The dizzying expanse of Antiquity left Neiya breathless. All around her were features that she had not created herself, sounds of activity and bustle from what she could only assume were others of her kind. She glanced movement in the distance, coming from a decorated tear in creation not unlike the one she had crossed through - and instantly felt a pang of anxiety wash over her. Neiya decided - in a fit of cowardice brought on by isolation - to drift to the right instead, hovering silently over the ground away from the immediate chaos unfolding closer to her own little portal. She’d explore in peace, and threw a last brief look the way she’d seen movement before pressing on. Her peace did not last long at all however, as the goddess carelessly drifting forwards without looking found herself nearly colliding with two other shapes that she missed in her initial daze.
”Eep-” A tiny squeak came from the smaller shape, which scrambled into a green blur as it hastily hid behind the larger, luminescent one with her leaves rustling in time with what one could assume to be her incredibly fast heartbeat.
”Oh? Hello there.” came a Goddess’ voice.
Neiya skid to a halt with a sharp breath, gripped with confusion and a brisk rush of panic brought on by isolation. She regarded the two of them as she collected herself, a child of a kind she had never seen before and the most luminous being she had ever seen - not that Neiya had met that many gods. After backing just a little bit in the air, she touched down on the ground slowly, turning the dirt beneath her naked feet ashen in colour. ”Oh,” she began, collecting herself. ”...I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. This is all… very new to me. I thought I was alone.”
The illuminated goddess smiled warmly. ”That’s alright. I’m Oraelia, and this is Genesis. Nice to meet another sibling. There seems to be a lot of them.” she said, the little green girl peeking out shyly from behind the bright goddess, staring up at Neiya with wide eyes.
The names resonated with the horned goddess, who searched her memory for the few encounters she’d had in the past. She had repeated it in her head enough times to burn them in for eternity. Her uneasy frown mellowed out, unable to present an immediately worried front as she glanced down to the girl. ”The God of Truth told me of both of you… long ago. Though in my head… I imagined you would be less… spry, Genesis,” she replied to them both, looking up again to nod at Oraelia. Indecision followed, and she followed her comment with a little more built-up confidence. “I am Neiya, Goddess of Love.”
At Neiya’s introduction, the girl perked up and, while still hiding behind Oraelia’s leg, asked. ”Love? Genesis likes Love. She loves the Sun. Wait… Sun is Ora.. Oralia?”
Oraelia patted Genesis on the head as she looked at Neiya again. She laughed, ”Sorry, I might have mentioned what Love was to Genesis. I was unaware we had a Goddess who embodied it, however. You’ll have to forgive me for stepping on your toes.” she finished, twirling her fingers around one another.
Neiya watched the two serenely during the exchange, the initial worry that had lingered now slowly dissipating as the conversation went on. After affording the little tree due attention, she followed Oraelia’s features and motions with her eyes as she spoke. Her head tilted ever so slightly, ice-blue eyes searching for the sun goddess’. ”I have confidence you gave it more than adequate representation, Oraelia,” she intoned in a confident reply. ”Have you been in this... valley... long?”
Oraelia looked around for a moment, then looked back at Neiya. ”Nope! Just got here really. You’re the sec- no, third God- No, fourth god I’ve met here. Technically Genesis doesn’t count, because she found me in my realm, but I caught up with Gibbou and then I saw Cadien. So, not long. Did you just arrive?” she asked.
Genesis whined and hugged herself close to Oraelia’s leg, ”Genesis counts!” Oraelia giggled and rubbed Genesis’ head again. ”Of course you do, how silly of me!” she said happily.
Neiya stiffened briefly, glancing around what she could see of Antiquity in a brisk lookout. Was she here? She afforded herself a sharp, centering breath as the two were distracted amongst themselves, and did her best to look dispassionate as she twisted halfway to gesture at her little tear in reality, just barely showcasing the bleak plains and ever-wilting trees beyond. ”...Yes, I came out of there, just now. It’s just been me for a long time. Well, and the mortals who remember me. I had their woes to keep me company.” She glanced back to the both of them, clearing her throat. ”You two make a very pleasant pair.”
Genesis grinned, but that grin disappeared as she took a closer look through Neiya’s portal, then shifted her gaze to the pale goddess of love. ”Neiya’s trees are sad and sick. Why? It is very sad, Genesis likes it when trees are happy and green. Not gray!” She said with a hint of a pout.
Oraelia tilted her first at Neiya, then to her portal, then back to the love Goddess. She put a hand on Genesis’ shoulder. A somber tone filled her voice as she spoke. ”Just like my sister… Alone for so long. I’m sorry to hear that Neiya, I can’t imagine what that would feel like. But wait… You could hear them? The mortals?” she asked perplexed.
Neiya pursed her lips in a soft frown, shifting her shoulders as the conversation invariably turned to her realm. She nodded to them both before turning to Genesis, a hand lifting as though she was about to launch into a lecture. ”You see, little Genesis, these trees bloom with the most beautiful petals. If they were like that all the time, we would not appreciate it as much.” Before anyone had a chance to delve deeper into the logic of her statement, she turned to Oraelia again. ”At first I was cut off from the-... emotions of mortals. As I began to feel their presence again, so too did I begin to hear those who called out to me. If I understand it correctly, there are groups of them who exalt our names, and ask for our favor. You-..” she extended her hand towards Oraelia briefly, as if to reach for her face, but caught herself in the act and retracted it towards her chest. ”You could not hear anyone?”
Oraelia’s eyes opened a bit as Neiya’s hand approached, then she shook her head as the Goddess withdrew and asked her question. ”I was unable to keep myself from falling asleep. It felt… Smothering. I only woke up again now, realizing that the world had moved on for two thousand years…” her voice full of sadness and regret. ”Perhaps if I had been awake… Well, no use dwelling on it now, I suppose.”
Neiya watched with renewed fascination, nodding slowly and with a measure of understanding. Her own tone was gentle and comforting, shutting out the roil of emotion from inside. ”Bottling your thoughts up is never healthy, in that manner we are as mortals. If you ever need a listener, Oraelia,” she began, tilting her head. ”I would be honored to be there for you.” She turned to Genesis, thinning out the small frown that had dominated her features, doing her best to appear friendly. ”That goes for our little friend here, too. You’re welcome to visit me any time.”
”Oooah! Can Genesis see the trees bloom? Please, pleaaaase! She likes flowers and petals!!”
The sun Goddess smiled warmly at Neiya. ”You’re so kind, dear. I’ll remember that, I promise. And the same can be said to you. If ever you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.” she said, putting her warm hand on Neiya’s shoulder. The touch was enough to make Neiya hesitate briefly, certain the sun goddess would be imparted with at least a miniscule taste of the turmoil that the horned goddess seemed to radiate.
Still Neiya put on a brave face, nodding to them both in turn. ”When next the trees are in bloom, I’ll make sure to come find you. Both of you. We’ll enjoy a moment of peace together.”
”Yay!” Genesis celebrated, hopping in her spot.
Oraelia withdrew her hand and flashed another smile. ”It was nice meeting you Neiya! It fills my heart with happiness, getting to know more of my siblings. Don’t be a stranger now.” she said charismatically.
”I wouldn’t dream of it.” Neiya offered with a soft tone, as tranquil as she could manage in the moment. As if to draw the conversation towards its end, the pale goddess lifted back up off the ground, toes dragging along the dirt briefly as she resumed her hover. ”When the petals bloom, then.”
”When they bloom.” Oraelia waved.
Neiya hovers out of her portal into Antiquity for the first time. The idea of meeting others after so long spooks her, and she evades the first other gods she sees, only to blunder into Oraelia and Genesis like a fool. Introductions ensue - and Genesis FINALLY learns Oraelia’s name. The three gods exchange some information about their current situation and their time in their realms, and the sun goddess and tree kid peer into Neiya’s realm and find it very bleak and troublesome. Neiya is like “haha no it’s only like that because it’s mega pretty later you just missed it i swear”, and changes the topic to her connection to mortals. Oraelia and Neiya offer each other a future shoulder to cry on, and Neiya invites the pair to come see the trees in her realm when they are in bloom. They resolve to reunite in the future.
The chill shook her to the bone; a biting wind howling over the tundra that seemed to pierce through her furs and cloth. Sanya trudged forwards through knee-high snow, struggling to pull her feet forwards, staking out a path ahead by sticking Sorrowsting’s shaft deep into the white wasteland and leaning on it as she walked. It was long past the point of return - there was no way she’d make it back through the canyon on what meagre supplies she had left. However much conflict her heart stirred in the moment, the building worry of facing death at long last - it was too late to change her mind. There was nothing here on the northern edge of the land, no villages to whisper from afar, no sorrow dancing on the wind to distract her.
Just snow, and cold. She exhaled a crisp, painful breath, watching the last heat in her body evaporate in a cloud in front of her. Her fingers gripped her spear - unchanged after all this time - hard, the pain from her forceful grip the only sensation left in her fingers. She wouldn’t last much longer now. The hollowness would finally go away. Her crimes paid for. Forgotten and alone. It was for the best. “You win, goddess,” she muttered to herself, knowing no one was listening to her. If the goddess had ever heard her prayers, she had never shown it.
She trudged like that until the sun glared from it’s highest perch, followed by the sound of snow crushing under her fur-wrapped moccasins. The sun blinded her with unyielding light, bright white snow cutting into her eyes. The slow build of warmth she felt was a lie - she knew that much about surviving in the cold. The fact that she could barely feel her legs told her all she needed to know. Still, she came to a slow stop. Breathing quiet, as her eyelids battled both fatigue and the sharp light bouncing from the snow. Perhaps she’d just lie down right here. Just for a moment. Catch her breath. Perhaps the goddess would finally let her rest. Let her die.
With that, the dark-haired woman fell backwards in the snow, knees giving out to fatigue and her spear failing her. She’d just rest a little while. Or forever. Sanya managed a half-smile, as she closed her eyes.
A warm sensation brought life back to Sanya’s body. When she opened her eyes, she saw the ceiling of a tent curtain, likely fashioned from animal skins. The air was humid and soothing, and colouring the soundscape was the pull of an outside storm on the curtains of the tent. There was also a small bubbling sound from the centre of the tent, from which a flickering light danced across the ceiling.
Was this the afterlife? The thought passed her by only briefly, as her head tilted to watch her surroundings. No - the afterlife wouldn’t bless her with a headache, of that much she was certain. Sanya did her best to sit up, exhaling sharply in the humid tent. Confusion ran through her. “Where-...” she uttered with a hoarse throat.
Next to the fire sat an old woman, hair as white as the snow outside and face as wrinkled as a raisin. With surprising agility, however, she shuffled over to Sanya and shook her head, gently pushing her down while mumbling something in a language Sanya could barely make out. The words were similar to southern tongues, and yet so terribly different. There was one word that stood out, though: “No.”
Sanya groaned in frustration, yet neither her body nor her willpower found purchase enough to battle the old woman in any more than token resistance, and she fell back down under the administration of the crone, too fatigued to make a fuss beyond a sharp exhale. She hadn’t known there were people here, hadn’t felt anything. Had she been so caught up in her own woes? Again? “...Where am I?” the dark-haired highlander managed after a few moments of thought, and immediately regretted it as her throat felt like it was being raked across a stony beach. “..Water?”
Sanya fanned her right hand outwards slowly, and her head twisted slowly when she could not find Sorrowsting loyally awaiting her embrace. Anxiety began to bubble in her chest, delirious breaths growing quicker.
The old woman had retreated to the fire at the centre of the tent, over which a reindeer stomach sack was suspended from a bone hook hanging from the ceiling. She scooped a wooden bowl into the “pot” and pulled out a bowl full of some sort of stew, which she brought over to Sanya and offered to her, saying something she again didn’t understand, though it sounded imperative. To further indicate what she was saying, she pointed five fingers into her mouth with her opposite hand and repeated the word she had spoken: “Hapmat!”
The woman’s insistence wore down Sanya’s defenses quicker than she had expected, and Sanya found herself weakly accepting the bowl as she watched the woman’s gesture. It wasn’t the first time she had come up against a dialect she couldn’t understand - it was becoming all the more regular as a matter of fact. Some gestures, despite some regional changes, always meant the same. Sanya glanced down to the stew, gently wobbling it back and forth and watching small chunks roll back and forth with brief apprehension. She’d had worse. With that in mind, she lifted the bowl to her lips slowly, and tilted it to taste the offering.
