Welcome to Gaia! ::

Existence was a strange, strange thing.

He knew that some spoke of memories: Sarviur was not the sort. What memories did he have to speak of? For all he knew, he'd been born in the shrine, born to the Goddess' bidding, and all that they called "memories" were Sarviur's gifts of knowledge. Strange Goddesses, they. Some shadows spoke of becoming Goddesses, but Sarviur was certain that the path was not for him. He was no omniscient, benevolent being; Sarviur brought no protection upon anyone.

Well, he'd done well enough in those battles, and Ganximei had seemed to like him well enough. He liked Ganximei, too; it was nice to be caught up with someone who accepted her Goddess-given lack of knowledge just as well as Sarviur did. And, he admitted, he liked feeling like he could offer help of some sort - advice, or an example to follow. An hour ago Sarviur would have thought differently, but an hour ago Sarviur had just been born, and had not yet experienced the complexity of thought that he now did. But he was the same little shadow now as he'd been then: he liked blue, and black water, and pulsing cores, and did not like icy, biting winds. Could anyone blame him? He learned most of all from experience.

He trudged, grudgingly admiring, through the Spire. It was a grand landscape, yes, and so different from the Ruins'...modernity? Sarviur wasn't sure how he knew the word, or how it applied, but he felt as though it were true. The Ruins were like some forsaken civilization in appearance, and the Spire was a demon's land - twisted, frightening, forboding. By comparison, his own Goddess' land was bright and beautiful - which of course it should be. It was Sarviur's Goddess. But it was a place of grandiose majesty. Nothing like this.

He'd come here to be cleared of awe, though, because he wanted to be certain that he admired his Goddess without the influence of that landscape all around him. And he was, of course: he could not help but love her. She'd given him all he had...

And she continued. A tall horn, ears that moved so that he could hear more and more, hooves. A tail, ending in bountiful fur.

And now a little black tag around his neck - something without a marking. It meant, Sarviur thought, that he belonged.

He liked that.