Cradle of Gods

In Onogoro you'd pour one out for the ones that didn't make it, or who got sent to the slammer. Sword didn't have anything like that right now, sadly. It was complicated though. The words died in Sword's throat. She wanted to say, why did she never get this?! She was a child too! The world had failed her! She was within every right to dishonor this thing in front of them. But they were also here to make sure that didn't fucking happen again. To become so much better than that pettiness and take for themselves what they never got.

"We Guildsmen do have something we say when we lose someone. Friend or enemy. You were right that this one here deserves it." Sword approached the body, and jerked her head up once. "Be seeing you, girl."

That was that. Sword turned to Nasira. "And yours too then. We'll make it a grand combination of all our traditions. I got at least one arm left to get you that wood." Sword started dragging the Huntress's own javelins over from across the battlefield. "I can't drag more than one of these at a time, so you could help me there, Captain."

Together, they dragged all available wood and put it in the rough shape of a pyre. It was hard labor, but peaceful and, in a certain way, putting their mind at ease. Those that didn't help with the funeral rested or got treated by Poppy. Finally, at twilight hour, the pyre was finished and lit ablaze.

The fire spread slowly at first, but then rose quickly and soon the dark sky was lighted by a large flame, as it devoured the Huntress and her victims. Smoke rose up into the sky. Maybe their souls would be laid to rest. Travel to Hawaiki and finally find peace there under the stewardship of the Pahta Noa. Even though there was no stern Atyx to judge them or the gentle Yarrow to soothe them.

And as they watched the fire, the heroes could feel a change come over them. A power slowly filling them, suffusing through their soul. Somewhere far, far away in a ruined temple a throne began to glow and its light pierced the encraching darkness. Then another. And another. And another...

Poppy looked down, to see her skeletal arm vanishing under the growth of mushrooms and flowers. Vines and fungal growths forming the semblance of muscle and skin, a colourful, bright cornucopia of growth and life that now reached up to her shoulder and neck. It bloomed up her cheek, before finally a blue, starlike flower grew out of her empty eye. A starlit, night-blue orchid serving as a tasteful eye-patch.

Caitlin spotted the tattoo on her left arm changing and expanding. Where before it had merely clung to her lower arm, it now reached up to her shoulder, her tanned skin covered in ink. Two sensual women, resembling her, flanking a slithering tentacle, that clung to her arm almost like a chain. A dark, blue aura filled her withered limb and she could feel strength and life returning, as it healed before her eyes.

Val and Sword could a the pinch of pain. For the assassin it went by quickly, his eyes feeling like sand had flown into them. In the light of the pyre, his blue eyes now had taken on the color of silvery moonlight, cold and mystical. For the oni, she could feel broken bones set and crack as something hot was poured into her wounds. Her dislocated shoulder popped and when she looked at it, she could see a golden inlay run through, where her wounds had been. Like someone had poured metal into it and mending her flesh through it. A touch confirmed, that it was indeed gold.

Nasira could feel her skin burn. The ink in her slave-tattoos swirling and changing. The symbols of her captivity getting erased and transformed, as chains turned to helixes, then to swirling lines and elaborate caligraphy. Khsathran Runes praising the sky and the wind, singing of freedom and joy. Songbirds appearing over her scars, forming inked wings over her shoulderblades.

These and other changes came upon the group and a new power filled them. They almost understood instinctively, that they gotten one step closer to godhood. They had ascended for the first time.

"My...my...look at that." A faint, coarse voice, worn by age, cut through the stunned silence and the crackling fire. As they turned, they saw a figure, that was familiar to Poppy at least.

The old woman, from when they had first had stepped into this Shard, sat on a nearby boulder, chuckling to herself. She leaned on a gnarled walking-stick, hunched over. Her face not visible, aside from a wide, toothy grin that cut through the darkness of her cowl. "Congratulations, Contenders. You freed Alvahnôn from its Pretender and made your first step towards true power. Let's hope it will do you more good, than for the poor, wretched thing that has tormented this place for so long."

She pointed at the burning pyre, as if it wasn't clear to whom she was referring to.