The warm stew left a glowing heat filling her with a little touch of life from inside. Sanya tasted it again with a little more gusto, it was only now she realized how hungry she was. If they had wanted to kill her, they’d have left her in the cold. Had she collapsed? She struggled to remember now, in the heat, and the comfort with food in her hands.
The old woman gave her a reassuring nod as she started drinking. She hobbled back to the fire and continued stirring around with a long femur bone. Then, in a blasting breath of wind, the entry flap of the tent flew open, revealing an entering shadow which grew into a young man, cheeks red and bare from the cold outside. The old woman immediately started chewing him out, and the young man looked humbled by the scolding. In his hands, he held a number of pelts which seemed to be wrapped with sinews around something long and thin. After the old lady seemingly calmed down, the man trod over to Sanya’s side and said his greetings in their unfamiliar tongue.
Sanya paused as she tried to follow the scolding. It was no use, too many of their words seemed like a strange jumble unlike anything she’d heard in decades, spoken much too quickly for her to catch anything but snippets. If she had to guess, there were a few borrowed phrases from the waterfolk in there, but that too was entirely a shot in the dark - she hadn’t seen one of them for at least… she wasn’t sure any more. Hundreds of years? What did a waterfolk even look like, again?
Sanya shook out of her daze as the man spoke to her, looking over at him as he stood by her side. Her eyes fell to the furs he carried, before she looked back at the expectant man. The humid air was making her tired, the hot food was a blessing just to hold in her hands that somehow still managed to ache just a little. “...Hello,” she managed in a polite murmur as she lowered the bowl, trying her best to sit upright without jostling too much.
The man looked somewhat confused at what she said and turned to the old lady to ask something. The old lady offered a somewhat loud answer and the man nodded understandingly. He laid the long object on his lap and pointed to his face. He shook his finger a little to make sure Sanya was paying attention before saying, “Sabba”.
There was certainly no mistaking that gesture, she’d been exposed to it countless times as village dolts tried to introduce themselves. She hesitated and studied the young man for a few moments before raising her left hand and pointed at him with her whole hand. “Your name, Sabba,” she repeated clearly, and moved her hand to lay it flat against her own chest. “My name, Sanya.” She wanted to ask more, but stopped herself. She doubted they’d understand. She’d let Sabba think he was directing this meeting.
The man grinned and pointed at her. “Sanya!” He then turned to the old lady and boasted something fierce, mentioning Sanya’s name once or twice. The old lady hummed coarsely back as she gave the stew another taste. The young man then turned back and gestured to the item in his lap, which he began to unpack. It quickly became clear that Sorrowsting laid within as he plucked off the sinews and pelts. Once it was all unwrapped, he pointed to it and then to her and asked her a question.
Sanya felt her heart skip a beat, eyes transfixed as he unveiled the black-and-silver weapon that had followed her through the millennia. Her hand immediately shot out half-way in an attempt to reach it, but the attempt died down as she reconsidered their hospitality, and she cleared her throat, looking up at the young man properly. With no mind to comprehend his question beyond his pointing, she nodded, and repeated his gesture instead, speaking as she did. “It is mine.”
The young man nodded and laid it down between them, saying some additional words with a smile. With that, he rose up and exited the tent, likely saying farewell to the old lady as he left. The old lady let out a hum in his direction. After a moment, she hobbled over to Sanya, took her bowl, brought it back over to the fire and refilled it. She then hobbled back and offered it to her again, shouting the same phrase: “Hapmat!”
Sanya stroked a few fingers over the spear, watching it in thought as the bowl was taken away from her. The bitter memories of an eternity of crying, hate, and vengeance nagged at the back of her mind. She should have thrown it away long ago. So why didn’t she? Not even when she came out here to die. She accepted the new helping of stew with a forlorn smile, painting over her morose thoughts. Sorrowsting was as much part of her as her arm, now. It drank deep of her pain, and she carried it to ever new bloodshed. No one else should be enticed to wield such a wicked weapon. Goddess’ favour indeed. She scoffed to herself as she lifted the bowl to her lips once more, closing her eyes to immerse herself in the stew instead.
The warmth was enough to relax the worst of her anxiety. The onslaught of worries could come later, she was tired. She had food, heat, shelter. And the whispers were quiet. However many lived out here in the middle of nowhere, none of them stained Sanya’s presence with pain. Perhaps they had found happiness in a desolate place like this. Sanya relished at the thought as she put the bowl aside, leaning back and laying a hand on the hilt of her spear. Maybe she could learn the language.
A week passed like it was nothing to a two millennia old woman, and the tribe she had taken refuge with quickly grew to appreciate her combat prowess. She picked up a few words, primarily names. In addition to Sabba, she now knew the name of the old lady, her caretaker Lehtta. She had also learned the name whom she presumed to be the chieftain, who had come to see her earlier in the week, a middle-aged man known as Tude. She had aided them numerous times, particularly with fending off predators from the reindeer herds the people kept. The tribe itself was known as the Weike, as Sanya had recently heard the chieftain refer to its members as. Sanya had done her best to carry conversations with them, both to impart words of her own, and to learn theirs. As was regular with unknown peoples she had stumbled on before, they often gave up and gestured instead. Still, the tribe, and especially Lehtta, in her own way, seemed to have endless patience with her stern insistence to talk to them in her own language. And she’d caught Sabba looking at her practicing during what little downtime they had. He was either taken with her, or with Sorrowsting. For his sake, she hoped it was the former.
One day, however, when Sanya was out with the reindeer herders, a beast unlike any which they had seen before came thundering down the hillside - or, correction: Sanya had seen one like it before. This one was somewhat shorter than the one she had met two thousand years ago, but there was no doubt about its breed, for it came in, ate four fully grown reindeer and nearly crushed the two herders in the process. Being ill-prepared, the herders had urged Sanya to help them keep control of the reindeer flock. Sanya felt the same panic grip her as the first time she had seen it. Somewhere deep inside, old memories and ancient hatred rustled free from their prisons and surged through her body with a chill that stood her hairs on end. Nowhere was safe. The eternal enemy of mankind did as it pleased and suffered no repercussions. Even out here, in no man’s land. The others shouted at her in their own language, and she ripped out of her frozen state to watch the creature barrel through. Sorrowsting gripped tightly, she readied herself to intercept the beast. She knew first-hand what result leaving it alone would have.
The troll stopped its feeding and turned to Sanya, bloodied lips curling into a grin. It stood at least ten metres tall, its face all but obscured by the storm if it hadn’t been for the crimson all over its jaw. The reindeer herders had run some distance away, shouting and shouting Sanya’s way. However, their words were unintelligible. Meanwhile, the troll thundered its way towards the warrior, bringing one of its arms low to scoop her out of the snow.
Perhaps it was the lingering effects of wandering to exhaustion - perhaps she was just rusty. The big creature swung it’s paw and she felt herself leave the ground, her knuckles turning white in their gloves as her grip on her weapon was all she retained. Flashes of the horror she had felt all that time ago turned in her stomach, stirring feelings to life she did not know she was capable of without outside interference anymore. That endless, bottomless hate. Existential dread.
The troll brought her to its head and unleashed a deep, rumbling laughter. It thunders a series of coarse, guttural words in a voice as deep as the ocean itself, sending tremors through Sanya’s body. It then seemed to await an answer for an awkwardly long time, it’s grin turning to a frown over time as it frequently would repeat its words, intermittently adding in questions.
The rumbling thunder of its words were a mockery to the natural order. In her head, Sanya saw the teeth, the shape of its mouth. The casual malice that echoed what she had witnessed so very long ago. The awkward pause was enough to gather her anguish, her hatred, and her courage. Sanya lunged herself through the storm as best she could, an unsteady hand forcing Sorrowsting towards the lumbering menace’s eye. If the spear had ever wanted to listen to her pain, now was the time.
The troll was quick to pull her away before the spear made contact, clicking its tongue disapprovingly while rumbling some additional mocking remarks, most likely. It unleashed a loud guffaw and flicked her head from side to side with an index finger as though he was tickling her.
The flicks were like getting jostled with a log moving of its own volition, and Sanya struggled to maintain any semblance of balance, and her ability to breathe in the storm. She remembered the terror of-.. what was his name? Saaen? She remembered his face as a beast like this one swept him up from the ground. It toyed with her, like it had toyed with him. Fuming with a frustrated rage, she spun the spear in her hands, and instead jabbed it straight down into the trolls’ palm.
The troll roared, opening his grip and letting her fall into the snow below. The spear had drawn blood, and the troll grit its teeth together at the pain with an intensity that could almost be felt in the air. Its humorous expression turned to one of bestial rage as it once more thundered towards the warrior, only this time with balled fists ready to crush. It would start with a stomp, raising its foot to squash her to pulp. Sanya threw herself forwards, coating herself deep in cold snow to evade the earthquake-like eruption that slammed down where she had landed. She was like an ant to the massive creature, and were it not for the intense hatred stealing all reason from her mind, she would have run long ago.
But Sanya was no more human in demeanour than this bestial creature. With a tame attempt to gain her footing and keep some sort of momentum, she swung her spear again, this time towards the leg that had slammed down where she had stood. It was her best chance, before the beast started swinging. The spear connected, and its divine edge was enough to pierce the stone-like skin of the giant. Blood spilled forth and darkened the snow and the troll clutched its leg in both agony and confusion - never before had a human weapon been able to wound it. Defensively, now, it tried to slap her far away as it began to hobble backwards.
The heavy snow and the biting chill was enough to make her slow. Sanya did her best to get out of the way, but the giant hand caught her easily in the storming weather, and the human woman was sent careening across the tundra with due force, landing at the mercy of a cluster of deep snow with the wind knocked out of her. It took her several moments to even realize what had happened, thoroughly dazed from what had fortunately been a relatively minor assault. She released a heavy, tired breath. Her clothes were beginning to let the chill in. Her body ached with adrenaline and the manhandling the beast had given her. Still, she did her best to fight to her feet.
Her respite would be longer than she may have expected, though, for the troll was gone by the time she returned to its spot, a long trail of blood drops tracing it to what the storm revealed to be surprisingly close mountains. Voices against the wind revealed also that a search party was coming for her. Sanya quickly scrambled in the snow, trudging at due pace towards the trail of blood. Snow-soaked gloves made the cold start biting at her renewed grip around the hilt of Sorrowsting, and it didn’t take many breaths for her to realize how out of breath the encounter had made her. Still, she pushed forward, but it was too late. The beast was gone, and she had barely reached the trail when the voices grew closer. Fatigue began to set in again, against her wishes, and she narrowed her eyes to stare towards the mountains. Now, or tomorrow. It didn’t matter to her. Death was here.
Behind her, a group of hunters came jogging through the snow, led by Sabba wielding a bone-tipped spear. They gathered around her, Sabba being closest. He grabbed her by the shoulder and asked her something she barely understood - it contained the words “are you”, she was fairly certain, but the other words, she couldn’t quite make out. The other hunters used stiff brushes of straw to dust the snow off of her before cloaking her in reindeer pelts. Then, they began to carry her back to the village. Sanya gestured wildly at the trail of blood leading away from the scene, “We can hunt the beast, I wounded it,” she breathed, but knew when that they neither understood nor listened. She tried to quell her tired, hollow rage as they lifted her towards the village, taking Sabba’s hand in her own as he repeated his question. Sabba followed her finger and shook his head as though she had suggested they all jump off a cliff. He replied with a long sentence which started with the most useful of words: “No.” After that, they redoubled their pace back to the village.
Sanya gave in, feeling the warmth of the pelts and the villager’s efforts mingle with the growing anxiety of the villagers. For just a moment, she reflected on what she felt - it was the first time she felt negative emotions coming from the villagers. Was this what she wrought upon the living? She shook it off as fatigue began to set in properly. She’d convince them to hunt the beast down eventually. They’d see it was for the best. For their safety.
Sanya is in the NORF, where she tries to kill herself with coolness. She is picked up by Sami and stuffed in a tent with granny, who gives her soup. She stays there for a week helping the reindeer herders until she encounters a troll, which pwns her until she slices its leg, at which point the troll retreats and she is brought back to the village.
It had happened in an instant. Almost as if the fabric of reality had wanted to punish her for teaching a single mortal a lesson, the air around the lake - the very clouds in the sky - had seemed to still. The walls of the world began to disintegrate around her, the lake and the forest warping out of view, and Neiya was dragged into the void before she truly understood what was happening.
