[Ice Palace] Am I Home? [Cheshire]

[Dextren]

. Day 51 of Summer, AV 511 This was ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. The cold, it burned him, made his flesh ache with pains that even fire couldn't bring him. It was cold, frigid, unbearable even, yet as Dextren glanced around with those burning yellow eyes, he saw others, not unlike him, but unlike him. Why was that even possible? He was a Vantha too, his blood had just as much of a right to be immune to the snow, the chilled howling breeze, the bittercold breath of Taldera embracing his fur-clad body. They, however, remained relatively unfazed by the lack of heat in this hungering cold. Hungering Cold, that was only too perfect of an explanation of this weather, a cold that hungered for warmth, your warmth. How could a goddess feel for her people when she plagued them with this! Dextren could only glance around the city as his legs carried him slowly towards the Palace of Morwen herself (pointed out by some men who Dextren assumed were Avanthal's version of Syliran Knights). The people he saw weren't even as thickly dressed as he was, yet they didn't even seem half as chilled to the bone. Maybe he didn't belong here. Well, it was too late to turn back. He didn't have enough rations to make it back to the Spires on foot, and the gods could petch themselves if they thought Dextren would get anywhere near a horse (how he managed to live among the Drykas was still a mystery to him) they could petch themselves, then take turns petching each other. Petch anybody that dares try to make him get close to a horse. Filthy horrible creatures. Dextren exhaled, watching as those silvery swirls of breath, steam even, touched the air only long enough to greet him before stretching themselves too thin to survive any longer, and dissipated. Dextren swore that in any moment, he too would dissipate in this hungering cold. His hands were so numb, unable to produce much heat due to his current skinny state (food had been scarce on his journey, thus he rationed his rations very strictly), weakness had already settled in, but that was nothing new. He never got a sound sleep, that too brought about a weakness. Dextren stopped, in the middle of the city, in the middle of the path to the Ice Palace of the Ice Goddess of the Ice People of the petching Ice Northern petching lands of Mizahar, and squatted. His arms buried themselves against his chest as he lowered his head. His teeth began to grind and grit together as he tried to simply tell himself the cold was an illusion. A mere feeling that told him he was still alive, still able to move, but he couldn't push himself through this. He had to change something. Why was he at the mercy of another god when he himself should he strong enough to survive this alone? That's right, he had ways. Dextren lifted his hands to see his furry mittens, massive gloves without individual sleeves for fingers, save the thumb. It wasn't too difficult really. Dextren didn't want to do this, but knew it would help him in the long run. He pushed up the sleeved of his clothing and peered down at his arms, the black markings, tattoos, thank the Drykas for being good for something. He could see, with ease, the paths the Djed would take, he could feel it, he would be able to not only know where it was, but synchronize it together, sight and touch, to read it. When you could so accurately control your knowledge of the flow of djed, it wasn't difficult to hasten that extraction. The pull. The feel. The sight. Dextren felt like he could, even without the use of Auristics, track the very motion of his Djed as his traveled through his arms, through those very special veins that rested underneath those ink markings on his arms. The substance moved all the way into his hands, and from their into his gloves, his furry mittens. This was his target, the mittens. Furry was good, but he wanted to shield them! It was easy enough, even for a novice. Most learned to shield their bodies, object about their weight, it was their limit, but something smaller, significantly so, even if there was two, was easy. "Task... repel... heat." Djed, task, shield complete. Dextren had learned this long ago in Zeltiva, shielding (yes, he had been almost everywhere) was a miracle magic in his eyes. He watched his gloves as a faint shimmering silver tint began to glow and glitter. It took several moments, but he soon felt it too. Inside the gloves his hands, what little heat they produced, they kept. The heat bounced directly off his gloves so that it returned to his hands. But cold hands wouldn't kill him. Core temperature needed to be kept up. Shielding, he needed more of it. He knew it would thin the fresh heat barrier of his gloves, but his cloak was bigger, required more concentration, but offered greater, necessary reward. Dextren removed a single glove and grasped onto a portion of his large furred cloak, again he felt, and he swore again he could trace the movements through his arms with his visual assistance of the tattoos, and pumped Djed straight into his cloak. He couldn't shield it yet though. He needed to spread it across the inner layer, let it soak into the furry fabrics and leathers. This took several moments, then minutes. Dextren began to worry as he knew the cloak wasn't particularly thick with Djed, and even though Shielding was one of the better magics for resisting Overgiving, he was already feeling drained. He was physically exhausted already. He would just have to shield what he already had. Spots of unshielded cloak would remain, but that was acceptable, most would be a shield from the cold. Or more accurately, a shield from heat, which meant his own would not escape so easily from his body. Why didn't he think of this a season ago? Shielding his own heat to his body, it was genius. Dextren replaced his shielded mitten on his hand and pulled his cloak closer around him, and much to his pleasure, he felt a good deal warmer. Not warm mind you, but tolerable levels of chill. He could at least move again, continue to Morwen's Palace where, hopefully, there wasn't such a cold wind clawing at his flesh and bone. When Dextren finally arrived at the Ice Palace, and was allowed inside, he was both relieved and distraught. It was cold in here, and even though there was no vicious hungry cold gusts of wind, it felt colder. He should probably keep his cloak as close to him as possible. He was greeted by a pretty young thing, Jenna Aviak, and grinned. "I'm here to see Morwen. Please tell me she's accepting visitors." The way Dextren spoke almost sounded exactly like pleading, begging even. Perhaps he still was humble. This frigid coolness was bringing out something different in him that he was accustomed to. The True Vantha? It was probably just desperation. .