Edited by TheNohen on May 4th 2021 at 6:38:48 PM

Captain Holloway

Caitlin had merely nodded in agreement to Sword's request, and after the pyre had been built up and then set alight she took a moment to sit down and watch it burn with a soft exhale. The changes occurring in her arm caught her attention, however—the bizarre feeling of it being rejuvenated drawing her gaze towards it—and she flexed it experimentally, an expression of mute surprise on her face as she traced her fingers along the new markings.

“...well. Thank the gods that there's a nice sense of aesthetic in this...” she eventually sniffed, relieved more that her arm was returned to more or less normal functionality rather than lauding whatever new powers she'd presumably been granted. “I suppose I'll decipher them in a moment. I'd hardly want a repeat performance...”

The old woman's voice and presence visibly made the pirate jump, and she clasped her fist over her chest to calm her rapid heartbeat as she exhaled and set down her swiftly-drawn sword. She kept it beside her, too wary now to stow it away despite the elderly figure's words.

“Let's hope the journey eases as time passes. Or is at least a steady incline,” she remarked, trying to hide the slight tremble in her tone. “I suppose it's too much to ask what your hand in all this was? You seem rather... deliberately esoteric.”

The woman looked at Cait and chuckled. "Me? Oh, I'm just an old, babbling witch. Travel here and there...," she answered. "I merely tend to watch, as things unfold. At my age, it is one of the few pleasure still remaining. There is no hand in anything for me. That, my dear, is something I leave to the new generation."

She chuckled again. It was obvious, she wasn't elaborating any further, instead humming to herself, as she watched the fire. "You know, this Huntress had potential. She had chased after someone, desperate for their approval. It provided her with the energy she needed to to become truly great....and terrifying. All, so she could get him to look at her. Acknowledge her."

"Alas, Shedur himself never really understood that. He thought, he simply helped a lonely child get over her father death and teach her how to survive. When he moved on towards the Throne, he left her behind, oblivious to her true desire."

A long finger traced over the knotted end of her walking stick. "She followed him...as far as she could. When she arrived in this place, he told her to take care of it. He thought, he done her a favor. Unfortunately, it only ended in her tragedy..."

"Power breeds isolation. And isolation leads to madness. With no one to guide her or keep her in check, her worst impulses took over."

The old woman sighed and shook her head. "Poor, wretched thing. You did a kindness in ending her." Then, again this wide grin split the shadow of her cowl. "And in quite spectacular fashion, I might add."

"Now, you made the first step towards your path of damnation. I presume, you took it with only the bare knowledge of what it entails and why. With the first blood spilled, your metaphoical cherry popped...it seems to be the right time to answer some questions."

She gestured for them to speak. "This old, decrepit witch may not offer much, but I do say knowledge remains my forté. Perhaps, I can advise..."

Val

Val had joined in setting up the pyre without a second thought, gathering wood and piling it with an unusual solemnity. As he worked, his mind wandered to memories of contracts and blood and mourning.

The mourning had been his least favorite part. Every weeping widow, every crying child, every bereaved mother or father or sibling—they were all reminders that his targets were people, not just names on a list. His dad had said it would get easier, and maybe for him, it had.

As much as Val acted otherwise, for him, it never did.

Now, staring at the smoke rising into the night sky, he wondered; who would mourn the Huntress? Who would mourn her victims? Who would never stop grieving their loss? Who would have to live on with their entire world shattered? Would any—

PAIN

"OW!"

His trip down Misery Lane was cut short by a sudden, sharp pain in his eyes, causing his hands to slam over his face. Just as suddenly, it stopped, leaving Val very confused.

"Uh, anyone else got sand kicked in their eyes, or just me?"

Then the old woman from earlier showed up, gave an explanation—so the eye pain was part of ascension, noted—and then asked if they had any questions.

...wait.

Did she say...

"Uh, what do you mean by 'damnation'? Is godhood secretly a bad thing and we're all gonna get cursed or something?"

And why wouldn't I be surprised if that were the case?