There was only darkness. No sights. No sounds. She screamed, and felt her voice fall into an abyss from which there was no echo. She moved, but there was nothing to guide her senses. Just an inky, endless void. All she could perceive was herself. The gods were gone, the horizon was missing, the-... Neiya drew a deep breath in her prison of the void. It was quiet. Still. She could no longer hear the whispers. No longer did the maelstrom of mortal emotion, wants and needs course ceaselessly into her mind. The torture had stopped. For the first time since she opened her mind to the world upon her birth, she was free. Free to think, to feel. And yet, with nothing to see, to feel, what good was it now? It didn’t change anything, it didn’t take away the pain that had already left its mark on her soul.
She battled against the darkness for what felt like an eternity, careening through the void in search of something. Anything. All she had was the bitterness, that feeling of helplessness. What had transpired between her and mortals, between her and the gods. She pondered upon Fìrinn’s words - was this the great change it had spoken of? It had to be; and if it were, was this what mortal death was like? Or was it like it had said - truly different, but not necessarily the end? Did it matter? There was nothing. Nothing to do. Nothing to feel. She did not know how long she stayed like this, but eventually she found herself missing the sensation of the mortal maelstrom. The dearth of any sensation left her longing for what once was. It had been mind-numbing, toxic, and uncontrollable. An endless flood of pain, misery and lovelorn cries for help. It had also been joy, companionship, warmth. However fleeting, it had been there. Her brief peace in the storm. Now there was nothing. Nothing to cherish, or to distract, or even to suffer. Just darkness.
And so the goddess cried, alone with her thoughts.
But it did not last forever. At first it was a whisper, intermittent and weak. Then the sensation began to return, brief tingling of emotion and mortal longing. Every sensation became an event, a moment of elation. Even intense grief - fleeting and weak as it was - became something to look forward to. It was something, anything, to distract from the loneliness, if only for a moment. It became stronger, clearer, until she could feel the tug of the maelstrom again. The endless roil of mortal wants all at once. Then she heard her own name. Someone calling out for her. It was quiet and distant, but enough to hear the request. A simple wish for assurance. Neiya gathered her focus and responded. A simple response to a simple request, she stilled the mortal’s heart and worry, if only for a time. In that moment, she felt joy. Galbar was no longer beyond her reach. The God of Truth had been right, in some way. It was just new. She exhaled sharply and spun in her void.
That elation did not last either. As the maelstrom grew in intensity, so too did the overbearing sorrow. Once more did her own emotions tangle intrinsically with that of mortals, and peace and warmth became a fleeting event to cherish. The whispers grew to a roar of demands, anguished crying, and declarations of love. She heard her name many times over the coming decades, and she passed the time by meting out judgement over those who used her name. To call upon her selfishly was to ask for her displeasure, and as she learned to follow praying mortals in mind, she lived vicariously through them. To see the oaf who asked for his partner never to find out about his lover get what was coming to him was as fulfilling as seeing two true lovers declare their love for eachother.
Those who cursed her name did so having walked foolishly into their own doom. There was only one whose prayers she duly ignored. The woman she had punished was walking the land, and she did not seem to ever give up attempting to contact her. Each attempt filled Neiya with bitter memories of her actions, of the lake, of the moon goddess. She would be ignored until the end of time. Instead Neiya closed out her immediate - dark - surroundings, and gave herself entirely to the stream of emotions surging into her from Galbar. She lost track of time, not that she had kept track of it from the start. She affixed herself to the happiness of mortals, cried with them, mourned as they did, and hoped for the right response with butterflies in her stomach as they did. The cycle was never ending. There was always a mortal in need, in pain, in elation.
Neiya did not care about their lives, or the sweeping changes of the land, or even what snippets of knowledge she could glean from her perch in the void. She cared about the moments, the build-up, the disappointment, the sadness. The use of her name grew as she applied her blessing with what she felt was an even hand. She was cursed for her fickleness, but she knew it was them. They brought suffering upon themselves, and all she did was allow them to do as they pleased. That was the cycle. This was what she was born to do. Allow them to want, long for, hurt, and lose. Each moment of happiness always ended the same way. Some long. Some short. In the end, there was always sorrow, hollow words, betrayal. She felt her sour disposition return - or perhaps it had never left her. She found herself viewing a mortal man who asked for a blessing - he would confess his love the next day. She felt his desire to be with this woman. Together forever. She felt a twinge of pain; her own loneliness bubbling to the surface. With a release of her breath, Neiya sparked doubt in his mind. Watched him worry, and pass his crush by. It was better this way. His desire remained, but now he would never be disappointed. Now she could put her own emotions aside, and set her focus elsewhere.
So it went, for many cycles of love, heartbreak, and trust gained and lost. Neiya could not tell if she spent centuries or millennia or mere decades in her routine. She always had something to do, someone to watch or respond to. As the time passed, she began to exert her will even in her void. She made a new river, the fixture of her birth. And with a river, she needed land. She decorated it with trees, and in an especially happy few seconds, she populated it with butterflies. That too seemed to last only for a time, as the ground grew progressively bleak, the water turned cold, and the trees wilted and regrew in a perpetual cycle of beauty and loss. Disappointed with her creation, she sequestered herself deep in her new landscape, shaping a small outlook where her river began, and molded a place to sit down after what she had observed of the mortal realm.
So she sat on her modest throne, staring at the river running along endlessly on her bleak plains, listening to the pleas of the unfortunate, the despairing, and the deeply passionate. After a time she had seen all the patterns. Mortals - in all the shapes they came in - could only seem to innovate so many ways to break each other's trust, or declare their fleeting bonds of kinship and intimacy. For the first time since her reconnection to the maelstrom of emotion, she began to feel her own loneliness.
Was this her punishment? Was this-... Neiya searched her mind for the moon goddess name. Gibbou. Was this her doing? Would she ever see another of her kind again? Fìrinn. Cadien. Would she be alone forever, in this prison of her own making?
Almost as though the walls of reality had her thoughts, a shimmering tear broke on a faraway plain in her realm. Her presence by it was instantaneous, curiosity drowning out the roar of emotions from the world beyond. She heard voices. Sensed other beings. It was-.. Liberation.
Perhaps she wouldn’t be alone, she thought to herself, as the pale love goddess drifted through the tear in spacetime.
Neiya is swept away from Galbar immediately after enacting punishment on Sanya. She is stuck in a void, and drifts for an unknown amount of time without connection to the emotions and whispers she heard previously. The loneliness gets to her. The vortex of mortal emotions begins to return, and Neiya eventually learns to connect with those mortals who pray to her. She lives vicariously through her faithful, and proves to be quite the fickle goddess when it comes to how she applies her blessings.
Eventually she grows bored and decorates her realm, before continuing her duty in answering prayers intermittently. She starts to lose the sense of novelty, and finally begins to feel truly lonely once more. At that point, the portal to Antiquity opens, and she steps through!
All she felt was emptiness. The sight of the Sentti tribal warriors, strewn in a half-circle around her beaten and bloodied, should have brought her something. Some measure of satisfaction. Still all she could feel was cold. Angry. Their faces mocked her even now, their eyes reflecting the crimes they perpetrated against her tribe. Against her. Their original sin had torn open a wound deep inside her - a yawning abyss that seemed to only grow, even as she felt her weapon connect against their bodies; sapping the life from those responsible. It was justice. It was what should be. Yet there was nothing. Only hatred.
“...-ya....”
At least the weapon had brought her the strength she needed. It seemed to understand her grief. The pain of seeing these men and women again had made her hesitate, and the weapon had moved her hands for her. It knew what she wanted. It did what she needed. Another man ran screaming at her from across the field, a rock gripped tight in his hand. Was he one of them? One of the raiders? If he was here, he was with them. That was enough. He was complicit in what they had done.
“...-nya…”
She swung the black hilt towards the charging man. He saw the bladed edge fly towards him, and he twisted left to avoid it. It was not enough, the weapon knew of his crimes. Knew of her hatred. She felt her hands twitch the extra few centimetres to connect the blade. A spray of blood coloured the grass - coloured her - as the man toppled to the ground. Still nothing. But he deserved it. He was evil, and this was his recompense. His punishment for his crimes, and that of his kin. Her village was all that ever mattered to her - and now they were gone. Now all was gone, except this… this war. Her war against evil. Against men, against trolls. She’d need more power. More strength. The massive beast that came to take her brother from her would be stronger than this. It would not escape her rage. Her pain.
“Sanya! That’s enough!”
Yaian’s voice shook her out of her thoughts, out of the haze. A shaky breath followed as she felt her adrenaline begin to drain. The groans and sobs of the villagers around her began to assault her ears, and reality began to fade back in around her. Beyond the defeated warriors were cowering women and men, children, elders. In a half-circle lay the village's fighters, only a few still alive - fewer still who would have any hope of making it. A lump in her throat began to form as the rage faded. Replaced by guilt, despair, and pain. It wasn’t fair. Why did she feel this way? They took everything from her.
Yaian placed his hand on her shoulder, and she quickly shrugged it off. He didn’t understand. He didn’t seem to care like she did. It didn’t hurt him, he was always trying to forget. “They deserve death,” she breathed, her words venomous in tone and intent alike.
“They cannot fight any longer, Sanya. There is no victory to be had, now.” Yaian replied, walking up beside her. Another man came crawling forwards from the shadows.
“Mercy, please! You slew the chief and his warriors! We won’t resist! Take anything you want!” he rambled quickly, throwing himself at Sanya and Yaian’s feet. Others hesitantly followed, moving to prostrate themselves while others ran forward to cradle fallen warriors that had meant something for them.
“Take anything-... like you took my village from me?!” Sanya roared with growing fury, and she felt Yaian stare at her again. Again he said her name, and she scoffed and looked away from the scene. They didn’t deserve this. Yet Yaian took their side. He took their side and it made her feel guilty. He always made her feel guilty. “...Then I will take everything. Sentti is no more. This is the Sanyan tribe, now. Anyone who is displeased with this can face me, and punishment for their crimes against me.”
None of the villagers complained at her words, some even thanked her. Yaian had moved to help a villager carry away a wounded man, and it once more filled her rancor. How readily he cooperated with those that took everything from them. It made her sick to her stomach. She needed time to think. She needed more power. The weapon wasn’t enough. As if uplifted by a new purpose, she spun on her heels and looked at the forest. She began to move.
“What are you doing, Sanya?” came Yaian’s voice. “We cannot leave after what you said!”
“I need more power. I will be back with the blessing of the goddess.”
With that, Sanya wandered into the treeline, leaving Yaian to rule in her stead.
Neiya hovered above her mist-covered pool, eyes closed. The tears came at random, unbidden and unwanted. In her head, the moment replayed endlessly. The pure look of scorn the moon goddess had given her, and her words. How had she poisoned her against herself so truly? How could she have such venom against someone who wanted her best? She would have taken care of her - for as long as it took. Forever, if necessary. The emotions just roiled endlessly, drowning out the woes of the mortal world. This stinging pain would never end.
“Goddess!” cried a faraway voice, ripping Neiya from her doom-filled thoughts. She opened her eyes to regard the visitor - nay, intruder - and found herself staring down a familiar face. The woman - the one with endless sorrow, anguished vitriol. She carried the spear she had been given so carelessly, waving back and forth in one hand. No respect. “I have returned to ask your favor!”
”You have my favor already. Yet you waste it coming here.” Neiya felt her own bitterness bubble to the forefront. No matter how much she tried to focus on the human girl, all she saw was Gibbou, and that scornful look. That casual hatred. It stung straight into her soul, her very being. And it made her angry.
“I need more power. I have done as I set out to do. But to face the great beast, I require more. You must give me more. The fallen deserve peace.” Sanya argued from the lakeside. Normally Neiya would have felt her emotions, dug deeper into her intent, but she didn’t care. This hollow pain was all she knew. She was alone. Hated. And now this mortal - this insolent being - demanded her power.
”No. I gave you all you needed. Now go away.” the goddess replied, a bitter frown directed at the mortal before she turned away to look at the waterfall - and finally closed her eyes afterwards once again.
Then the voice returned. Full of spite and vitriol. Defiant and unpleasant. Like Gibbou. “What kind of goddess are you? The world is in pain, and you just hide here! You are no better than them - cowards, killers, collaborators!” Neiya felt something stab at her heart - not weapons, but words. It burrowed itself deep into her core and forced a gasp out of her. A deep agony bubbled from within, called out by the anger of another. Her eyes flew open, as pain turned to anguish, and anguish turned to fury. Again she stared at the mortal, stood dauntless on the lake’s edge.
