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 Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 6:46 pm
Confusion has soured the man to his surroundings, has made him wary of what is happening in this world. Thus far he has avoided the monsters he watches others fight, even when a part of him urges and demands to find a weapon. When it begs to feel the fight, to slay something terrible. But he ignored it in favor of approaching the Shrine, his devotion to the goddesses unwavering. Even if he is not content in this world, he is enamored with them and wants to do well by them. He moves out of the shadowy fog to find them, to follow their instructions. The Goddess waiting for him is given a curt nod along with a slight up turn of one corner of his mouth. The wires and cables that fall from the thing in her hands are given a momentary glance, but little else as he focuses his energy on her.
Arinth thinks nothing of her nervous actions even if his eyes find her hand that opens and closes. If it were not blasphemy to touch her, he would have reached across the distance that separated them to stop the motion.
Instead he takes the bag, disappointment curling in his stomach when it is empty. Hey says nothing about it, listening carefully to what she tells him to do in an effort to distract himself. Once she has finished speaking and gives him a smile, he nods once more at her. A clenched fist taps against his heart before he turns to leave.
The exit is small and despite his devotion, he is afraid he will not fit. For a moment he pauses, suddenly distrustful. He turns back to look at his Goddess but finds she is gone. When he turns back to rights, it is to see three doors before him.
Each is intriguing, each a passageway to his task. The pumpkin is inviting, it makes him smile wryly back at its toothy grin. The door with the tree instantly makes him bristle, but he finds inadequacy in himself. He knows he would not do well in that area and if he has a choice, he will not risk his mission.
The middle door, however, has caught his eyes with its scratched front. The feeling it gives off does not bother him, for there is something about the door he cannot ignore. With a clenched of his fists he passes through the second door, head held high in preparation of what he will encounter.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 7:05 pm
A loud noise startles Arinth as he crosses the threshold, but it is not malicious. It is a joyful noise, the sound of many people cheering. For a second, he almost is distracted by the excited cacophony, but the door clicks behind him and everything turns dark. Startled further by the last echoing sound of a name he can't understand, the man clenches his fists again and begins down the hallway. It is like walking on sand or snow, but worse than that because he cannot recall if those substances move or shift as much as this does when he crosses them.
It is a long time he walks through the dark, or at least it feels like it is. One hand clenches over the scissors the Goddess has given him, a small instrument between his large fingers. When he begins to doubt again, he is rewarded with a collision into something, a reminder that he should not distrust his Goddesses. He pauses, steps back to inspect what he has found, fumbling against it in the dark.
A crate that has something thudding inside it.
Something hangs off the side and Arinth snatches at it, finding only light fabric that he crushes in his palm. He steps forward to peer down, bending his knees to bring his tall body a little closer. There is more fabric, gauze and sheer and thin, bunched together around something small and yellow that beats.
A heart.
Without a thought he snips into the fabric, hearing both the sound of cutting strings finely woven together and a name. The man pauses, thinks about it and snips twice more. The name is drawn out. He frowns and slashes a hole, only to feel terribly about that because he fears he may have damaged the heart. The more he cuts though, the clearer his task becomes. Illuminated from underneath, Arinth can see strings that cover the heart. His fingers tug up on them as he moves the blade under the line to snip away. It is tedious, but he is calm and does not mind. It is close to meditation.
Breath in, snip.
Breath out, pull a string.
Breath in, snip. A name.
Breath out, pull a string. A scream.
Finally, there is no more fabric and no more string and nothing around the heart but empty space. Sure to be careful he removes the heart, feels it pause its thumping as he slides it into the bag.
The wind hurts as he moves across his face, tries to peel his skin right off his bones with a high, unearthly keening.
The man stands, glad his task is complete. He will return now, if only this strange vision would cease...
The amount of furs his mother has given him, the ones his father has instructed him to bring along are not enough. They do not warm him and he shakes as he stands in the snow, waiting. Waiting for someone. Waiting for warmth.
It is both a long while and a short time before someone arrives, a man who is tall but will not be such in the future. The man before him stares down at the boy, not even a stallion yet and does not change his neutral expression.