"That would probably be woah, shit!" Sword seamlessly transitioned from a conversation to a freakout as gold inlays ran through her skin, marking her wounds. Kintsugi. She recognized the art instantly. Her expression changed from fear to awe. A style from her home, and one she always admired from afar. Either she didn't have the money, or it was frivolous and uncool to buy it. No longer! She briefly pulled the top of her bandages away from her chest to look down her front and check on some small scrapes and chafes—yep. Nice. She slung the jacket off her arm and around her shoulders like a cape, its old use exhausted. She needed to show off the new gold.

"Damnation's the wrong direction. I aim to reach heaven, through violence." She showed the old woman her teeth. Spoilsports like this really killed her vibe. Made her feel less in control. "You got any credentials for why we oughta trust a word you say? Because this's time I should be spending blowing off steam, R&R before the more serious types in the crew say it's time to move on."

Edited by Taco on May 7th 2021 at 10:10:32 AM

Nasira nodded a wordless thanks to those offering their help, continuing to work in silence and withdrawing her opinions back into her inner thoughts. As the sky dimmed and the embers lit, Nasira thought on how this would be perhaps the first time she would have been able to mourn in her long life. She may have outlived some of her former masters, her fellow slaves worked until their exhausted bodies and souls burned out, but it was not as though her inheritors would feel obligated to let her know of either. Still with this freedom of hers now, Nasira felt it only right to pay respects as best she could, kneeling before the flames and offering a quiet prayer for hunted, hunters, and Huntress alike.

May your families find the refuge they sought but could not find here in the world beyond. May your broken bodies be mended and your souls made whole. May you find the father you lost, and live your life after this not as a goddess to be with the expectations of many burdening you, nor as a hunter tormenting those beneath her... but as a child, a daughter, as carefree as a child should be reunited with her family and her people...

Nasira's skin began to burn but her mind stayed focused on imagining that faraway land, some distant quiet island in Hawaiki where souls might find rest. Eyes closed, all her thoughts were set on that image, as though visualizing it might guide them to that place. It was only once the self-described witch made herself known that Nasira rose from her prayer, brushing off the dust from her clothes and examining the patterns dancing on her flesh, no longer the slave bindings they once were but poetry of wind and sky.

"Our first step towards power," she says... Nasira wasn't fond of the deliberately opaque language of the crone before them, even if it was the standard in the tales and epics she read many a night to her Scheherazade. Perhaps there was something in the magic of witchcraft that binds its users to obscure truths, some inherent means by which the magic itself seeks to protect its secrets? However Nasira set aside the thought for now - it was neither here nor there, and she would get no immediate answers to that question in any case.

"...what was her name?" were the first words that escaped Nasira's lips since the pyre had been lit. The djinn had many, many questions of course. There were matters more pressing, mysteries needing to be unraveled. But without a name to the Huntress's memory, her records and her respects would be left feeling... incomplete.

Captain Holloway

“I'd say I've had enough damnation, but that's clearly not true...” Caitlin admitted, looking down at her decorated arm briefly before shifting into a slightly more respectable sitting position. “Though I have to agree with the others. I'd like to have an indication of what we're getting into, if you can help it...”

Nasira's question brought a curious look to Caitlin's face for a moment, before she nodded in acknowledgement and smiled slightly towards her—a tinge of respect in her features. Out of inquisitiveness she shuffled nearer to the djinn, partially to inspect her fellow's similar change in tattoos.

“I usually don't learn the names. I'm typically busy, and I can only have so much weighing on my mind at once...” she hummed, briefly looking over the designs on Nasira's arm before seeming to falter and let out a long sigh. “Th-Though I... perhaps on this occasion... she gave us a bloody good fight. She deserves to be remembered for her efforts, if not pure decency...”

Poppy Blake

"Oh...I..." Poppy trailed off in wonder as roots burrowed into her skeletal arm and skull, vegetation and other sorts of greenery springing forth from her desiccated body parts, with colorful mushrooms thrown into the mix for good measure. She touched her face as the orchid grew out of her eye and flowers crowned her head, tears dripping from her one good eye, not being able to believe what had happened. "My arm...my eye...what...?"

"Val, your—your eyes have turned silver," she gasped, when Val seemed not to notice the change in his own body. "And it's like moonlight, the prettiest and shiniest kind!" She cast a look around at everyone else who was present and indeed, the new changes all promised different kinds of wonder and beauty, wiping at her eyes just so she could see everything better.