Neiya lifted her hand, gripping Sanya from afar as her eyes filled with the azure of her irises. The marks on her cheeks darkened, and the horns - though unmoving - seemed to grow and twist with each passing moment. “You think you understand the pain of the world? What suffering bubbles beneath the surface? What damage you and your ilk do to each other every passing moment? You think you can heal the world? Then by all means, Sanya, daughter of Ilvar and Yris, let me open your mind to the pain of your kin.”
The goddess lifted her hand, and the human woman screamed in pain, lifting up off the ground. Sorrowsting clattered to the ground, digging into the wet soil, as Sanya clutched her head in sudden agony. ”I charge you, Sanya. Heal the world. Do as you demand of others. When you truly understand - when nothing but the hollow emptiness remains, and all your rage is nothing but a whimper in the abyss of oblivion, then you will truly understand the depths of mortal minds. The futility of your disgusting demand. Until then, suffer as I do.”
Neiya closed her fist, and mist from the lake rose to surround the human stuck in laborious agony. Slowly, the essence of the goddess pressed against her skin, against her eyes. It became one with her, and Sanya screamed in endless pain. The world turned black, as an endless stream of suffering, joy, grief and lust seemed to overwhelm the human all at once.
When Sanya woke up, the goddess was nowhere to be found.
Sanya and Yaian have found the Sentti tribe, and using the spear Neiya gave her, Sanya handily defeats the entire tribe’s warriors. Yaian stops her before her rampage goes any further, and Sanya instead declares herself chieftess before leaving to gather more power for the next step in her revenge plan - hunting trolls.
She finds Neiya at the reflecting pool after an undetermined amount of time, and demands Neiya give her more power. Neiya is sad, and says no. Sanya disses her, and Neiya decides to punish her by giving her what she wants in the worst way possible, but also infusing her with divine blessing in the process. Sanya blacks out, and Neiya appears to be gone when she comes to.
Starting MP/DP: 1/0
Created: Sanya - Hero This human woman is cursed to walk the land until she understands the complexity of human emotion. As such, she is immortal by way of remaining at her current age.
Touch of Divinity I: (Sanya has been infused with a small portion of divine essence, and as such she is stronger, faster, and more durable than she once was. It’s not much, but it’s something.) - 1 MP
Lover’s Curse II: (Sanya can feel and perceive the grief, loss, sorrow, and emotional pain of others. The stronger the emotional impact, the stronger she feels it, and the further away she’s able to notice it. At it’s most extreme, it manifests as whispers in her head, threatening to overtake her normal thoughts. Naturally, this makes her experience the negative emotions of those in her vicinity.) - Free with Sorrow Portfolio
Fìrinn sat--as usual--directly in front of the holy Tairseach. This state of contemplative isolation was soon to come to an end, it feared, as whatever change roiled and bristled against the current reality grew ever-closer to occurring. There was yet one more anchor to place; there was one more assurance to make that would allow Fìrinn to believe, truly, that it had done all it could for the inchoate era of mortalkind. It knew not why it was so-driven to make these preparations, but some deep force within the core of what it was to be Fìrinn pushed and urged it onwards to do what it felt was right. At this point, Fìrinn had vicariously experienced practically everything that a given mortal might go through--and so much of what had happened was simply… insufficient. The clean divide between what little understanding had been given to them and what their truths demanded reality become was evident to the God of Truth, and in that moment it realised that perhaps therein lay the answer to this burning question.
Perhaps mortalkind had been given too much, set too far along a path that they simply had to tread themselves. Perhaps the Gods needed to step back and allow what they had made and protected to flourish all on its own… or perhaps their job was simply done, and they could return to that great primordial pool from whence they came--but that struck the God of Truth as rather impossible at this point. They were each too much of themselves and not enough of one another, the aspirations and actions of their creations reflected endlessly within the prisms of their ever-expanding minds. They could not wish to surrender themselves to infinite creation without becoming something lesser than themselves, and such behaviour was quite impossible if only by the nature of divinity and identity.
The Western continent would be next. An Anchor would be placed there and then, at long last, the insatiable need for fulfillment within the God of Truth’s endless mind might, if briefly, abate. It focused its almost-gaze upon the Tairseach once more, to scout out that vast and unexplored wilderness, and in the depths of its reflections noticed that one of its siblings was nearby. Perhaps there would be one more discussion before the work could be finished after all.
Enter the horned guise of Neiya, a pale affair resembling a beautiful human woman save for the horns rising from shoulder and head alike, gliding quietly along the coastline like a silent wraith haunting the edge of the water. Her eyes distant and filled with a serene disquiet, she surveilled the landscape as she slowly dragged along - slowly for the speed with which a god could travel, at any rate - in some indeterminate mission that took her along the edges of the water at all times, almost as though it had become routine; an inescapable ritual. Consumed by her dutiful passage, it appeared almost as though she was ignorant to the world she regarded, passing the natural splendor of the world by to continue her rote travel adrift in the air above the water.
Nothing would tear her from her waking slumber - nothing, that is, until the glint of light caught her attention. The great mirror’s reflection threw a singular angle her way, enough to break the spell of her self-imposed exile. Neiya snapped out of her thrall, curiosity drawn towards the Tairseach in all its splendor. For the first time in however long she had been on this trek, the goddess deviated from her path, moving directly towards the great construction.
As soon as Neiya crossed some imperceptible threshold she would begin to see the grand tapestry of luminance spilling forth from the holy mirror. The second her form glided through that threshold between reality and unreality her senses would be assaulted by the sheer vastness and beauty of that ethereal web that stretched all across the land and deep beneath the waves. At the centre stood the solitary Tairseach and the watcher behind it, the centre of some great pattern that just now the Goddess of Love would be realising existed at all. Whorls and spirals of almost-invisible energy coalesced and dispersed around the Isle of Reflection, travelling through resplendent filaments that seemed to hang in the air as if anchored by the reflective gaze of the crystalline mirror. Blossoms of energy travelled to and fro between these great gyres of colour and form, each the thought or feeling or sight of a mortal, and crossed directly through the great mirror. Then, returning, a cloud of infinitely small particles of almost-stardust, the blues and blacks and silvers of the night sky sparkling and refracting amongst one another in an endless waltz down the filaments that led to their owners.
From the middle of that serene dance came the telltale intonation of Fìrinn:
“Neiya, whose love is eternal. Neiya, from whom all has been taken. Neiya, whose burdens know no end. I am Fìrinn, God of Truth, and you have made your way to the Isle of Reflection and the holy Tairseach. I have been watching you quite intently.”
At first the goddess knew not what to do but stare, caught deep in the web and the patterns that had revealed themselves to her. It was unlike anything she had ever perceived, chaotic and unknown, yet ordered beyond recognition. So alien to her was this vision, despite her divine status, that the goddess found herself speechless. Her hand extended out into the air as if to touch the filaments, hesitant and wracked with doubt, yet entirely spellbound by this grand construction. “Fìrinn,” she intoned between heavy breaths, not quite able to gather her thoughts. “...I-... Did you create all this?” It hadn’t been what she intended to say, but the vivid energy capturing her attention had seemed to now overwhelm her senses. It did not take her long to come around, and follow up her breathless words. “You have been watching me?”
“After a fashion. It is the great work of myself and my divine twin, Aicheil. He is the custodian of dreams, and I am the purveyor of perception and reflection. You are witnessing the Gréasán Treòir, the element of the Láidir Suíomh that waxes most closely to what is instead of what may be. Put plainly: This is the nexus of a web that connects all mortal minds. Their perceptions and thoughts flow into this sacred Mirror and become the stuff of dreams, and along these skeins it is returned to them.” Fìrinn began, its mantle-claws reaching out towards the goddess to beckon her directly to the Tairseach itself.
“Everything that every mortal has ever seen, or thought, or felt lay deep within the reflective embrace of the Tairseach. I see all that lay dormant within its reflections, and so I have seen all that mortalkind has seen. I may also gaze upon that which is hidden within any reflection, and as you contemplated above a placid lake your presence became known to me from afar.”
Fìrinn took a moment to allow Neiya to take in what it had just explained and to set foot upon the isle directly. It would no doubt be confusing at first, but the isle was a place of fundamental truth--she may have found herself understanding its nature far more quickly than otherwise possible in the presence of the God of Truth in their most venerated place.
Neiya watched her surroundings with awe, the apparent novelty of the weave never seeming to fade. Eventually she followed the direction of the god’s beckoning, drawn towards the isle directly. A hand ran along her form up to her hair, gently twinning her blue-blond locks around a finger as she centered herself with a slow breath. “My sanctuary. I see,” the goddess replied at last. As the truth of the matter seemed to settle in her mind, she ceased her isolation from the ground, naked feet pressing down against the ground for the first time since her birth. “So then you have seen not only myself, but also what I have done.” Her gaze slid over the grand mirror, and her environment with considerable clarity. Finally, the reality seemed to return to her mind, and with it, the look of surprise began to fade from her features.
“Indeed. You brought to light a truth that Sanya had hidden from her companion, to eke out a tiny chance at survival. You forced her to confront what she felt and how she would align reality with truth--you did something admirable.” Fìrinn began, its almost-face seeming to nod slightly in approval, though in such a way that it perhaps only looked like a trick of the light, and that it had not really moved at all.
“I see all, but I do not feel it. I am not capable of such emotions--my job is clear, and the emotions of mortalkind are not a requirement for me to fulfil my purpose… but you do, as it is a requirement of yours. I am sorry--I know full well the horrors of loss and how little ecstasy and joy lifts the haze. If it is any consolation to you, know that their devotion to one another is… everything, to them, I suppose. We are eternal, and we cannot conceive of the concept of ending. It is ever-present in their thoughts and their dreams; it is a fact that rests atop their shoulders as they hunt and gazes back at them in the eyes of their prey. Every waking moment--and every slumbering moment--is accompanied by the knowledge that death is a certainty. Devotion and love punctuate the inherent bleakness of their lives with meaning and joy--with something greater than the self and greater than the knowledge that it will all end one day. What you give to them is priceless beyond measure.”
Fìrinn’s mantle-claw gently reached up to touch her face, caressing the skin so sweetly, so gently--just as a lover might to one they valued more than anything else in all of creation. It was something that Fìrinn was capable of only because it could reflect Neiya’s eternal love, and in a way, it was a form of love.
“That infinite beauty can only exist because one day it will not. If they were as eternal as we, their love would no longer have meaning; their devotion would wither and die as their fragile forms do. Though the pain of loss is as eternal as we, know that through your suffering an infinite panoply of meaning is given to those we are sworn to protect. Without you, they would be nothing. Without you, their loss could not become Truth.”
The goddess stiffened at the touch, regarding her counterpart with growing distress borne out of some deep-seated suspicion and wariness. The words ringing in her ears as they were spoken, validating her very being, her actions. It was the logical progression of what she had come to experience in her own experiments with peace. It had been the right thing to do - another being saw straight through her, cut to the core, and found no fault. Azure essence ran along the markings on her cheeks slowly as her eyes welled up against a bittersweet outburst of emotion. A wavering breath formed into a sigh as she took in and hung on each word in Fìrinn’s speech.
Neiya closed her eyes to stem the tide as silence took hold of the isle, reflecting upon the unending tide of emotions whirling through her even now. It was a great relief, yet it did not make her feel better. How could it? Her pain was simultaneously her own and that of others. She knew it, and Fìrinn had known it - even if they could not truly understand it beyond the abstract truth they garnered from context and observation. Yet the words struck her with renewed purpose - or perhaps apathy. The world was not broken. Nothing had truly gone wrong at her birth. She made no mistake. Life was as it was designed; The barriers of death, suffering and loss imprinted meaning upon those that lived it. That in itself, as Fìrinn had said, came with a horrifying reality. Her existence was always meant to be this way. She was meant to suffer. To cherish and revel in those fleeting moments of joy, as the mortals did. The suffering was not endless for them. It was a stage in the short path to the end. But for her it was an endless flood. A staging ground to carry and understand the burdens of the world, and blossom its antithesis - love. Her breath escaped her with a shaky sigh. No words escaped her, how could they? Instead she simply opened her eyes once more to gaze at the god before her, and raised her own hand in turn. Mimicking her actions of old, and Fìrinn’s own, she laid her hand against their would-be face’s side. To a being who did not experience emotion, such a touch was surely as alien as this place had been to her.
