10-11-2021, 06:52 PM
lord, I fashion dark gods too;
On occasion, he haunts the mountain.
He’s never much liked the mountain itself – it reminds him of that time when Beqanna had clawed back so much of their magic. Not his, of course, but he had been ill from the efforts of it, his magic strange and occasionally malfunctioning. He does not like even the barest slip in control, and the mountain is a constant reminder of that.
Ryatah had died here as well. At his hand, but when he had beckoned her back – it had only been meant as a lesson, after all – she had not responded. Though that may have been Gail’s fault, he still blames the mountain for that, too.
Still, he haunts it. He haunts it because they come here, sometimes in trickles and sometimes in droves, looking for things. Power, mostly.
Sometimes he’s the one who answers. He finds entertainment in it, especially if he knows them.
And he knows her, this pale mare turned leopard who walks the mountain’s paths. Not well – a few children shared between them, a fondness for an often-eyeless angel – but enough that his interest is piqued, and he reaches into her mind, searching for what’s brought her here today.
It's a mess, frankly. He skims over the soap opera levels of her angst, the hidden banks of memory. He gleans enough – she was hurt, she wanted her memories gone, and now she wants them back.
He appears before her, in his plain gray form. He could almost be anyone. A stranger.
“What is it you’re looking for, Agetta?” he asks her, though he already knows enough. He wants to see what she’ll say. Wants to see how this will play out.
c a r n a g e
@Agetta