[Cheshire]

Jenna kept her normal perch at the seat outside of Morwen's throne room. It was her job to screen visitors (and even question at times) before they were allowed to see the wintry queen. She took her job seriously, never letting anyone in who she felt was not worth the queen's time. Was this a bit high and mighty on her part? Of course it was, but it did not stop her from being choosy. If she was lenient, even once and the queen was harmed it would be her head on the line and she did not need that. Of course the queen's safety was much more important to her than her own. To drop your hold's name and take on the surname Aviak was an honor and not one to been taken lightly. When the Vantha walked into the palace, Jenna watched him carefully. He was shivering. It was very out of character for a child of Morwen to seem so uncomfortable in her chill. She stood to face him, clearly coming up shorter than the man. She was dressed simply, much more so than Dextren. She could not feel the cold like he did though. Morwen's gift ridded her of the sting of the cold. She had long forgotten it in fact and this was why she found the man so odd. "Yes, she is accepting visitors. She always is." Her voice was straight and calm, her features not letting a single emotion show. "You are a Vantha, yes? You should know this. Although, you aren't marked. I can tell that much just by looking at you." Her words were lined with a slight air of suspicion as her eyes shifted to a ice blue. "What does an unmarked Vantha want with Morwen? If she didn't mark you the first time, what makes you think she'll do it now?" She spoke as if she knew Dextren's motives, although she just assumed everyone wanted to be marked by her Goddess. Why wouldn't they? She was beautiful and wondrous, much like her gnosis gift.

[Dextren]

. Dextren took a moment to marvel at the insides of the Ice Palace, and even though it was a refuge from the chilled winds, it was still as cold as a frost-eaten corpse in this place. Perhaps to some this would be a terrible place, and to the Vantha it was a place of wonder and beauty. To Dextren, it was simply a mystery. He knew nothing of the palace. Knew nothing of his parents' goddess. Even his people were fairly unfamiliar to him. All he knew is he was one of them because of heritage. He had Vantha blood in his veins, he had the blood that changed the color of his eyes, but never had he felt the presence of his people or their goddess. Morwen. She was as mysterious as anything to him. Dextren approached Jenna as his hands struggled to pull his shielded cloak closer to his body. It was starting to comfort him some now that his body warmth was being trapped against his skin, but still he was in chilled pain. Perhaps the welcome was meant to be emotionless, but Dextren felt humiliated at the remark. Never before had he thought himself as a true Vantha, how could he when he was as easily frozen as any typical human? How could you feel Vanthan when the most north you've ever lived was Ravok? No, he had never felt Vanthan. Even now, we he had come for answers he felt not only like a stranger, but a failure. If he was a Vantha, then he would have known. But he didn't. If was a strange word to find humiliation in, yet somehow he had. An indigo tint engulfed his irises as he lowered his head. She hadn't meant to offend him, but she had. He almost wanted to turn and walk away. He could survive without answers, he could leave this place and live out the remainder of his days in warmer weather. He wouldn't have been the first Vantha to do this, right? "Please talk slower. My Vani isn't so good." Dextren felt a need to swallow the mass forming in his throat, but he knew logically that nothing was there. It was only his nerves acting up. He was being treated like anybody would. It's just that it was him. Thirty-four years he had been left in mystery. Wasn't that enough torment? Apparently these subtle mind games were also necessary so that he could see the goddess of Ice. "I am a Vantha. I'm southborn. I've never seen this place, nor Morwen." Dextren bit his lip lightly as he pondered for a moment, his eyes watching Jenna as he did. "I did not come to beg for blessing. I want to ask her questions, and I have a gift to offer her." Yes, his father's ritual dagger. He had yet to uncover the meaning of the dulled dagger. It was no good for combat, not ideal for murder, and was worthless for wilderness uses. It could cut, but not well. It could stab, but needed much force. It was heavy, but marked in a language Dextren was unfamiliar with. It was all he had to offer the goddess. Dextren caught himself admiring Jenna's body for just a quick moment. It had been a while since he last felt the warmth of a woman against him, but now wasn't the time for that. Never was there time for that. Dextren has too much to do to sacrifice time to trivial pleasures. "May this unmarked foreign Vantha visit the goddess?" .