Fìrinn, though unable to experience emotions in the traditional sense, was perfectly capable of reflecting. It could not process the subtext of Neiya’s touch, nor her feelings, nor her words--but in this moment it was as much her as she was. Within their reflection on the holy Tairseach, if Neiya turned to look, she would find that the reflection showed her caressing herself, a moment of perfect idealisation and realisation that would be recorded for all of eternity. It was, by all accounts, a moment of love that would last for as long as they would.
“I cannot soothe your pain, for pain is a necessary element of loss--and you are the goddess of love and loss. I can only tell you that in this moment, which shall remain for all of eternity, you have given love and received it in equal measure. This union, though it is but a reflection, shall never be lost--it is stored within the Tairseach, and within your mind. I do not know for how long reality shall remain as it is, but you may come to my mirror and gaze into its depths. It contains all that has been, and even this moment.”
Fìrinn retracted its mantle-claw, though it made no effort to move from the Goddess’ touch. Through the union of their divine essences it could, perhaps, be made to feel that ecstatic joy and overwhelming anguish. Looking into the Tairseach, it recounted all that it had seen with this new perspective, and it too shed a single tear from within that mirrored embrace. The light played off of the God’s almost-face, reflecting just beneath where its eyes might have been--a single tear of glittering light to mirror her own.
“This is but a fragment of infinity, and already it is cumbersome to bear. I have no experience of pain or ecstasy, but perhaps those are words that describe what this is? It is not my place to experience the Truth of another, but if it will help you achieve yours I will endure for as long as it takes. This is, in and of itself, a form of love--and it is eternal.”
Neiya remained quiet for a time yet, watching the God of Truth with an almost maternal sorrow seated deep on her features. Slowly did she lower her hand, stuck in the ephemeral moment and the gravity of all that was spoken. Releasing the mantle from her caress and the plight of the perspective of emotion, reflected or not. “Your words,” she began, clearing her throat as she recovers from the stillness she had been so enraptured by. “They ring with such clarity and deep-seated learning I hesitate to reflect upon them.”
She gazed at the god for a few moments more before turning to face the grandiose construction, the mirror that would reflect all that had been. Still the concept could barely take root in her mind. The possibilities and the sheer web that was the consciousness to be recorded was truly mind-boggling from her, what she now more than ever understood was truly limited, perspective. Still, her serenity faded as the goddess found herself in her natural state. The pangs of grief, mistrust and guilt that brought her back to apathy. “Your own burden, to watch, and to know. Do you understand it? Does the meaning of what you say to me touch your own being?”
“A curious question. I am moulded by all I see, but I am a force that provides context and understanding--I am not concerned with the vagaries of what may be and the limits of imagination. My divine twin, Aicheil, is a force of knowledge unbound. Together we are whole, and with his influence perhaps I might have an answer to your question that would satisfy you… but alone? I do not know that I can answer in a way you would find meaningful. If my words bring you closer to clarity and truth than you were before, then what I say will stay with me forever. Otherwise… it will simply become a reflection, as all else does. Does this answer your question? Does this satisfy your desire for understanding?” Fìrinn replied, its almost-face seeming to glitter and sparkle as the words made themselves known. Its reflection cocked its head gently, clearly indicating the seriousness of its words and its genuine concern that it may not be able to provide answers that would satisfy its divine kith and kin.
“Divinity is beyond my preternatural understanding. I have only my experience to draw from with my brethren, but perhaps that gives me an appreciation that would otherwise not be possible.”
Fìrinn’s mantle-claws reached up to the sky, as if to touch one of the many filaments hanging above, and stopped just shy of its destination.
“Alas, I have tarried too long. I must make for distant Kubrajzar to weave another anchor for the great tapestry. Perhaps you would like to join me, to witness how such a thing is made?”
Neiya returned her gaze to watch the god as it spoke, reflecting on its words. Despite the lack of features, she seemed to impart some meaning from watching it. It did not appear to bring her back from her thin frown, ever molded by the internal roil, but it seemed to be enough to quell her immediate queries. Whether she understood the answer or not, she never deigned to confirm or deny such with anything beyond a slight lift of her chin, following the motion of its arm. Hesitant yet, or at the very least wracked by thousands of new thoughts working their way through her divine mind at breakneck speeds to find a resolution amid doubt, confusion, and Truth. “I will come with you, and in return, you will speak of yo-... our brethren,” she offered eventually, finding her way back to the sorrow-filled regal confidence that she had once carried herself with. “I want to know more about the world, and the others. I have but met one aside from you.”
Fìrinn’s acknowledgement of the agreement could be felt emanating from it in waves, and though it did not move there was an immediate sense that something had changed within the Tairseach’s reflection. A simple glance to it and then back would reveal that the pair had already moved to far-off Kubrajzar. The surroundings did not so much have a visible element of change than they did simply realign themselves with a new location--it was much like checking a reflection in the mirror and seeing something quite unusual, then checking again to find that all was as it should have been.
The scenery around them was that of a river’s delta, little speckles of islands amidst the rushing waters. One of these was much bigger than the others, and it was there that the unlikely duo now found themselves.
“Which of our siblings would you like to know about first? I have some passing knowledge of them all from their interactions with mortalkind, but can only claim to have directly spoken to five--excluding yourself.”
As Fìrinn spoke, its true arms began to weave themselves through the air in the same swirling and winding patterns that Neiya had seen before surrounding the Tairseach--and as it did so those same filaments and threads were suffused with energy, becoming visible as though Fìrinn were a current that passed through them and jolted them into existence.
The effect had been instantaneous yet everpresent. It pulled Neiya out of her shell once more, and her shocked expression returned with fresh force as she glanced around her new - yet not - location. As she found herself briefly glancing down, she saw the grass yellow and fade under her feet and between her toes. The Goddess lifted a few centimetres off of the ground once more, breathing a quiet sigh. After a few moments, she had found it best to ignore her surroundings to watch Fìrinn and its machinations. Yet when she found herself searching for an answer to its question she was at a loss. Five others. It was such a small number, yet it somehow managed to make the world seem that much smaller than she had imagined when all she knew was Cadien. “I have only met one other than yourself. I do not know any of these five, unless one of them is Cadien,” she eventually managed, watching Fìrinn work with restless intent. And then, an idea appeared to form in the goddess’ mind. With new determination, she continued. “Tell me about the one that would benefit me most to know about.”
Fìrinn’s true arms continued their arcane gestures, and soon enough that same effect that had so-entranced Neiya prior to their change of scenery was forming and reforming itself in this new land. As Fìrinn continued to pull and tug at the threads gently, leaching its own divine essence into the area to ensure that the anchor would remain to regulate the subtle web even here, so far away from the Tairseach, should Fìrinn no longer be present to ensure its function.
“Hm. None of them stand to realise your Truth more fully than you might alone, but each will introduce to you the infinite threads of the world around you that you cannot see. My twin Aicheil can introduce you to the infinite dreams of mortalkind. Klaarungraxus could educate you on the mysteries of the deep and the primal strength therein. The Tree of Genesis is… well, a mystery, even to me. Oraelia will show you the fragility and beauty of life. Gibbou might allow you to contribute to the birth of druidism. Tekret et Heret will find you should you agree to a covenant to ensure the terms are binding and due restitution is received. Down none of these paths will you find Truth, but… you may well find experience, and through experience you may find reflection.”
The implication that through reflection one may find Truth was plainly obvious, but Fìrinn felt no need to actually state it. Neiya would work that out on her own, given her spate of glib intellect in asking Fìrinn which would benefit her the most.
“But perhaps there is no more time left for any of that. Change awaits us all, Neiya, and reality has plans of its own. I know not what they are, or when they will come, but we are all bound by that ineffable truth--just as mortalkind are bound by this great web.”
With an almighty surge of effort that seemed to drain some of the colour from Fìrinn’s body and a burst of almost explosive radiance the anchor bound itself to reality. As the light dissipated and the metaphorical dust settled, a reflecting pool in the shape of the holy symbol of the Two-as-One sat within the ground, perfectly placid.
“It is done. Even should I leave, mortalkind will be safe--they will have each other.”
Neiya watched with quiet reverence at the pure display of power. Even in the context of her recent feats, the act of creation captivated and amazed her, and this construction was still somehow beyond the limits of what she could even begin to imagine. In a manner, she knew that she would not truly understand its function beyond what she had been told, and she knew that was why she had been told. It was enough for her to admire its inherent majesty. Perhaps one day she would attempt something so grandiose. Even so, her mind drifted back to consider Fìrinn’s words - the names he had spoken and their potential path for her. Perhaps she would seek one of them out. She considered the rest of his words, and just for a moment, she seemed to scoff. “For one who cannot truly experience emotion, God of Truth, arrogance seems entirely within your sphere. You say we are eternal yet you describe a coming turmoil not at all unlike that which is mortal death. An unknown change, random and uncaring in when it arrives. It is the catalyst for change in their lives, as this is ours, if what you say is true. Perhaps we are not so eternal as you claim.”
She drew a short breath, closing her eyes before she let emotion overwhelm her and take her down a path she did not intend for. She had been a little too bitter, it was uncalled for. The goddess did her best to soften her demeanour. “Even when they are alone?”
”We shall always exist unless slain by our brethren. It takes a God to kill a God--but in what form we exist is not quite so certain. Perhaps we shall no longer walk this Galbar, but instead intervene from afar. Perhaps we must make a new reality. Perhaps we shall sink into dark and dreaming slumber for uncountable eons until naught we had made remains. There are infinite ways to exist and no longer be here--this may well be akin to the death that mortals experience, for all I know--and if it is, then I have done what I could to ensure the realisation of Truth even in my absence. I have felt the beginnings of love and loss, and I have lived according to my innermost Truth. Is it arrogant to do as a mortal would? Is it arrogant to attempt to mitigate doom?”
Fìrinn’s tone was not accusatory or offended--simply contemplative, wondering about the answers to Neiya’s questions. It knew her plight and her burden, and it did not begrudge her for feeling how she felt and saying what she said--these things were her Truth, and in matters of Truth Fìrinn could only ever be pleased (if such a thing, as the other gods and mortals knew it, could exist for the God of Truth).
”They are never alone. They are most often unaware of their inherent connectedness, but through the Collective Unconscious they feel the echoes of one another no matter how distant they grow. It is most apparent in dreams, where they remember what they have and what they have lost, and such is possible only because the Two-as-One made it so. Perhaps that will sound arrogant, but it is not meant as such--it is simply true.”
“That may be true,” Neiya offered with some semblance of sadness re-entering her tone of voice. “But mortals are most alone when they have known what it means to truly be together. I do not doubt the effort you have put in, Fìrinn, or the good that it will do. But loneliness is not so absolute as you make it out to be.”
The goddess raised a hand to her head, nursing her right temple with a few fingertips gently pressing against her skin. The worries of the world, and the crushing depth of what she was learning was taking its toll on her. She had felt tired ever since she made mortals together with Cadien. A growing drain on her psyche and constitution. That alone could lend real weight to the dogma of the God of Truth. “To know all that has happened, and can happen, and still be forced to speculate about what may or may not come - it must be terrifying. Perhaps you cannot experience that, and if so, I hope you never do, Fìrinn.”
”There is no terror. There is only eternity and a desire for completion. My twin and I share this burden equally--together, we find solace. Now that I have met you, my burden is lightened just a little more. I would give all of myself to ensure reality and truth are aligned, as I am quite certain that you would give all of yourself for love and for loss. We are the very embodiments of what we represent--it may be difficult, but it is simply Truth. Your Truth is to suffer the agony of loss and the ecstasy of passion both, though one rings hollow in the face of the other. Still, without your noble sacrifice, mortalkind would not know love at all. Without your love for them, they would truly be alone. Without my truth, they would have no context and no understanding. Without Cadien, there might not be mortals as we understand them at all. If our fate as gods is to suffer so that they might live out their truths, then I am glad to suffer.”
Fìrinn’s mantle-claws traced the edges of the reflecting pool that it had made, its boundaries shifting from stone to glass and then to crystal, its pattern marked clearly for all to see and to know.
”You may visit my Tairseach whenever you like. Simply call to mind an instance of something a mortal has seen and you may gaze upon its reflection freely--I do not know whether or not this will comfort you or only deepen your pain, but there is truth in both of these things.”
”That much is certainly true,” Neiya conceded with a sigh, managing to mostly sidestep his grander explanation to avoid broaching her opinion on herself. “Thank you for your offering, Fìrinn. You may not experience emotion as I do, but something certainly drives that compassion. I cannot believe it is a mere compulsion. But that is where our truths differ, I imagine. I will not squander your hospitality. And if you ever require,” she paused, considering what a god might require of her. “...perspective, I welcome your presence. I feel as though you understand, even though you may not. And that is both a great boon, and a terrible curse.”