"Oi. Cold, innit?"
The boy does not laugh at this, not at first. But he does crack a smile and that cracks the man's as well.
"Get used to it. Use it. It'll save your arse."
The boy does laugh at this.
"Funny, eh? Don't say much, do'ya?"
The boy shakes his head, floppy blonde hair already starting to from ice crystals.
"Bah, no need to talk 'round these parts. Freeze yer tongue off otherwise." The man shakes a gloved hand at the boy, his smile getting stronger as the boy's does too. The man looks him over once then sighs heavily. With a mumbled "Mares ain't no nuthin' 'bout dressin' for the chill", he removes his outercoat, a full black thing lined with spotted silver fur and embroidered with silver, backwards spirals. With a rough hand he sets it on the boy's shoulders, ruffles his moppy blonde hair.
"M'lady made that. Take care of it. She's a beaut and would beat me black and blue if it got ruined."
The boy instantly feels warmer, wondering if this cloak is magicked in some way. Artisans can do that, can't they? But he grins up at the man, his hands pulling the fur straight up under his jaw.
"Thanks." The boy mumbles softly, his voice nearly unheard with the wind. The man looks down at him and laughs, a sharp, sudden, crackled laugh. He talks the whole way to the encampment, but that makes the boy happy. It makes the boy feel at home.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 7:13 pm
He must return. He must return the heart to the Goddess and win her favor. He must--
Give it back.
There is no asking in that, merely a demand. The man stiffens, turns, but sees nothing. He turns back and hurries forward. There is water that sloshes at his feet and another uneven sound of displaced water makes him second guess himself.
Give me back my--
He breaks out into a run, but finds water clogging his way. Long legs do not help him here and he rushes the water, but finds it pushes back on him. There is a struggle between man and water, between strength and quantity. Arinth is strong, but the water is stronger. It raises up to his knees and when he jumps forward it swells to his stomach.
The bag is pressed close to his chest for safe keeping, but the water swallows that and him and rises up to his neck. He knows he cannot continue, but he does not have a choice as someone grabs him from behind and plunges him into the depths.
The water is cold, ice cold, but not as cold as Arinth knows how to deal with. He has to get out, to start a fire and slowly warm his skin. If he does not take it slow, his skin will blacken and rot. But that does not seem an option as he is pulled down and further down still. The water is endless and the thing that has him stronger than him, even if it wasn't that way in the end.
The man cannot take a breath, but he swivels his head to see a pair of sunken eyes, weather beaten and cold.
Give me back my heart, boy.
The man with the silver spotted fur cloak is a mentor. He trains the young Guardians to be in their new found life. He makes them live through the cold and refuses to let them give in to anything. Not the chill, not the snow, not the longing for home or a lover or sometimes even food. He growls that they don't need food, that they can waste away and be Famine for all he cares so long as they keep moving.
The boy loves him. The man is a second father almost, but too far away to be known as such. The man loves the boy back in a sharp, haggard way. Tells him to call him Orin when they are back by the safety of a warm fire. Orin teaches the boy many things, but he also teaches the boy to smile. It isn't something the boy is bad at, but it is something he forgets in the cold. It is something the boy will never forget.
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Posted: Mon Aug 12, 2013 7:17 pm
But all mentors must be out shined. Arinth knows this as he placidly sits in Orin's grasp, as he stares into gray eyes and finds spotted gray fur at the man's neck. But this Orin is old, haggard and shrunken, lacking the muscles he once covered with pelts to stay warm. This Orin is not the one Arinth knows, so he feels no regret in plunging the scissors blade into the dead man's neck.
There is only a scream and then he is gone.
The water drains, far too slow for the man's liking and when he can finally breath he nearly vomits his anger along with all the water. That was not fair. That was not a fair fight, not the fight that Guardians should engage in. Arinth could honestly kill something he is so enraged, but he only throws the scissors to the ground and stomps his way forward.
The door waits for him and he turns to make sure nothing is there, but Orin is waiting off in the distance. Gnarled, just as angry, the scissors in his mangy grasp.
Arinth frowns and spits at the man before he steps through the door.
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