As the fire blazed, Poppy plucked a single forget-me-not out of her hair and threw it into the flames. As the blue flower turned into a crisp in the blaze, Poppy lifted her voice in a funeral dirge, one she was all too familiar with back in the dreary little village that she had come from.

Edited by JumpingFruit on May 22nd 2021 at 10:02:08 AM

"Damnation....yes, indeed my dear boy." The old woman chuckled once more, turning her unseen gaze to Valentine and Sword. "Becoming a god means to damn yourself. Surely, you have noticed that no matter how powerful the gods, eventually they all perish. Even someone like Vector couldn't escape that fate."

She raised her stick and drew two arrows into the mud, forming a circle. "Every time the gods perish, the Cradle opens its Gates and allows Contenders to travel through the Shards in the hopes to reach the Thrones and ascend to godhood. Only for them to perish eventually as well and the cycle continues."

"There have been countless cycles, as there have been countless Realms over the aeons. Born to die, Die to be born. Over and over. Such is their fate. You seek to become gods. And to become a god means to be damned."

Then Narisa caught her attention. The old women looked to the burning pyre, her smile vanishing behind the shadow of her cowl. For a while she was silent. "She was born with the name Ilna, but later called herself Devna. A more noble title, meaning Hunting One."

"Thanks for the tip. Something else you oughta know, though: They weren't us. I know when people are special, you know, I'm a real talent scout." Sword said simply. "If I didn't think a better world was possible, you know, with me on top, I wouldn't be on this climb." She rolled her shoulder, fidgeting a little. "You aren't here to debate us though, are you? And yes, that's not a rhetorical question." Sword started buttoning up her jacket... and decided better of it, letting it hang on her shoulders like a cape. She felt like showing off.

Val

"...I mean, yeah, I guess so. The cycle's doomed to repeat over and over again, and our efforts probably won't amount to much in the greater scheme of things. But..."

Val stared at the pyre, orange flames reflecting in silver eyes. "If I can make people stop crying, stop grieving, stop hurting, even if it's just for a few moments...it'll have been worth the damnation."

Did the gods feel the same, when they started on their journeys?

"...no more damned than the rest of us, then. After all, aren't we all fated to die someday...?" Nasira pondered, to the witch, to the others, to herself. She had more thoughts on the matter, but waxing philosophical would do no one any good. She wanted to know more about the child they were forced to kill, but again it would only serve to anchor them. Maybe, once the dust had settled, once the thrones were seized, Nasira would be able to find the old woman and ask those questions. For now though, she had burdened everyone enough, she felt.

"...Have you been to the other Shards? What do you know of the road ahead of us, and of the god seekers that await?"

Masaru

Warm power flooded through Masaru's long stagnant veins, like liquid fire replacing his blood. For a moment he felt as he had in life once more. New vitality coursed to every cell of his undead body, as he brought up his hand to his face. Faintly beneath the surface, lines of gold-orange glowed, kindling embers of godsblood breaching his pale skin.

"So this is but a taste of a god's power, is it? Interesting."

And then strange woman was there, talking about how they were damned. Masaru had to stifle a snort, knowing full well that he was an affront against the natural order. After all, the dead were supposed to remain dead, were they not?

"All things are damned then. Some more than most. If even gods die...what separates them from mortals? Surely any mortals possessing significant power should be no different from a god then?"

Though he himself had never followed the more arcane teachings, he knew that the path of mysticism was a way to far greater powers than any mortal could comprehend. Conjuring things from nothing, raining down destruction, bringing back those at the brink of death. What made them any different from gods then, apart from scale?

The old women waited and hummed for a few minutes, watching the fire crackle. It seemed almost like she had drifted off or fallen asleep, before her weird grin appeared again.

"Good, good...that is the right attitude. The weak and idle fall behind, unable to ascend completely. Trapped between mortalkind and divinity, belonging to neither." She turned to Masaru, who had so far stayed quiet for the most part. "All gods originate from mortals. Their origin are always humble, for we are born weak. Even the greatest among us. It is mortals that give them names and mortals whose actions and desires drive them."