[Cheshire]

Jenna's brow furrowed as she looked at the man. A Vantha who could not speak Vani well? Who did this man think he was? She wanted to send the man off just like that but for the good of her Goddess, she would listen. He was one of Morwen's children, she could tell as much. Her hand reached out to the man. "May I see the gift? I need to make sure it is safe for our queen." She worried about her queen. She was so kind and trusting. Didn't she see there were people out there who would want to hurt her? The Azenth were the worst. Those strange followers of Ivak, out looking to free their imprisoned God. Morwen held the secrets, or at least some of them and Jenna was determined to keep those deviants from what they sought. Jenna eyed the man. "You may, after I see your gift." Her hand was held out calmly to the man, her eyes not shifting a hue as her stare kept on him. "The sooner I see it, the sooner you see Morwen." OOCI'm sorry this is so short. I promise the next post will be longer. I just wanted to give you the chance to give the dagger over or keep it.

[Dextren]

. "Ah, yes. Of course." Dextren slowly wrenched and torqued his body (it was awkward because he was so cold) until his backpack dropped from his back. He winced lightly at the sound, a faint reverberating sound lit up the room for a brief moment. Echoes, eerie things they were. Dextren didn't waste time contemplating the echo though, he wanted to see Morwen, or more importantly, he wanted to talk to her, ask her questions, and beg for answers. Begging a goddess, shameful it would be, but there were some things that you just had to sacrifice in order to get what you needed. Pride, petch it. It only got in the way. As the Southborn rummaged through his backpack, sifting through wrapped rations and flint and steel, he nicked his hand on something. He recoiled slightly, whispering a curse to himself as he did so, then pulled out the assailant. It was his eating knife. Close, but not the gift he wanted. With a groan, he inconsiderately tossed the eating utensil to the side and continued his search through that small bag, which now appeared a lot larger on the inside now that he was having difficulty finding it. "Ah, there it is." Dextren slowly pulled his father's ritual dagger from his backpack. He held it not in one hand, not by the handle as one would hold a weapon ready to strike, but rather allowed the blade to sleep in his open palms. The handle, the blade, it was all as he remembered from the last time he looked at the device. It was absolutely covered in markings, another language Dextren could have sworn (though had no clue). The questions he wanted to ask Morwen, they began with the very gift he offered to her. 'What does it say?' "Look at this. All these symbols and markings. I've been to the university of Zeltiva and hunted through all the libraries I could find in Mizahar, yet every evidence of glyphing I could find, I did not find a single matching image on this dagger. I'm not saying these can't be glyphs, the texts of today are so very limited in their truths since the Valterrian of course. But, I believe it's a language. I've been searching for the meaning behind this treasure for decades, and haven't thought to ask someone who had been around back then to... to confirm or... deny my assumptions. Look, at this one here, it's almost looks like the Vani word "radiance", but this little quirk here, it's crossing through it, rather than striking this way. That's why... uh..." Dextren's voice slowly faded away as he looked up from he father's ritualistic dagger. To be honest, he hated the thought of giving it away. But learning the truth behind it, or just gambling on the possibility that Morwen might shed light on this mystery, was enough to take the risk. He would gladly part with the weapon if it meant understanding its existence. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to ramble on. I was getting excited again." His eyes were green, deep, rich, lush as a the canopy of a tropical rainforest, but it began to fade now. Shifting to blue, then it was engulfed by a deep, cold violet. His hands quivered for a moment as he extended his hands towards the Vantha woman. She may have been suspicious of him, but he understood her reasons. She had found her home in Morwen, everyone that came in, especially those that were ignorant or strangers to the land, were possible threats to everything she loved. Dextren could respect that sort of suspicion. "Here, the ritual dagger, it's for Morwen. And, if she would accept my company, I would like to speak with her." Dextren felt a knot in his stomach as he was there on his knees, offering the dagger up to Jenna. He was dreadfully anxious to hear the answer. .