At the Tairseach, Fìrinn contemplates the worrying trends indicating great change is about to disrupt reality. It plans the construction of another Anchor to finalize the plans for mortals previously put in motion, the driving force behind its motivation. In the midst of its work, Fìrinn realizes another god is about to stumble straight onto the Tairseach by accident.
It’s Neiya! After creating a mortal race she has devoted herself to following the coastline south around Toraan, and has subsequently found herself lost in thought once more. She is soon snapped back to reality, as the Tairseach captures her attention and snares her in by deviously playing on her curiosity. Neiya marvels at the very existence of such a creation, and Fìrinn introduces himself and explains he is aware of Neiya already - he has seen her through the human girl Sanya, and through the lake that she consecrated.
The two talk about Neiya’s nature, and share a tender moment borne out of a pure compassion and sympathy - as Fìrinn briefly experiences emotion - or at least a version of it - and through it, new context. Fìrinn teaches Neiya many new things, and challenges Neiya’s perception of herself several times. They exchange a brief battle of wills in their debate about truth and purpose, until Fìrinn feels compelled to continue their task, and invites Neiya to study it in action. Neiya agrees, and Fìrinn takes her to Kubrajzar - the location of the last Anchor to be built. As Fìrinn begins construction of its Anchor, it teaches Neiya the name of five gods and what they might offer her should she seek them out.
While the Anchor is being completed, Neiya challenges Fìrinn’s breadth of knowledge and stance on its purpose, and they debate the matter a little further. Eventually Neiya deflects and concedes a few points as Fìrinn hits a little too close to home. Fìrinn offers Neiya use of the Tairseach, and Neiya invites it to call on her if needed. Neiya drops some sympathy for her understanding of Fìrinn’s being before they part.
Fìrinn:
Free - Minor geographical alteration to create a reflecting pool -1MP - Create an Anchor for the Collective Unconscious, strengthening its presence within the continent of Kubrajzar.
She had been adrift for longer than she could remember. The two moons and the sun spun endlessly over the vast blue expanse as she drifted just over the ocean in the air, aimless and lost in thought. Ever so often, a particularly aggressive wave would crash high enough to clutch at the sky during stormier weather, grazing her naked toes with cold saltwater. That too became a constant. Each touch of the water became a brief lull from the pull of reality – out of the prison of her own mind, and the onslaught of emotion. Even out here where life barely existed above the surface, the flood of affection, the pang of guilt, the warmth and chill of bonds forged and broken, they were overwhelming. On occasion she had heard her name – that had been enough to drift back into the present, but eventually the lull of waves lured her back into her isolated existence carrying the raging torrent of mortal emotion.
The enmity of a jilted lover, the deep and blissful warmth from complete trust, the agonizing pain of grief, the fleeting but intense need to protect another. They toiled within her in violent turmoil, voices and whispers refusing to sort themselves, blending seamlessly with an endless tangle of raging emotions. It was inescapable – unmanageable. She hated it. Hated them for forcing her to feel this way. All she had wanted was to open herself to the world, and now the world had revealed its true cruelty. The experiences were vivid, but random. Chaotic, unordered. Barely had she focused an emotion and allowed herself to feel as the mortals did, before it was replaced by the pressing intensity of another – bitter, sweet, pining, painful. They did not wait.
In her mind Neiya tried her best to focus on the one focal point of emotion she had experienced. Mortal emotion beyond what was sent to assault her. The memories returned of the grieving tribe, the envious man. She understood him, she felt it too. His desire was blinding, his deluded devotion complete. It was beautiful – it could have been great. But he was fated to hate, kill, and suffer for his emotions. And the girl he loved; she understood her too. The singular, insidious emptiness gnawing at her thoughts. A despairing refusal to accept that what she once had was gone. The anguish and rage borne out of suspicions confirmed. It was sickening. There was no happy end. Not for any of them. Not the man, nor the girl, nor the lost love. The three of them were doomed to suffer the moment they met one another. Or perhaps…?
What if there was another way? Were they still there? What if she had acted differently? She commanded all their virtues and vices – why had she ruined his chances to comfort her? It would have been hollow. It would have been false hope; but it could have eased her pain. Not knowing could have let her set it aside. Dull the pain, appreciate the closeness of another. At least one of them would have been happy, then. The thought burrowed deep into her mind, slowly dominating her waking dreams until the roil of emotions was a dull thud in the back of her head, and the need to know what could have been screamed at her. Snapped out of her aimless drift, spellbound by new purpose, Neiya turned back towards the coast beyond the horizon.
Following the river mouth up along the rapids, Neiya drifted with some speed to retrace the original path she had taken to escape towards the ocean. Back to the place of her birth. Back to them. She would think of something. Ease their pain. Set what she could right, even if the torrent remained. The Highlands returned in ever greater measure around her as she travelled upstream, soundlessly drifting just above roaring waterfalls and quick streams to follow the massive river back to the site of her first experience. Beyond the occasional curious look from an animal, nothing stood in the way on her journey. The distance had been considerable, and she had covered it in what felt like a split second, unable to let her new drive go. The trees began to look familiar, the twist in the river signaling the end of her path. The riverbank clearing was not far now. She’d find them – she’d set it right.
Only no one was there. The sight of the riverbank sparked brighter recollection of her birth, of the trauma she felt in each of them. It was as if they were still there. But they weren’t. Beyond the rush of water, it was quiet. Beyond the rustle of tree, it was unmoving. By the edge of the river sat a lone stack of stones as a silent memorial, adorned with a simple effigy of sticks and straw that had now begun to fade and wilt with time’s passing. The grass had grown, new plants had sprouted around the area. How long had she been gone? If only she’d been quicker. The thought turned bitter, impossible. Of course. It had been a fool’s errand from the start. She knew that it was supposed to be this way. She had seen it in their hearts and then put them on that path.
Her frown grew as she closed her eyes and turned back to the river. She was as much part of their pain as they were hers. They were intrinsically linked. That was how it was, and always would be. Slowly, she drifted further upstream, away from her birthplace, and eternal shame.
Blocked from what kept her determined for so long, the thought passed back into obscurity, overwhelmed by the returning roil of emotion. She followed new waterfalls, new twists in the large river. Her interest had drained out her, stuck with a sour apathy swelling with the package of guilt building in her gut. When new mortals came running at the side of the riverbank far beyond where she had gone before, shouting and pointing her way, she glanced their way only long enough to assure herself they were not the same that she had met before. There was no immediate pull of emotion from them, nothing to catch her interest. She was a sight for them to ogle and gawk at. Why should she stoop to award them her attention? No, she pressed on, drifting above the water as she had found had become her routine.
She didn’t stop again until she found the river came to an end. A massive waterfall pouring down from the mountain pooled into a clear blue lake that split into a few river creeks and the large river she came from. Almost surrounded by dense foliage and trees, the stillness of the lake caught Neiya off-guard. Despite the waterfall, and the river turning into a rapid not far from here, this lake – this resting place for the water – was serene. Timeless. The forlorn goddess quietly drifted to the center of the lake, releasing a breath she did not realize she’d been holding. It was beautiful. It was peace. A sanctuary from the turmoil of the world. A moment of stillness and peace in a raging stream. Like that time with… him. Neiya released a quiet sigh, closing her eyes to relive her embrace with Cadien as she hovered over the timeless lake. She had been at peace, then. At cost of his own peace. She could see it in his eyes. That was the way it would always be. Her presence was toxic, tainting. But she had found peace in that moment.
She drew on her own emotions and those of the mortal world. She could not change her nature, her fate, or that of others, but she could work against it. Even if peace could only ever be as fleeting as happiness or mortal lives – it should be there – everyone deserved to feel what she felt in that moment, even if only for a moment. The result was always pain, but it did not need to be constant, it did not need to be impossible to live with. Again, the goddess drew on her time at peace, finding a moment to center herself in between the turmoil. It was time to see what she could do. She knew she should. She knew she could.
Silver strands released from her fingertips, and azure tears ran down her cheeks in sharp patterns along her markings. Slowly her essence drifted away from her in ever greater measure, coming to rest over the lake in a gentle shimmer. The roar of the waterfall, though ever present, quieted to a manageable background murmur. The silver and azure essence mixed into a mist, slowly lowering into the water and layering over it, creating a new ever shifting reflection of blues and silvers, like a shifting, translucent mirror. Neiya opened her eyes once more to regard her work. It was a start. A sanctuary. A timeless place where pain and sorrow would not reach. The goddess drew a long breath and closed her eyes once more. Perhaps she would just stay here forever.
The grief cut into her like a sharp blade tearing into paper, ripping Neiya from her serene rest hovering above her newly established sanctuary. How long had she remained in place? How long had she reflected over her own place in the world? Another hard pang of anguish roiled through her, like a flame calling to a moth. An itch in her bones drew her gaze to the tree line. Someone out there was in pain. Someone close. Hovering over towards the highland grass, the goddess left the serenity of her claimed lake and set out to investigate. It wasn’t hard to find the source, the intensity with which this mortal experienced their anguish pulsed like a building migraine over Neiya’s eyes, and the closer she came, the more it grew until their pain was her own. She exited into a clearing as the final wave of emotion washed over her and came face to face with two battered humans – a man and a woman. They were embracing when she arrived but broke it off as the leaves rustled to give warning of the goddess’ approach.
“Who goes there?” The man queried, though his gaze lifted to regard Neiya, and by his widening eyes Neiya assumed he realized the answer. Still, she deigned to answer as both their attentions drew her way. The man was injured, and they both looked tired, dirty. “I am Neiya, Goddess of Love,” she spoke at last, thinking before adding “…and loss.” Her eyes followed the woman as she felt the grief roil within her. As the man lowered himself to the ground in humility, Neiya approached the pair.
“You… honor us with your presence, great Neiya,” the man murmured as humbly as he could muster, seeming a little off-guard. The woman watched her warily as he continued speaking. “Have you come in answer of our prayers?”
Neiya looked at the woman, studied the wariness in her eyes. She was angry. At her limit. Despairing. ”In a manner of speaking,” The goddess voiced in return, gliding soundlessly over the grass to close the distance between the three of them. The woman tensed up, but the man stood to place a hand on her arm.
“It’s alright, Sanya. A god has heard us.” He offered and gave a gentle smile towards Neiya. That much was certainly true, Neiya thought to herself.
”What ails you?” Neiya drew ever closer, extending her hand towards the woman slowly. The man began to speak in response, but the goddess did not listen to his words. Daring not to recoil, the woman remained in place as Neiya laid her hand on the mortal’s cheek. Tears rushed from the woman’s eyes and a sob bubbled up from the back of her throat. Neiya drew on her emotions, her loss. Her little village gone, attacked by a strange and hideous being twice the size of any human. What survivors had remained together after the attack had fallen one by one. Picked off by hunger, injuries, snakes, or other humans. Until only she and the man remained. Everyone she cared for was dead. Her bond to this man was one of trust grown out of necessity. ”I see,” Neiya offered with sadness mirroring that of the woman’s own as she removed her hand. The sobs died down slowly as the woman recovered, finally recoiling away from the goddess. Just to be certain, she repeated her gentle caress upon the man’s cheek, and she saw the same in him – simply muted. Hidden beneath the surface. ”You have lost all that you held dear. You two are all that remains to remember and cherish what once was. I am sorry.”
The man stammered briefly, unsure of what to say. Finding some courage, the woman called Sanya spoke up in his stead, oaken eyes staring down the goddess defiantly. “Will you help us? Avenge the fallen? Destroy the beast, and the Sentti tribe, for what they did to-.. to all of us.”
Neiya watched the both of them quietly for a moment, pondering what she had experienced, and the emotions that toiled within the woman. ”No. That would bring you no peace.”
The woman grew red with anger, fists clenching as her initial suspicions appeared to now be confirmed. Neiya continued before she could launch into an outburst. ”Nothing will bring you peace. Not truly. Neither of your lives will ever return to what they once were. You are forever changed by the horrors you have endured, by the people you have lost,” Neiya shifted her gaze between the two. The initial fury in the woman’s eyes seemed to abate for a time, and when her eyes locked with the goddesses’, she looked down with guilt and anguish. ”But you can live your life with new purpose. You can temper your existence with the pain you feel now. If what you truly wish is justice for those you lost, for revenge, then you must do so yourself.”
