Whispering to an absent God (open)

[Dhalvasha]

8th of Winter, 511 AV

Freedom from the gilded cage had its benefits. Shai would have found it hard to canter into Syliras with another Symenestra tied fast to the horse and personally, he doubted she wanted to go through the Knight's justice system in order to keep him as a prisoner. He found his freedom shortly before they arrived at the gates, ropes removed and even now the red marks along his wrists were ghosts of their former selves.

The group was going to spend some time in the city before brokering a ship, likely Eridanus and Antar would deal with the specifics. The two were star-crossed warriors, each a pain in his side in some form or another...although the latter far outstripped the former in sheer vexation. It was all the spider could do to slip away and wander the somewhat familiar streets, ambling along edges of the crowd, a satellite and phantom among the bustle and color of the Syliran people. Brief life in the city had not accustomed him to the sheer amount of people, the unfamiliarity of imposing walls. In a way, it was much like a roofless cave...but the similarities ended in that brief comparison. The Knights were the self righteous do-gooders he had always heard they were, always with their armor and posturing. It was a wonder they hadn't rode out of the gates and laid siege to another town, increase the size of their holdings.

But no one thought of war when the world had tumbled down.

Even if it was 500 years ago.

Humans were short lived little monsters, not that he could speak of short lives, but even so...by the standards of Mizaharian races, humans bred the fastest and died the quickest...certainly not by virtue of their lifespans, no...more their inquisitive nature, their penchant for continued violence. For a race trying to rebuild situation, they certainly were liberal in their use of bodies as the foundation.

He found himself, ironically enough, before the temple of All Gods, the towering architecture dominating the skyline and emitting a tapering stream of people. Most here would be praying to the popular gods, perhaps a word or two of respect for Dira. Not Today, Not Today, Not Today...the most popular prayer offered to her.

No one wanted to die.

Ascending the steps, the spider spoke to no one, aloof in his own personal bubble of superstition and fear. Most refused to speak with him, others were unsure how to approach. Symenestra were exotic...rare by their dwindling birthright and monstrous by reputation. He did walk so much as float, the sinuous steps of his progress mirrored...or perhaps contrasted, by the steady stream of heavy handed stomps descending the staircase.

There was a moment, a rare moment of serenity when he was the only figure among the dark hued pews. He must have looked a sight, some red eyed specter trailing tattered garments along the cold stone floor as he approached the head of the temple.

He never made it, slipping into a pew and bowing his head.

His mark itched.

It wasn't in respect for all the gods, certainly not...despotic fools rarely deserved worship, much less respect. Only in matters of desperation did the penitent turn to divine assistance, to forgiveness. Religious ecstasy, the rapture of a gods love? The favor a boy might give to an adorable creature, the love of an owner to a pet. Were they all so different?

Who were the gods...before they were the gods?

"I abandoned my family, sowed discord in Kalinor, forsook your teachings, and spit on your name...and still you do not punish me." He glared, but nowhere in particular. Who knew if the gods could be invisible as well, "Do you exist? I see you mark your favored, but who could care what memory can be filtered from blood when there is not enough blood to sift through? You sit idly by and your people suffer, so tell me…did we deserve it? Are we being punished for some abominable sin in the past? Does your judgment pump in my veins?”

Pale fingers curled around the cusp of the pew in front of him, black claws drawing tiny scoured lines against the grain, “Are you a coward? I call you to answer me, to tell me of your great plans, of your inscrutable strategy for the Symenestra. Are we to die and sing our stupid praises? What will you do when there is no blood to wet your altar?”

Silence. He was answered with silence.

“Petching waste of time,” Dhalvasha sighed, sitting back in the pew, “But while I’m here I might as well nod to you, Sagallius, pawn in your game or not, you’re the only one who seems to promise help.” He rubbed the sky blue lines along his arm, almost as if expecting them to flake off. He was marked, a god had taken notice in him where his chosen deity of blood had not. Very well, if the god of blood and Kalinor wanted to hide in the shadows and mark those who did nothing, let him.

He would not pray to a deaf ear. It offered him no solace.

Laying back and resting his head against the pew, he closed his ruby eyes for a moment and contemplated death, nothingness, the beyond. Shai had not killed him, as he’d expected…and she still sought their son. Sighing, Dhalvasha shook his head. No, never. Shai was no longer the woman he had loved, not completely. She would not take their son to die in Sunberth or wherever fancy and whimsy took her and her human friend. Nor would the child return to Kalinor. Both of these were writ.

It was odd, having something he would die rather than betray…he should have felt that way about Shai, about their bond…but oh she would never understand, and it was a waste of time to explain. Why then this tickling? This shifting of his heart strings? Did the puppeteer spin some mad design? He must.

He could not still love her…could he?