees of Mnim and Hunim. Only winter wasn’t visible. Those gods resided in the cold, dark cave. Where icy blue was painted not on living trees but on cold, uncaring rock. The Fakir were moving out of the grove. Heading towards their people to deliver the news. Soon enough a messenger would be send towards the Tsardom. A request for aid, in return to swearing fealty to the Tsar. It still laid wrong with Darragh, but he knew they had no other choice now. Not when the Dûnans were clamoring for war again. They had been too trusting. Blinded by the perceived kindness of Boudicca. Had all been an act? She, Hilda, the peace they wanted to maintain? How long had she prepared this farce? “Will you remain again?” Asked another Fakir. She was younger. Between the age of Darragh and Ciara. Darragh nodded. “There is nothing else I can do but pray now.” “Trust the gods brother.” She said, putting her hand on his shoulder and squeezing it for a second. Before she walked away again. Moments later Darragh stood alone amid the circle of statue-trees. There weren’t even birds daring to break the silence. “I should burn every single one of you.” Darragh said out loud to the gods and their trees. “She loved all of you. Every season of every year since she was a little girl sat here on her knees, praying to you!” He pointed down to where he had seen her so many times. Even in the dark nights of winter, when she shivered because of the snow that she was kneeling in she kept praying. Giving her thanks to the gods that had now abandoned her. “And for what? You left her.” He began pacing past the trees. “Our people are suffering. We lost so many before. Now you bring this abomination to our woods and we are blamed for it as well. What would you have me do? Should I have purged them three decades ago? Should I have voted? Break the tie? Let the drums of war roar? I chose peace that day.” He stopped in front of Malgog’s tree. The god of war stood strong and stern. A tree-shaped bush crouched at his feet. “As you taught us. Never squander lives. Never beg for vengeance. Strive always for peace first. You taught me that. And when I chose peace the first time, you took my daughter for it. And when I chose peace again, you took my apprentice.” And then he spat at the tree. “Gods rarely take insults like those well.” Said a new voice. A young voice. Darragh turned to face it. At the edge of the grove stood a woman. She was young. Barely thirty, probably younger. Holding a gnarled branch. The Fakir would’ve dismissed her entirely if not for her eyes. Her deep, dark, piercing eyes. Eyes that he had seen so many times before, but in men and women. “Who are you?” He asked with careful curiosity. Keeping the moss-covered stones marking the center of the grove in between them. The woman didn’t appear to approach him either. She just smiled. “I’ve worn many names. These days I go by the name of Keylaigh.” She said, then her eyes turned towards Malgog. “He, above all, is a dangerous sort. Toxic and vile. Have you ever heard of the tale of the two brothers?” Darragh frowned. As a Fakir he had heard all the tales there were. Some that had been forgotten for years by others now. Yet the story of the two brothers did not ring familiar. “In a faraway land Malgog had two favored sons. Removed from each other at a young age. One searched for the other for years. Until Malgog gave him a sign where to find him. In a grand city. Larger than even the Dûnans could build. A place protected by a mountain. In there he would find his younger brother. Only if he would attack it though. And attack he did. The eldest gathered his armies. The might of the land rose with him against the city. When the gate finally fell, he found his younger brother. Armed with a hammer standing in the front line. Ready to defend his city.” “You lie.” Darragh said, though his tone notably absent of poison. “There is no such tale. I would’ve known.” “There are many things you don’t know. You don’t yet know that these gods don’t care. The ones that do you’ve kept hidden.” The woman said with a taunting smile. Darragh looked behind him. Into the dark cave. He could faintly see the outlines of the stone crudely carved into the shape of Irra. Goddess of the Night and moon. Watcher against dark magic. Though Darragh knew the names that he would find past her. Sovas and Ynea. Death and Winter. “What do you know about the gods?” A smirk grew on the woman’s face. “Many things.” She said. A white owl came flying down from the canopy and perched itself upon her gnarled staff. It looked at Darragh with two icy-blue eyes. They looked different than from any other animal he knew. For a second silence reigned once more. Before the owl looked like it was satisfied and flew up again towards the branches where it vanished. “Think on what you want, Darragh of the Cenél and then think of what you are willing to give up to get it.” With those words said the woman turned and walked away again. Leaving Darragh alone in the grove he still wished to burn. Yet now the shape-trees of the gods felt hollow. Their eyes closed. Where he first felt their presence around, he now felt truly and thoroughly alone. [hider=Summary] The Fakir decided to kneel before the Tsar and ask for his protection. Then they leave the grove in which they had convened. All but Darragh who goes on a rant against the gods shown as trees. One he ends by spitting on the tree of Malgog. But he is disturbed in the act by a strange young woman with old eyes. She tells him that that particular god is quite definitely evil and tells him the tale of the two brothers. Darragh doesn’t believe the tale and says he would’ve known if it was real. The woman responds saying that there are many things he doesn’t know. For example that the gods that would care for them are hidden in the cave. Where the Cenél quietly and rarely venerate the winter gods. Darragh asks what she knows of the gods but they are interrupted by an owl landing on the gnarled branch of the young woman. It looks at Darragh for a while and flies off. Then the woman also leaves, but not before telling him to think on what he wants and what he is willing to give up for it. [/hider] [hider=MP/DP] [b]Qael’Naath Start:[/b] 5MP/5DP - 2 MP >> ??? [b]Qael’Naath End:[/b] 3MP/5DP [/hider] [hider=Prestige] [b]Post Length:[/b] 6.4K Characters + 3 Prestige >> Cult of the Destroyer [/hider]