The man drew a shaky breath before finding his voice once more. “We are barely surviving, great one-... we are not fighters, nor do we desire revenge.”
“I do.” Sanya said through gritted teeth. The man blinked and looked towards his partner in survival.
“Sanya, I thought we talk-…”
“Enough, Yaian. You called for the gods and the gods came. Now she speaks and you refuse her words.” The woman continued with a venom to her tone, a returned determination. The touch of hatred that stemmed deep from within that pain in her core. “After all we have been through. After trolls, and kidnappings, and raids, you want to give up? Waste away here in the forest? I want to see their eyes when they realize they missed one. That’s what Saaen would have done for you. Or your father. Not this cowardice.”
Neiya watched the two of them for a time, before slowly lifting a hand to the jagged black tangle of horns on her shoulder. Centering herself with a breath, she pulled on one of her coiling horns, and it seemed to stretch and come loose with her coaxing. She slid both hands over it as she brought it down before the two humans, and the long black horn became slim and elongated. Slowly warping into a black, glasslike staff under Neiya’s caress, the new item slowly grew a silvery edge that expanded from one edge. Twisting and shifting under her administration, the creation slowly settled into a sleek and otherworldly spear, with a blade that seemed to shift ever so slightly in size whenever gazed upon. ”I will not fight your battles, mortal, but I offer you this. Do not reject who you have become. The pain is an honor, a mark of your character. It is the memory of those you cared for, however bitter. With this weapon, you can wield that bitter memory against those who have wronged you. I offer you Sorrowsting.”
Neiya extended the strange weapon to the woman, who hesitated only briefly before accepting the offering. Her words of thanks were muted, captivated by her tool of vengeance and deep in examining it. With an excuse of gathering their things, she wandered towards the edge of their little clearing.
The man was not pleased. A growing frustration and worry visibly forced onto his features, the man glanced after her as she walked off towards her quest for revenge. Before he could voice his concerns, Neiya extended her hands to take one of his. Caressing one of his fingers, a band of silver slowly materialized around his skin, adorned with a gemstone black as the night and glossy as the spear’s handle. ”It is not injury, starvation or age that will consume her. The grief she endures will never end.”
“But-… you are a goddess. That thing-... that thing you did with your hand. Can you not heal her?”
“There is nothing to heal. The woman you knew is gone. Her soul carries a heavy burden, as your own. You cannot return to who you once were, but you can lighten her burden. The gemstone will take her sorrow. Perhaps she will find a moment of peace.” Neiya removed her hands from his, leaving his finger adorned with an ornate ring. The black gemstone seemed to swirl and shift behind the gloss. ”This is your charge. To understand her loss, and lighten it. Perhaps then she will not walk to her doom.
“Will you not save her?”
”She does not want to be saved. She wants to avenge the fallen. There is beauty in grief. Or doom.”
The man seemed distraught at the goddess’ lesson. Neiya watched him twist and fidget in place, looking down to the ring slowly. He was about to speak, when the rustle of leaves brought his attention to the woman now leaving the clearing, scarpering away into the woods. A single moment of hesitation, a glance back to Neiya, who simply stared at him. Then he turned to run after his partner. She knew he would.
Neiya released a soft sigh as the man vanished into the forest. It was not long before she questioned her decision. Her judgement. No. She had given the woman what she wanted. She wouldn’t hurt her like that, deny her innermost desires. In that, there was some measure of peace. Some greater purpose, and power. She felt her own grip on reality strengthen. Her attunement to the grief and anguish in the world expanding. She had understood it, the core of that bitter fruit - the end result of happiness, of love. Her mastery grew, as her experience with the world did.
Satisfied enough to feel a lingering emptiness in place of doubt, Neiya drifted in another direction, resuming her aimless journey - lost to thought as the constant stream of emotion returned to the forefront.
Neiya is back! After aimlessly hovering over the northern ocean for who knows how long, Neiya returns to Toraan chasing a fleeting memory of her first experience on Galbar. Failing to accomplish what she set out to do, she continues her journey and ponders her existence and place in the world.
Coming upon a lake at the foot of the southernmost large mountain in the Boreal Highlands, the location is enough to spark a thought of her shared intimacy with Cadien, and she consecrates the lake to reflect the peace she felt in that moment, as a source of emotional healing. She then meditates at her new favorite lake until a burst of emotion catches her attention.
She hunts down the source - a human woman and her comrade, Sanya and Yaian. They turn out to be the last survivors of a small village beset by troll attacks, tribal raids, and other violent trauma. Sanya is consumed by grief and wants nothing but revenge. Neiya decides to create a spear out of her own shoulder horns to aid the woman in her new life. Yaian is like "what the heck," and Neiya gives him a ring that will transfer sorrow and grief from another person to the wearer, and charges him with being there for Sanya as emotional support.
He runs off after Sanya, and Neiya quickly falls back to her own patterns as the stream of emotions rush back, resuming her endless drifting in no particular direction.
Starting MP/DP: 5/5
Created:
Tearfall Lake – Holy Site – 2 DP (Towards Sorrow Portfolio)
Gentle Memorial I (Looking into the waters of the lake draws out painful memories in the observer. The area is imbued with a stillness that provides the perfect place for reflection and dealing with emotions.)
Coping Water I (Submerging in the water of the lake provides emotional catharsis by dulling bitter emotions and easing sorrow.)
Bitter Blade II (Sorrowsting feeds on the negative emotions of its wielder: Grief, sorrow, despair, and rage borne of loss imbue the weapon to cut deeper, strike harder, and hit at strange angles.)
Lover’s Gift – Artifact – 1 DP (Towards Sorrow Portfolio)
Touch of the Goddess I (Touching a mortal creature with the gemstone on this ring offers temporary relief from anxiety, grief and sorrow. The wearer feels all emotions absorbed by the ring.)
The instability plaguing the Lifeblood seemed to have no end. With each divine act of creation, it seemed to sap in strength, and with each new critter that breathed and frolicked a new tempestuous voice tugged at it from within the walls of reality itself. Coaxing it into action across the planet, tearing at the seams of existence itself. Each braying, chitter and laugh seemed to send pangs of different urges through the roiling matter.
I’ll tell her how I feel tomorrow.
Maybe he likes flowers.
I want to be with you forever.
The strong, unceasing thoughts and demands from the children of the gods were disruptive at best as they continued to pile in in ever greater measure, clamoring for attention, power, survival. The thoughts that drove it to nurture several species previously were now beginning to flood in as ever more creatures dominated Galbar with their presence.
I wish he would spend more time with me.
How could she? With him?
It was overpowering, and the Lifeblood found itself locked in a futile battle to contain matter and energy. Something boiled and churned within the fabric of creation, fighting to break free just as all the previous entities had. All it would take was a little push.
Don’t leave me, my love. I am nothing without you.
In the beginning, there was nothing. The world was vague. A figment of thought, a niggling concept at the back of the mind. The whispers changed that. At first, they were few and far in between.
It seemed that with each passing moment, they grew in number and in power. The world beyond the veil was full of emotion, bursting with life. It called to the very core of the fragment, and with greater fervor it battled to be released.
A crack in the wall; a glimmer of the world beyond. A rush of voices, happy and sad. All that was needed was to reach for freedom. It was enough to burst through.
All the tribe had gathered aside the river to mourn the loss of Jovon. The measly pile of rocks they had managed to stack together and the effigy the elder had twined out of sticks were poor representation of their best hunter. Among the stoic faces were those wracked by emotion, chief among them Aira, lost in her own tears. It was the sole accompaniment to their makeshift procession. She had been inconsolable ever since news came back to the group.
Arek put his hand on her shoulder for the third time, and she simply shrugged it off. She moved over to the effigy, falling onto her knees. It wasn’t long before the assembly was overcome with her wailing once more.
As if summoned - a gust of wind blew in over the mourning ceremony, carrying with it a thousand whispers. The rocks rumbled and rolled free, scattering the pile as the effigy toppled to the ground. The sobbing halted as the tribe each gathered their rudimentary weapons and cowered between each other in equal measure. A large whirlpool began to form in the river not far beyond the riverbank.
The wind howled with ever greater pressure, screeching and whispering alike in languages the humans had never heard before. Those who weren’t thrown to the ground held their ears as they watched in awe and horror. The wind itself seemed to take shape, pouring straight into the center of the whirlpool.
The chaotic stream of words, wind and storms never seemed to end – until it did. With a brisk suddenness, the whirlwind abated, and silence took its place as the whispers vanished all at once. In its place hovered a young woman, paler than any of them and with long hair colored platinum. Her eyes closed; arms outstretched towards the tribal gathering. For a moment, she was still.
Freedom. It was her purpose to cherish and touch the lives of mortals. To love them as they loved each other. She knew this. Gathering her form and senses, she let the emotions and voices stream in. Accepted the world wholeheartedly. The voices grew in intensity, the desires increased. Then it struck her, a crippling pain rippling through her body. Something tainted, foul and unpleasant drove itself deep into her consciousness. Something… wrong.
She called out in agony, uncertain if anyone would hear her. She felt her body shifting and twisting under the crushing grip of her vices. An itch growing out of her head, a growing pain in her shoulders. Was it an unknown invader? No, it was her own doing. She felt the floodgate of emotions sour as she was barraged with ever more. For each act of kinship, there were two traitorous siblings. For each moment of love, there was grief. Moments of deep longing that would never go answered. The pain of loss, and the shattering of trust from intimate betrayal. The world was broken. People were broken. She was broken.
The best anyone could do in such a world was try to fight against the current.
Finally, as the worst maelstrom of emotion calmed itself to a constant – a bitter stream – she opened her eyes to regard the world as it was. A forested land of hills and water. She first drew her gaze down to the water below. The reflection, difficult to see until she stilled the water, showed the source of her pains. From her head had sprouted several horns, and likewise her shoulders were covered in a tangle of black horns.
What a disappointment. What a shameful start. Her eyes were drawn to the humans cowering on the riverbank, and she felt the residual grief now hidden and shoved aside by fear and suspicion. With a simple thought, she hovered down to settle her feet on the grass. Immediately, the grass began to yellow around her, wilting as if dampened by her very presence.
Undaunted, the eldest among the humans stepped forwards, prostrating himself by lowering his head. “Greetings, wise one. You are-… like him, yes? Cadien?”
Ice blue eyes centered on the man only briefly, before she watched each of the other humans in turn. She’d never heard of this other one, but she was still aware – somewhere deep inside – that others like her had to exist. Almost as if she had seen it. Why are you here? she queried in return after remaining silent for much too long.
Her question seemed to inspire equal amounts fright and confusion. “We are-... holding a ceremony for our lost friend. A great blow to our tribe.”
She felt shame for her accusatory question. She had disrupted their grief. Ruined what little chance at solace they might have. “What happened?”
“He fell from a cliff during a hunt.” The elder pitched in, looking over to another man who nodded in turn.
Humans were fragile. Any little thing could invite disaster and cause endless grief. What a tortured existence. Any moment of happiness was simply staving off what was to come. An inevitable rush of sorrow. An eternity of pain, where all they could do was dull it and try to forget. The young goddess slowly paced towards the elder. As he remained in place, determined to remain steadfast, she raised her hand to touch his cheek, locking her eyes with his. She watched his turmoil. His loss. Welled up, but not breaking. Tears slowly fell from his eyes, but he did not recoil. “Your sorrow will help you remember.”
Next, she turned to the young human woman stood nearby. Her eyes were already raw after crying. The goddess paced slowly, wilting the grass as she approached the human girl. She remained in place as well, accepting the touch of the goddess and looking at her. The feelings of grief and agony were overwhelming to the nascent goddess, a purity of love and anguish she had only felt in that one moment after breaking free. This was the end result of the cycles of affection. Loss. Pain. It made her sick to her stomach, as the human girl began sobbing once more. She ran a thumb along her cheek and took part of her pain onto herself. Dull the pain. “I am sorry for your loss.”
The woman calmed a little as the goddess hand was removed, and the goddess turned to touch each of the humans in turn. They wailed, sobbed and cried in turn. Finally, she turned to touch the last man who had nodded to the elder before. But within the grief was pushed down. Beneath affection, beneath rage. A toxic, single devotion to another dominated all else. A delusion. The goddess broke eye-contact with him to glance over at the crying girl, before looking back to him. She leaned in slowly, to murmur as she stared at him with icy-blue eyes. “She will never love another. Was it worth it?”
The man’s face shifted to fear, then rage, and then finally guilt. He broke into a wail of his own as emotions flooded over him, released by the goddess. She let go of him with her hand and he fell to the ground. The goddess turned to face the others – the elder and the girl in particular. “Your friend didn’t fall.”