[Cheshire]

Jenna watched the man carefully, ready to defend herself and her queen if needed. When the man pulled the knife from his bag, she felt a lick of worry but that faded when he passed it to her, letting her take it in her hands. "It is very beautiful." Her eyes shimmered to a light purple as she held it and looked it over. "I can tell you for sure that this is much older than I have been trained to read." The knife within itself was proof enough that the man was sincere in his want to see the Winter Queen. "I do not know what it says but I am sure Morwen will." She handed the dagger back, the small hint of a smile itching at the corner of her mouth. "You may see her. Thank you for your patience." Jenna motioned to a pair of guards to lead Dextren down through the palace. It was not a particularly long walk from where Jenna kept her post. The walk was lined with Vantha art, mostly sculptures made by Skyglow artisans. Each piece of art was breathtaking. Only the best of art was welcomed into the Ice Palace. When the guards and Dextren reached the doors of the throne room, the pair pushed the doors open and motioned for Dextren to walk forward. Past the doors was a beautiful throne room and sitting at the end was Morwen, the Winter Queen. She could sense that the man before her was one of her children. "Welcome Dextren. I hope that Jenna did not give you too hard of a time." Morwen knew all too well how strict her assistant was. "What brings you home?" It was not extremely common to find a full blooded Vantha born outside of Avanthal but it happened. Morwen loved them all the same and in truth, found them intriguing. She liked to hear the stories of how her children fared away from the haven they had built in the north. Morwen motioned to a guard standing at the edge of the room. "Please bring a seat for our visitor. Preferably a well covered one. He is not marked." The guard did as he was told and retrieved a good sized block of ice, covered with the pelt of a slain Talderian wolf. "Tell me of your story. Even a southern born Vantha must carry the skill of his race's favorite past time."

[Dextren]

