[center][h2][color=gray]Apostate[/color][/h2] [center][color=beige]...gets confused...[/color][/center] & [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/98b04b23-51ee-400f-9854-888c64fd7ad2.png[/img] [/center] The gardens that greeted Apostate on his returning detour from his wandering were, true to form, untouched by adversity. Not one stalk of grass had bowed its head, not one flower had yellowed and dipped, not one clump of soil had been blown out of place. And still, it was very clear that someone had been there, and left traces on the unmoving ground. Streaks of black ash and charcoal dust ran through the green near the edge of the defiant land, at times turning into circles or strange hieroglyphs. Though no worldly flame could have burned that vegetation, acrid refuse had been heaped onto it. Not even the god's own monument had been spared. Grey cinders had roughly scrawled a grimace on its visor and dusted its height with crumbling stains. Two clouds of inky smoke circled around it, twisting and twirling like things alive. “Hm.” Apostate stood in the center of the mess. The first thought in his mind was that perhaps he was in the wrong place, but then he figured he was. The second thought was a slight concern about the state of the gardens, most notably that it didn’t quite look like how he described it to Homura, thus jeopardizing his delivery. With that in mind, he hefted his mighty blade and slammed it into the ground. From the impact, a swirl of sparks erupted into the atmosphere, catching on the hanging air of the gardens and with a powerful blast and ear ringing clap — a fiery explosion engulfed Apostate and his garden. Through the immolation, Apostate nodded with contentment as the immense blast tore the mess away from the land, revealing the yellow flower from before as well as other landmarks he so poetically described to the goddess of honor. A few more heated seconds passed and with only a plume of smoke remaining, the great fireball that ate his garden had dissipated, leaving it spotless.  The only foreign traces left after the conflagration were the two drifting smoke clouds, or what was left of them. Their black cloaks had been burned away, revealing hovering pillars of grey flame that writhed and cascaded in the air like columns made of knotted worms. They turned towards Apostate in unison, if indeed they had such things as a back and a fore, and stared at him with the pulsing red orbs that were their single eyes. "Look at this," one of them spoke in fiery singsong, "Nothing is there we can do that won't be razed by some absurd creature." "It was aggrieved," the other answered, wholly identical to the first, "We must do this again if it torments someone so." “A challenger approaches,” Apostate boomed to himself more than anything else, yanking his mighty blade free and leveling it at the flames. "You?" one of the spirits, impossible to say which, asked almost in disbelief, "You are alone and have a body of heavy earth, while we are two and unmoored flame." Apostate reached outward with one of his hands, as if grasping the air in front of him. Without a word, he clenched his fist and with a mighty bang, one of the talking flames burst into the same smoke that Apostate named hevel, only to disappear. He pointed his blade at the remaining spectre. “Your attack is sloppy.” The flame quivered, spun upon itself, stretched wide and, in a cough of black fumes, tore itself into two halves. Two red eyes looked at the god again, though much diminished. "Or is yours simply unsporting?" said the first, or perhaps the second wraith, "If we could extinguish you as easily as that, should we call you sloppy also?" “Yes-” Apostate was interrupted.  "We could do it to those who crumble so fast under our touch," mused the other. "But who are you, one that burns and extinguishes with a gesture?" “Apostate,” the smoke replied, “a god.” "That cannot be," danced the flames, "There is only One God." “My mistake.” Apostate clenched his hand again, and with a bang one of the flames poofed once again. This time, the remaining one did not split apart, but blew out a shroud of dusty black smoke and disappeared inside it. Only its eye remained visible. "You should challenge him if you take exception with that," despite everything, its voice seemed unfazed, "We are mere messengers, who carry the words we worship and we hate." “Then let this be a lesson,” Apostate bellowed. He swung his sword away from the flame and flourished it back into an invisible scabbard. “That a messenger should always speak clearly and openly from the start of the interaction. Speak now, [i]clearly[/i], so that I may...” The god paused and a deep groan rumbled from within. A puff of smoke shot out from the metal helmet of the god and his voice followed. “Speak quickly.”  "Keep your lessons to yourself next time," said the spirit, "We are Eschatli. Seven of us there were, seven there must always be. Once we had bodies and warm flames in our hearts, now we only have smoke and cold bale-fire. The One God took away our death and gave us harmony, and so we worship him; he took away our warmth and our eyes and gave us servitude, and so we hate him. We carry his words when he gives them to us, but when we've none we do what pleases us." “If you hate him,” Apostate reasoned, “then why don’t you simply stop doing what he says and always do what pleases you?” "Because without him, we would know and fear death, which is the greatest torment of living things," replied the Eschatli as it swelled back to its erstwhile proportions.  "Hm," Apostate groaned, "what is it that you want?" "We hate the beauty that we have no eyes to see, and we hate the joy that we have no warmth to feel," said the flame, "These things we want to be undone." There was a long pause from the god, the smokeborn standing completely still. Eventually, he shifted. "I don't understand. What's the issue? Why have you sought my wisdom? Do you intend to defy your means or not?"  "We did not seek you," the flame murmured, "We came to deface this garden, which was beautiful and we therefore hated. If you would speak of wisdom, we can call the God, who mayhap might hear such things more gladly than we." "You are confusing creatures," Apostate admitted, "would you prefer I end your suffering for good?" His voice was sincere, as well as laced with audible misunderstanding.  "Perhaps we would," the Eschatli said, "But it could not be done unless that authority is wrested from the God, who holds it jealously." “All worldly things come to an end, know that fact as my wisdom,” Apostate stood up straight (for smoke), “with my power, I can erase you from existence should that be your wish. So I ask again, what is it that you want?” "We have said it plainly enough," the spirit answered with a crooked chuckle. Or perhaps not, for it had not been its fiery, melodious voice that laughed, but a hard, cracking one like a shattering gemstone. A tall, angular shadow stretched out behind the cloaked spectre, and though it too had but one eye, it was not red but glaring white. [color=778899]"They really are strange things, "[/color] Iqelis' voice was echoed by the telltale buzzing of flies, who had begun to emerge from who knew where, [color=778899]"I could not tell you myself how much of what this one said was in earnest. Drift along now, little flame."[/color] He clenched a hand through the Eschatli's hazy presence, and without so much as a complaint the spirit unwound into tatters of inky fog. “Whatever that was,” Apostate grumbled, “it was stupid.” [color=778899]"As many things are in this world,"[/color] the One God shook off the last threads of smoke from his hand, [color=778899]"But I have said I would not make these seven too wretched, and they must amuse themselves at times."[/color] Apostate swiveled to meet the new figure that had appeared. He stood in silence for a while, letting the words fall between the two gods until finally he bellowed, “what are you talking about?” [color=778899]"My Eschatli, of course,"[/color] the one eye shimmered mockingly, [color=778899]"You are cursed with poor insight even among this sorry divine tribe."[/color] “I mean to say,” Apostate corrected, “why are you talking to me?” [color=778899]"Then you should have said so clearly,"[/color] Iqelis crackled, [color=778899]"You have spoken the one truth, and this has pleased me."[/color] “A lesson you should have extended to your measly creations.” Apostate turned fully to the other god. “Return to me when you are worthy of my notice, I will await you then.” [color=778899]"Wait all you will,"[/color] the One-Eye swept a hand, [color=778899]"You will come to [i]me[/i] in the end, and perhaps you will entertain me again."[/color] He spread his fifty arms wide, and the next moment he was no longer there. Where he had stood, the soil was gouged by his clawed feet. Apostate swung his blade and planted the tip in the new groove, using it as a convenient holster for his weapon as he leaned against its length. With a puff of smoke, he commented, “stupid.” [hider=Summary] So Apostate managed to find his way back to the Gardens of Hevel only to find it defaced with various graffiti. His first worry was that perhaps he was at the wrong Garden of Hevel, but he quickly realized it simply changed since he last saw it. Figuring it would be confusing for Homura to find the Garden seeing how it looks different than how he described it, he decided that cleansing it with a massive explosion would suffice for spring cleaning. With the massive explosion over, two Eschatli, Iqelis' humans which were transformed into spirits of impure "bale-fire", remained behind, and mistake Apostate for a strange creature. Apostate hears the mocking tone and mistakes them for challengers, leveling his weapon at them and announcing the commencement of battle. Instead of correcting him, one of the Eschatli smartly chastises Apostate, claiming that he couldn’t harm them — so Apostate smites one of the two with a simple gesture. Now smote, the other Eschatli splits into two and Apostate chastises them for having terrible battle etiquette, to which the Eschatli now claim that he’s too strong and it was unfair. Apostate doesn’t really care and prepares to do it again when they ask who he is. In his short nature, Apostate says his name and then says he is a god. The Eschatli tell him he isn’t, Apostate smites one of them again and apologizes sarcastically for mistaking himself for a god.  The Eschatli then hint at being oppressed by the One True God and Apostate asks what they are gonna do about it. From there is a circular conversation were the Eschatli tell Apostate they hate beauty and Iqelis, but also worship him and don’t want to die. It’s a confusing  merry-go-round and Apostate shares the sentiment by pushing the question of what they want, twice, to which no real answer is given beyond their hatred of beauty. In a last ditch attempt to communicate with the creatures, Apostate offers to unmake them, they say he can’t, he says everything comes to an end eventually, and before anything else happens, Iqelis shows up. The Doom God dismisses his servants and then mocks them and the world. Apostate, now being presented with a new figure that he is pretty sure is the oppressing nature of the scene, wonders what the Doom God is even talking about. Iqelis insults Apostate, who then asks why the Doom God is talking to him. Eventually Apostate figures this isn’t worth his time and finds everything lacking, sending Iqelis on his way, but not before Iqelis gets the last word before disappearing… only for Apostate to seize the new silence to get his last word in, like the defiant bastard he is.  Nothing has really been done. [img]https://russkaja-skazka.ru/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/baranyi-stihi.jpg[/img] [/hider] [hider=Vigor] Apostate starting: 6 None Spent Apostate ending: 6 Iqelis starting: 6 3 spent on turning the seven humans into Eschatli, creatures of smoke and tainted fire. Cursed to always be exactly seven, when one is killed, a replacement is born by fission. Despite this, they aren't supernaturally linked to each other, just completely interchangeable. Iqelis ending: 3 [/hider]