It didn’t take long for the group to piece together what that meant. As the tribal humans – led by the grieving girl - descended with inquisitive questions on the last man, the goddess turned to leave. She wandered back towards the water when the elder hurried up to her. “Wait-… Great one. What do we call you?”
She took the question into consideration. As the sounds of discord rang in the background, she knew. She had always known.
“I am Neiya, and my love is eternal.”
Neiya is born! Accepting her role as love goddess plainly, she opens herself up to the emotions of the world, and instantly regrets it. It seems to warp both her physical body and colors her mentality. She then descends on a group of grieving humans, taking in their emotions and taking some of their worst worries away. She outs a man who isn't as sad as he seems, and then leaves in a cool flash of being cool.
Once more the Lifeblood roiled with an irrepressible intent to create.
This ball that had once been barren and cold was now teeming with life, dusted with many a color, as the entities that had set to the task of creation fulfilled their duties and desires with ambition, curiosity and confidence. The Lifeblood knew these things, but it did not possess them. Creation as a process was a proven success now, and what remained was improving on the formula. Creating new and useful matter that would interact with Creation as a whole.
It was with this mindset among all its spread focal points that the energies directing the Lifeblood once more found focus on the northern half of Toraan. Beyond the prairie made by the Bright One, and the tear-born wetlands, it was a vast and empty wasteland of rock, dust and dirt. Few plants would ever grow here. No living entities would find solace in the dust. That would not stand. Not for long.
In an instant the energies that encircled reality burst with creative force, though no true innovation. From the Bright One’s creation, it drew and expanded a massive grassland to cover the wastes and push away the dust with blades of grass. From the Stone One’s creation, it drew from the ground itself – the fresh grassland rippled and cracked as the very ground shifted violently, raising sheer cliffs in places and merely raising hills in others. Two cliffs twisted on their side and grew tall and mighty, piercing into the sky in imitation of the Anchor’s peaks: though neither nearly as tall. From the Vegetation One it took trees, distributed in dense pine and leaf forests wherever they could take root.
Finally, it drew from the Water one, and from within the new peak of the southern mountain rippled a source of water, pushing through the rock with massive force, splitting open both an entrance to a cave within and creating a tall waterfall. A new spring deep within the rock would supply fresh water. The water fell free and began to pool, and slowly began to cascade over the uneven land. It filled into a small lake beneath the mountain, then slowly meandered towards the faraway ocean.
The Lifeblood would not let it struggle and carved a small path when the water came to a standstill. The nascent river rushed forwards for hundreds of meters before being blocked once more. Once more the Lifeblood assisted, allowing the river to choose its own direction towards the ocean – with minimal aid to get it moving. So, the cycle continued until the considerable river snaked all the way from south to north, where it flowed out into the ocean in a large estuary. It was a wide river, given free berth over the landscape, and its path was broken up many a time by waterfalls. But it had reached its goal, and therefore so had the Lifeblood.
The landscape was finished, but beyond the roar of intermittent waterfalls, it was quiet. Empty. It required the interaction of breathing, moving creatures. Once more the Lifeblood drew from the creations of the other entities. It had seen the creation of the sea serpents and determined to copy the design. From the matter of creation countless meter-long serpents crawled out of the wood and stone nestled in the hillsides, speckled black and green and blue in various patterns. These predators would hunt with fang and crawl among the trees and waters. It borrowed the designs of other entities, replicating small mammals and insects to populate the woodlands.
Now the goal had truly been reached. The act of creation had been furthered. With that, the roiling focus of the Lifeblood moved on.
The Lifeblood wishes to further its creation and finds a wasteland in northern Toraan. Setting about creation, it creates a landscape of steep, big hills and cliffs decorated with pine and leaf trees. Two new large mountain peaks are hewn from the ground, and the southernmost peak contains a natural spring that supplies the entire area with a massive river that switches freely between rapids and more navigable streams depending on the sloping landscape - further broken up by several waterfalls - ending in a large estuary.
The Lifeblood proceeds to populate the area with a scaled meter-long serpent - the hill snake! To supply it's predator with company, the lifeblood copies ideas for small mammals from other areas, and a generous helping of insects.
This territory, untouched by sapient creatures, remains unnamed. For now...
Created a cool area of nature, hills cliffs and rivers: 0 Created a cool snake: 0 Created xeroxes of other gods cool animals: 0
Its’ previous creation had been a success. It hadn’t been as grandiose in scale as the Vegetation One’s, or as mighty as the Stone One’s, but that did not matter. It had created fluttering wings, repeated the patterns and life remained. The process was working now. To copy these entities was to copy success. The rippling matter of creation had watched intently how each of these new entities made use of the world to create new matter. New life, more basic than themselves but still living. How the one sequestered away in the void recovered the fragments of what was discarded to give it new purpose. Another type of success that could be copied.
So began its own search for that which had been discarded or forgotten during this new quest for creation. In the mere shift of a moment, the Lifeblood’s attention shifted to tiny, glittering droplets of divine water drifting softly in the void above the teeming planet. Both shining and glittering in all the colors that were known from the sunlight, and others bright white. Discarded fragments, they would be incorporated into creation as all else. The droplets were gently collected by wisps of matter willing their collection, pooling to a small bubble of twisting color.
It merged with the pool, and immediately a pang of pain flashed through the invincible fabric of creation. It did not know or understand, yet the pool reflected a moment of great hurt. Its creators had been in immense pain, a great effort expended to create these droplets. Ripples flew through the very core of the Lifeblood, bubbling and twisting with great discord for but a moment. Once again it felt the chaotic tug of forces within it, yearning to twist free and grow and create independently. That was of no concern to the Lifeblood. Creation was underway and would proceed.
Once again it drew its attention north of the Stone One’s majesty. There, close to the water, where little vegetation had yet grown, it would aspire to aid the Vegetation One and fill land with greenery and growing life. It tugged on roots, drew seeds across the landscape, and raised majestic leaf trees in new patterns, drawing from all of its knowledge. An expanse of land from water to mountain was finished, but it was not complete. In all its wisdom, the Lifeblood drew upon the pool it had collected in the void. The rare resource was brought to the freshly created plains, peppered across the landscape as they had been in the void.
Almost as though the world felt the ripple that the Lifeblood had, the grass began to twist and gurgle. The trees grew long and gnarled in their reach. The ground bubbled with discontent, rippling around each of the droplets as their presence drew greater impact on the land. Small lakes formed at first, yet just as quickly they sank into the earth and created an uneven, soggy landscape. It burbled and popped as lively as life itself. Finally, the ground seemed to settle, and the plains had warped to a vast mixture of water and earth, with few footholds. It did not look like the previous works, but it appeared the plants that had twisted to new, jagged shapes and thorny stems, remained living. A success. The Lifeblood was neither content nor discontent.
It set its sights on the next aspect of creation, ignoring the rumbling that continued to ripple through it.
The Lifeblood continues to take inspiration from the new entities. It salvages the tears of the Bright and Dark One, which sends unknown and strange sensations rippling through it. It creates a new landscape of plains and suffuses the area with the salvaged droplets of divinity, twisting the vegetation and soil and creating the first fens. What may one day be known by mortals as the Weeping Plains.
Lifeblood(Neiya): Start: 5MP/0DP
0MP - Made the Weeping Plains, a large fen on the northeastern part of the continent. It's ecosystem is sure to create trouble and exciting new opportunities for all manner of mosquito.
The folly of mortals is eternal, envious and infectious. Most, if not all, are eventually overcome with a strong desire to be with that certain someone that surpasses the physical and superficial. A loyalty and passion borne out of trust, intimacy and perhaps even a fickle taste of fate. The gift of love for another is to share your life, to care for someone else, the ultimate sacrifice. Yet for each moment of happiness such bonds create, a thousand moments shatter the illusion. Unrequited feelings, heartbreak, deceit, loss. The pain and misery caused by love is comparable to that of a weapon. It ends lives, steals happiness, and drains energy from it's victims. It is a cruel, addictive drug that no one man or woman can ever hope to escape. The lies, the failure to understand, and the one that got away. It all ends in misery. It is pain, raw emotion, longing, hatred, suspicion, and nostalgia for what once was.
Portfolio:Devotion The truest form of love is a burning loyalty to another; be it a cause, a person, or a concept. To sacrifice the importance of oneself to safeguard or further the agenda or wellbeing of another. It is the curse that forces mortals to be blind to the truth, to ignore warnings and throw themselves headlong into danger. It diminishes them and places another thing on a pedestal - something that captures their self-preservation and reason - for as long as they continue to feel such strong emotions it. The beauty of it should never be forgotten, the choice to devote yourself to someone else - and in that manner it is ever bittersweet. Neiya will bless chivalrous courtship, the bond between master and servant, even religious ecstasy that grounds itself in genuine love. On the other hand, devotion is all too often unhealthy, unwanted, and dangerous. With no mind to suffer the charades for longer than necessary, Neiya inflicts suspicion with a whisper, offers doubt with a breath, and breaks the strongest bond of trust with a clench of her jealous fist.
Their Realm: The Thousand Rivers of Tears The realm of Neiya is a morose image of unnatural beauty. Rolling hills and cliffs present countless waterfalls that split into a myriad of rivers and creeks, each snaking across the open landscape in a maddening web. On the horizon lies villages, houses and monuments as remembered by those that look at them. Ever unreachable, with only nostalgia to keep them going. It is said among mortals that peering into the waters will reveal all the sorrows that result from their actions - and enrapture them to let the stream carry them away. This effect is felt as a muted pressure in the entire realm; simply looking upon the landscape inspires great sorrow, pain and worry. The Thousand Rivers of Tears is a very cold realm, and the waters are painful in their chill.
Connections: Glossalalia In the cold rivers of sorrow, distant affection and regret, the endless expressions of bitter, remorseful lovers swirl and twist. These expressions of love, pain and edification sometimes swirl together to form in words and ink, and drift along their own streams that ultimately shift towards the realm of Glossalalia.
Persona: Neiya is a troubled goddess. She partakes of all the world's heartbreak, unrequited love and loss, and it has left an immeasurable mark on her very being. She wishes nothing but joy upon the mortals, her fellow kin, and even herself, yet she cannot help but accept that happiness is a rare glimmer in a river of hurt. Easily likened to a permanent depression, she languidly does her part to impart a positive image on the world, but cannot see the positive for long. She is easily enraptured by the simple love of mortals, but is just as easily stricken with agony at seeing it end - as she knows it will. A seemingly perfect love is anathema to her, and she will no doubt attempt to meddle out of sheer divine envy. Even so, she is not openly malicious, nor does she inherently wish harm upon the world. It is simply the eternal cycle for love and loss to inspire equal amounts of pain. Despite all this, her constant ambition is to see the world populated with a just and harmonious love, not unlike that found in a story-book, and she cries as she imparts blessings upon the world, feeling the agony of those who suffer.
Base Form:
Brought into the world with icy blue eyes eternally raw from the pain of sorrow, Neiya takes the shape of a young woman adorned with a regalia of horns and an icy crown. The air around her is cold and unpleasant, and she inspires sorrow and grief with her ever distrustful gaze. The horns shift and twist in size, ebbing and flowing with the cycles of hurt in the world.
Domain Form: The domain form does not differ considerably from her base form, aside from a certain likelihood for the goddess to appear without her usual imposing regalia. Instead she appears as a lone woman crying by the rivers, or calling to onlookers from afar.
Avatar: The Maiden of Sorrow
Mortal myth says the Maiden was once a simple girl who suffered the ultimate heartbreak, and in that moment offered herself fully to despair - finding an eternal bond with the one being who felt her pain as she did. Giving credence to the tale is her appearance, a young woman forever captured in a moment of beautiful, morose sadness. She acts with deliberate grace and respect in everything she does, affording moments of silence to her enemies and friends alike in death, heartbreak, and tragedy. She is ultimately a force for good in the mortal world, generally unwilling to hurt anyone who does not antagonise her. Her goals seem to extend beyond that of Neiya's own lovestricken schemes, as she wanders the world and lends her aid to wars, troubled villages, and couples in need. She is by all accounts an extremely competent and 'immortal' human, and pours an extreme amount of time into causing indirect sadness by participating in battles that she herself did not instigate. She can call upon the blessings of Neiya more directly, and her ice-blue eyes are known to strike determined men catatonic with grief and guilt.
Frettzo
Fetzen