"As for the difference...perhaps you already realized it, but with enough power anyone can be called a god. Vyhnamon had never ascended truly, simply relying on his natural strength as the greatest of the dragons to claim a Throne. His power could topple mountains and scour entire countries. What else do you call this, but a god?"

As she spoke the name, a shudder wnet through the group, almost by instinct. Vyhnamon and his Dracomachia was well known even to this day, for the scars it had left behind were still visible even five-hundred years later. Almost no Realm had been left untouched by the sky-gods attempt to ursurp the pantheon and it had taken countless lifes to finally bring an end to his draconic armies.

The old woman tapped on her staff and stood up. The fire was still burning bright and would continue to do so for several hours, but she turned away from it. "I will take my leave now. The road calls again and I loathe to overstay my welcome." She gave them her wide, bright grin and waved them goodbye with her spindly fingers. "Goodbye, Contenders. I will see you in the next Shard, I'm sure. Though...maybe not all of you."

And with an ominous chuckle she walked into the dark of night and was gone.

The next morning...

The pale sun rose over the horizon, driving away the morning fog that had gathered even on the hilltop. The massive pyre had burned to nothing but ash, which was now slowly carried away by a stiff breeze.

The smell of food was in the cold air, as breakfast was prepared and the heroes readied themselves for the next part of the journey. Without the Huntress, the Shard was quiet and tranquil. Almost beautiful, if not for the scars of battle everywhere.

Beyond the hill, one could see the surviving beastman gather themselves. They looked skittish, afraid, unsure. The clans they had formed were mostly leaderless now, so the lone mother with her kids, that had been the only survivor of the ruined keep, had taken command somehow. Tents were built and wood was chopped, as they prepared living quarters. Maybe just to see what would happen next. Maybe to settle for real, now that hiding behind stonewalls wasn't necessary anymore, thanks to the Huntress no longer being around.

One of the children of the mother looked up the hill, quiet and with big eyes. Then it slowly climbed up and approached the group, making sure to stay well out of reach. The little one had the features of a ferret, with a catlike tail. He pulled out a small talisman, not bigger than the palm of his hand. It was carved from ivory, with silver inlays that formed swirling runes and a clear pearl in the middle of it. He held it out and then put it on the ground, like an offering.

Then he ran back down the hill and joined the other beastmen, not saying a word.

Sword had hardly been able to sleep. Rough ground wasn't the issue, it was all the violence that'd just gone down, somehow. It was maybe more worrying that the killing was somehow getting to her. She'd never had to think of her targets as particularly human, and they often folded before it escalated this far. So she was understandably jumpy when she saw another beastman making an approach. A cultist, maybe? But he just... left an offering for them. As befitting gods, she figured.

"Huh, let's have a look here—" Sword got up from where she was laid down and stretched out a hand for the talisman, only for it to suddenly appear in her hand with a whoosh of displaced air. "Woah!" She jumped back a little. This must be her new powers awakening though. Just as she was feeling better, inlaid with kintsugi across her body, this must be it too. She inspected the carving closer, trying to get a better look at it. "Rise and shine everyone! We've received our first offering. It seems the Beastmen want to make good with us. Do right by us. Or this is a bomb and I'm making a terrible mistake."

Captain Holloway

“It'd be a rather attractive bomb, if it were...” Caitlin tiredly commented, stretching her limbs a little as she allowed herself a moment more to rest off her meal. She felt a lot better for it and a decent sleep. “You could always try handing it back and see if they run for the hills. But that'd probably send the wrong message if it's genuine...~”

It's a beautiful piece, at any rate... she inwardly acknowledged, before pursing her lips and tracing her fingers along the tattoos on her arm. Not to be claimed for myself. For once. Besides... these gifts seem enough for now...

“...Perhaps we should give them our condolences proper. Apologize for our violence. I know I... am starting to feel guilt. I've no doubt my bloodlust was undeserved, if they were only being forced to fight...”

Val

Despite everything, Val somehow managed a sound slumber that night. It probably shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise—he'd been able to sleep through guilt just fine in Rousson. But after what had happened...