. Dextren nodded solemnly as Jenna accepted his dagger. It was a painful ache in his chest, like a thread was being pulled from his heart slowly. "Patience is but one of many values I hold dear to me." It was true, he had patience (though had also been known to lose patience as well), and in his own mind it was why he believed he was a god, or more like a god in the early developmental stages of its life cycle. Like a butterfly who is only a caterpillar. He was a god, just not divine. Patience was a gift he had, it was something he was meant to use for the mortals that currently walked around him. Even now he had countless names written in those ledgers of his. Who should be punished. Who should be spared. Who should be rewarded. He was unsure of where Jenna sat, though it would be difficult to say she deserved death or pain. She was, after all, devoted to the Divinity of Gods and Goddesses. Dextren took the blade in his hands and drew it close to his chest, as if he were cradling a babe to his body for warmth and comfort. It was obvious by that dramatic sigh of relief that Dextren felt exponentially better when he had the ceremonial weapon in his hands. Such an heirloom, he didn't know why he was so attached to it, he just knew that he was. "I thank you. If Morwen does not wish for a lengthy visitor, than I shall not impose. At least, I only wish to ask her a few questions that I have not been able to find on my own." Dextren smiled nervously as he took his backpack in his hand, slung it over his shoulder, and followed the pair of guards into Morwen's throne room. There was a myriad of sites that attacked him, and more importantly were the thoughts that littered his mind as he walked. The coolness of the North was once again vivid in his mind now that he was moving. Chills, shivers, reluctance of movement in his fingers. A little endurance, then he could find an inn and rest himself by a fire. Depending on this conversation with Morwen, Dextren would know if his plans would lead him away from Avanthal, or cause him to linger. Dextren, soon enough, found himself staring at, what he could only describe, as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Despite that coldness that, he swore, seemed to radiate directly from her eyes, he found himself unable to speak for a moment. A few seconds of silence on his part to soak in her beauty, then he blinked and shook his head. Perhaps she wasn't the most beautiful of all, but Dextren hadn't ever seen a goddess before, and Morwen certainly surpassed any humanoid girl he had ever met. "Jenna? Oh, yes. I mean, no. She did well, not too harsh. I mean, harsh, but understandable. She's a child protecting her mother. I would have lost faith in your genuine existence if she had been more lenient." Dextren paused for another moment. How do you address a Goddess? Was is by first name basis? Was it 'my Goddess' or some other term he had never learned? Dextren wanted to kick himself for being so ill prepared for this meeting. It was so important to him, yet he felt he was failing, as if there was a way to actually fail a conversation. Still, how did she know his name? How did she know he was Vantha? It was eerie how she just knew about him. Dextren was certain he never told Jenna his name (he was always conscious about who probed for what kind of information). Then it had to be true, Morwen really was a Goddess, and more importantly, she just knew his blood ran through this city, even if he hadn't. "Home?" Home, it was such a strange word. He never considered any place introduced in his past to be a home of his, yet here he was at the growing age of thirty, and Morwen claimed this place was his. He would like to believe that, but didn't feel the comforts he always expected from a home. "What brings me here? You do, actually." Dextren watched, somewhat suspiciously as the guards brought him a makeshift seat with a fur on it, then returned to his post. "My-my story? Well... okay..." "I was born far south of here, in Riverfall. My parents, members of the Coolwater Hold, were travelers of sorts. Or, seekers might be a better word. They had left Avanthal and searched around Mizahar, looking for something, some secret they refused to tell me. While on this journey, they ended up in Riverfall, where I was born, and we remained for a year before traveling on to Lhavit. My experience was brief, and at such a young age I can't hardly remember anything of importance. I found the city beautiful, but the people were harsh and unwelcoming to us. We didn't stay long before moving on to Denval. They spoke of taking a journey to return here to Avanthal, but something had changed my father's mind. I now assume he felt that coming here would be a resignation on his quest to find whatever it was he sought. I spent a majority of my youth trying to pull the truth from my parents, but they were relentless in their secrecy." Dextren went on for a while longer, giving short stories and explanations of the places he had seen and the people he had met, and how his parents treated him as if he was little more than cargo, or perhaps a traveling pet. It wasn't until he nearly mentioned his experience in Sunberth before he paused and truly considered what he was saying. Yes, he believed a large portion of his history was fairly cruel or undeserving to have experienced, but Sunberth in particular scarred him. His eyes slowly warped in color until it reached a yellowish orange, which was only visible for a moment before he closed his eyes and brought his fingers to him, rubbing them gently. He then, after deciding to skip that short segment, continued his storytelling. "I was fifteen when we made it to Syliras. My mother got very sick while traveling, and my father actually stopped his wandering to care for her. That's when I took his dagger, this dagger, and I left them. I was taken in and cared for at the Temple of All Gods, where I worked to pay for my food and bed. I spent a long time there, considering things. I tried to speak to you from there a few times, but I wasn't sure how to go about getting your attention." Eventually, Dextren got to the development of his sleeping disorders, left out his skewed dreams of Self Divination that he had bought into, and explained how he had, after decades of trying to find the answer on his own, came to Avanthal where he knew, without a doubt, he could find a god. And there he was, sitting on a block of ice covered in fur and staring at her. And now, now he didn't know how to ask. Why was he so nervous? .

[Cheshire]

Morwen smiled lightly as she nodded to the man. "Good. She is harsh, but thorough. I cannot complain though. She has my best interests in mind." The girl could scare away a Zith at times, or at least it seemed. It was a great honor to have the Aviak name. One needed to drop their hold name to become Morwen's assistant and take on the name. It was an honor, but at a price. "Yes home. Avanthal is your home, if you want it to be." It was the home of all Vantha, north or south born. The Goddess would welcome all of her children if they wanted to return home, even if they had never been there. "This city was established to house your race, the Vantha. Anyone who's eyes shine of the Aurora can find home here." While Morwen was kind, she wonder why the man's parents did not speak to him more of the city. It was like he knew nothing of the blood that ran through his veins. The man's story garnered more answers. He was south born and his father seemed to have little interest in returning to the city, at least for a while. While it saddened Morwen slightly, she could understand. In time all children needed to leave home. "Hmmm, I wonder what they were looking for." There were archeowizards all over Mizahar. Perhaps this is what they were. Morwen smiled when the man spoke of trying to talk to him. "I heard you." It was a long way away. The voice was quiet but she had heard him. "As long as you try, I will hear you." Morwen listened carefully to the prayers that reached her ears. The ones from her Vantha seemed to sing the loudest. "You are Vantha. Your faith is in your blood. There are many in the city who would be more than happy to help you learn to pray, although some think it is best to find your own way of prayer." The man had tried. That was what was most important. "Sounds like quite the story. Although, Vantha are the best at telling stories." Her eyes turned to the dagger in the man's grasp. "May I see the dagger? If you father held it so close it must be important." Morwen could not help but be a bit curious. The man had left the city to find something but held into the dagger, seemingly well if he had made an effort to pass it onto his on. "Perhaps I can make sense of it."