Well, anyway, he awoke to Sword getting a shiny new artifact and Cait suggesting that maybe they go apologize to the beastmen for their wanton slaughter of several of the Shard's denizens. "That's one of the better ideas you've had!" Val chirped, his melancholy mood having seemingly vanished overnight. "I'll go do that. If I don't come back, tell my story!"

After setting his staff down on the ground—probably best to approach them unarmed—Val made his way down the hill towards where the beastmen were rebuilding. Hopefully, they didn't attack him immediately.

"Hi!" he called out when he was almost there, waving. He reached the bottom of the hill and approached—slowly. "Uh, sorry for...everyone we killed. We didn't know you guys were sapient, and, um..." He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Yeah."

A pause.

"If I reach the Thrones, I promise to come back here. Make it up to you guys in full. However I can."

Poppy Blake

Looking down upon the ravaged area of the battle, Poppy could scarcely believe what she’d seen. A whole area, torn up like that, and the beast-folk were still rebuilding. And she’d...

She’d what, exactly?

Killed them, thrown rot magic around like it was nothing, ruined the land for years to come in some places?

This wouldn’t do.

Coughing, Poppy walked slowly down the path to where the beast-folk were rebuilding, breathing labored as she arrived at the bottom. But she couldn’t stop there, so she kept going. She found the first patch of dead grass that she herself caused, and laid a hand on it. There were already seeds from the grass there, but they still needed a little push to spring up and grow anew, and so Poppy bade them to, not speaking a word to anyone else.

She owed the beast-folk at least that much, and if she could fix it now, she would.

Edited by JumpingFruit on May 30th 2021 at 2:00:11 AM

Nasira slept with her questions left unanswered. Perhaps they were answers the self-professed witch didn't know, or more likely felt were best left unanswered. Either way the question still lingered in her mind, strange fragmented worlds and half-formed gods drifting in and out of her dreams. It was the drifting smell of breakfast that roused Nasira from her sleep, yawning and absentmindedly having some food for herself as her conscious mind crawled its way back to the present.

What's left to be done... she pondered to herself, sketching aspects of the landscape and taking notes. On one hand it felt wrong to abandon these people, after they had slain so many. But on the other the thrones still lay ahead in wait. Perhaps this was the more difficult choice - it was easy to decide to fight when your life was already under threat, easy to mourn the dead and carry on. But helping the living - in what way? Would they they even accept her help...?

As Nasira pondered that, Poppy simply got to helping, in a way only she could by healing the land. For a timid little thing, the girl was quick to act - that was something Nasira had to admire. Putting away her dishes (in her smoke), Nasira walked over to join Val, bowing her head slightly to the beastmen. "Is there anything we can do to help in the here and now? I don't have many supplies and I don't know if my talents could help you to rebuild, but if there is anything, large or small, that I can do I would be willing to do so."

Edited by Starbound2 on May 31st 2021 at 8:59:21 AM

Captain Holloway

Well that was fast... Caitlin noted in a somewhat impressed fashion, soon getting up and following the others over towards the beastmen. I think I'll rather get along with these ones after all...

“I'd also like to offer my deepest apologies, though I doubt they'll be enough for that... gruesome display of mine. I should've had a greater control over myself, and I swear within my power I'll do whatever I can to prevent it from happening again,” she said solemnly to the tribe in question, bowing her head slightly. “But that all said, I agree with Nasira's sentiment. If it means helping out then a little community service never hurt anyone. It's the very least we could do.”

The beastmen looked at them with suspicion and not a little fear. Even the towering brutes kept their distance, clearly having no desire to provoke or otherwise disturb the very beings who had just killed their creator. Even though none of them likely cried a tear after the Huntress's demise, they were not about to welcome her slayers into their midsts.

For a while there was tense silence, with them watching the heroes, flinching and stepping away whenever they approached. Then Dyersthel walked down from the hills and calmly approached one of the wounded, a elderly bullheaded beastman whose arm was badly broken. Even as the old bull tried to scramble away, Dyersthel stepped close to him. Ignoring the scared and agressive growls and hisses from the other tribespeople, he placed his hand on the broken limb and closed his eyes. The bone began to set miraculously and the flesh bubbled slightly, as the wounds began to close before everyones eyes.

The bull clenched his hand with visible awe and the other beastmen stared at Dyersthel with a mixture of dread and reverence. The monk looked at the others and shrugged calmly. "Her powers were valuable, if ill-intended," he said, as if this was explanation enough why he suddenly could wield similar powers to the Huntress. Turning to the tribespeople, he extended a hand. "You have sick and wounded. It is time, we set things right."

This caused a noticable mood-change and one by one, the beastmen allowed the group to assist them. Dyersthel and Poppy set about treating sick and wounded. Sword and Cait helped with construction and heavy lifting, while Val and Nasira found surprising success entertaining the few children and lifting some spirits. Their was still noticable caution towards them and it was obvious the bad feelings wouldn't just go away that easily. But it was a step in the right direction.

The only one who stood by was Masaru. As it turned out, for a good reason. On the hilltop had appeared three Gates. They had just come into existence from one heartbeat to another, looking like they had always stood there.

One was made out of blades, smashed together by a brutish blacksmith. Their edges poking out and crusted blood on the tips. The doorframe itself fashioned from glowing, hot ash. At the step of the Gate were littered skulls and bones, hands clutching broken axes and shattered shields. Somewhere, a wolf howled...

The Gate on the middle was fashioned out of seashells and barnackles, which infested slowly rotting wood, almost as if someone ripped a piece from a ship and haphazardly turned into a door. Underneath spilled out seawater and one could hear waves smashing against an unseen shore behind it.

And the last Gate was literally made out of glass. A beautiful piece, reminiscent of the famous stained windows of Kamelottian Cathedrals. Various colours weaved into a depiction of a lone knight, his head illuminated by a burning sun and guarding a lone keep in a vast desert. Bright sandstone framed this piece of art and was covered by tattered banners and white cloth.

It was now early afternoon and one by one the entire group found itself eventually back on the hilltop, facing a new choice.

Poppy Blake

"I'm not making the mistake of picking the nicest-looking door again," Poppy said fiercely and suddenly as she observed the Gates. "I don't trust that cathedral-looking door. Religious types and knights tend to be far too zealous. The one at the far end...it looks far too menacing for the likes of me. However, the one in the middle..."

"...It looks just like Captain Caitlin's territory," she offered, wringing her hands. "Which might help us make it, if she has knowledge about the sea. We didn't know anything heading into this place, but if anything, we might have some knowledge on hand if we head into that one..."

Edited by JumpingFruit on Jun 3rd 2021 at 9:02:41 AM

Captain Holloway

“Aye, I was just about to say. I wouldn't say no to familiarity,” Caitlin admitted in agreement to Poppy, stretching slightly to free the stiffness from her time spent helping the beastmen before approaching the middle door to investigate it. “If it isn't my realm, then I'd call that a false promise, and whoever designed these doors would need to be fired. Nonetheless... this is up to all of us. Yes I know my own world very well, but there's more than one gate here. Does anyone have another preference?”

As much as she offered otherwise, she still stuck by the more oceanic door, comforted by its somewhat familiar features. She wondered if returning to Panthalassa would mean she'd have to regroup her old crew.

She hoped they wouldn't mind. She'd only disbanded them in case she'd perished and left them behind. If all else failed, she could find some younger and more eager folk. Some of the old crew were getting on in years.

“You've a fine intuition, even if the conclusion seems obvious. Quick on the uptake,” Caitlin remarked to Poppy, unable to resist a slight ruffle of the girl's hair. “I'm inclined to think you'd have made a good navigator. Or barrel-girl, perhaps.”

Edited by Enirboreh on Jun 4th 2021 at 10:26:00 AM

A reflection of the realm, maybe, but unlikely the realm proper, Nasira thought to herself as joined the others by the gates.

"While I have some reservations about going to an ocean Shard," the being of smoke and flame said, "...I've no major objections. Depending on how the paths to the Thrones function, we may have ended up traversing it in the end regardless."

Then a thought. If we did reach the Thrones, what would happen to the aspiring gods and goddesses that remained in the Shards? In fact, what would happen to the Shards themselves - are they tied to the "Pretenders," as the old woman called them? There's so much I still don't understand about the Cradle.