It had been a long time since he’d felt so…insignificant. The last time it had been back when he’d first died. A mere Shade clutching onto his hate, as a means to hold off the Glen’s pull. The need for revenge, and his knowledge of godhood, guiding him to salvation.
Yet now, gazing upon the land from a cliff face, and hurling small stone shrines out into the lit sky. He saw not much had really changed; he was weak, and the enemy strong.
“But not forever,” if Madness’s prediction was true, then Wargain was going to experience what it felt like to be the weaker combatant in a fight. “And I’ll be there, ready to ram a knife into your back.” It was the least he could do to his ancient foe. Considering how Wargain had ruined everything he’d aspired to achieve.
“All will be right in the end,” he told himself, and throwing another stone. Powered by a miracle of wind, and protection, so the shrine wouldn’t break on contact with the ground; it sailed off at a blinding speed.
It had been a while since he’d used such a tactic. But with Wargain now able to pinpoint the location of his shrines, he was making use of it again.
He threw shrines out randomly, hoping it would keep Wargain, and his fellow gods busy; plus frustrate them.
From the sights, and sounds his Shadows were sending. He could see the Pantheon had expected him to fold quickly. Believed he was already half dead, given his passive role over the centuries.
Now they were beginning to realize—after weeks of hunting his shrines down—that wasn’t the case.
“I can do this forever,” he said with a smile, and pleased his foes didn’t have the same luxury. “How much are you willing to waste on this Wargain?”
Even with millions of followers, summoning one host of Blazors after the other—as a show of force—wasn’t cheap. Not with a new war front, and an emerging foe claiming the infants freshly born.
The visions of comatose children never ceased, and showed the dream plague was worsening. Infants ranging from one to three months old, were falling into a sleep they couldn’t wake from. All showing the same fearful trembling as they fought, or ran about in some nightmare.
The priests—of course—were still blaming him. But gone were the words of him fading, that the plague was a desperate last act of malice before he was extinguished.
Now they talked of him like the days before his dormancy.
“The Ruiner has come anew,” preachers screamed. “His heretics have multiplied thanks to the acts of traitors. Repent brothers and sisters, and keep your eyes open; the enemy is among us.”
Malan rolled his own, and tuned out the words being sent to him by the Shadow. Him annoyed with the double speak of priests, and their gods who made-up whatever fantasy that suited them. However, his annoyance didn’t spread to the people themselves, they didn’t have a chance, ignorant Souls as they were. Yet, even they were beginning to notice that something was off, and in turn began to waver in their faith.
The Pantheon may not know it, but the volume of prayers sent his way was growing. People hungry for power, and believed his reemergence a chance to gain it. Despite this, those Souls didn’t make up the majority.
No, the prayers of the desperate flooded his mind.
‘Please don’t take my children,’ so many sent to him. ‘I’ll send my Devotion, offer service, just please, free my pups.’
He felt the urge to aid these half heretics, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the power to do as they asked.
Even if these people sent their Devotion daily, it wasn’t enough to counter the claim this apparition had laid upon the innocent.
‘Please.’ Whispered a woman, the plea so great he felt her slowly converting into a follower. ‘What do I need to do? How many lives must I offer, what acts in your name must I commit in return for my children’s freedom.’
“How is this not suffering?” He questioned to the open air, thinking of Madness. “For me, and them.” His nature compelled him to act, or at the very least, answer the poor girl.
‘There is nothing you can offer,’ he sent to her, his voice soothing and warm. Yet her mind flooded with fear.
No matter how hard people pray, few expect an answer. He continued on, comforting her the best he could. ‘For there is nothing I can do.’ He admitted to a woman who believed in her heart, that he was the manifestation of everything wicked.
‘For this curse isn’t my doing.’
Disbelief reigned in her mind, and a thought, that she believed to be a revelation. ‘You want more,’ she thought quietly to him. ‘The village then, everyone, save for me and my pups.’
‘No,’ he told her firmly, his voice echoing loudly in her mind. ‘There is nothing to be done, either your Pantheon will bring forth salvation, or they won’t. Either way, the matter is outside both of our hands.’
He waited for the connection to be cut, while he talked, and listened, to so many others.
‘It is not outside my hands.’ The woman sent back moments later, the connection deepening. ‘My grandmother told stories of you.’ He felt it then, a new desire blooming alongside the first, one that often lured mortals to his cause. ‘How you share what is reaped.’
‘This is true,’ he replied, already knowing the path that was to follow.
‘How much of it would I get back, for killing those within my village?’ Sacrifice was on her mind, the choice already made, she just needed the excuse. He could offer her any amount, as long as it was enough to acquire what she believed she needed.
Instead, he offered the same deal as he did to everyone who bargained with him. ‘You will get half of what is sacrificed, to use as you see fit, as well as the knowledge to conduct miracles on your own.’
Her mind went still, then came an onslaught of thoughts. He didn’t know the specifics of them, but after so many dealings with mortals, he knew the pattern. Plans, the expectation of betrayal, or some hidden detail to be revealed at an ill-timed moment. Something, anything, that would explain why he would offer such favorable terms.
‘You think I’m being charitable,’ he sent, breaking the flow of her thoughts. ‘That, what I offer is too generous, and to many, that is true. When compared to those you worship.’ It would be so easy to hide the truth from her, to use and garner as much Devotion as possible, before leaving her to her fate.
But that was not his nature.
‘Do not think this, for if you take up a bargain with me, it is a death sentence.’ The connection wavered slightly, yet came back stronger than before; the mother before him committed. ‘Those you worship will hunt you down, if you side with me, and will show no mercy.’ He sent her visions, hunters of all sorts, both mundane, and unnatural. ‘You’ll need the power I give, just to live a little longer.’
She remained quiet, playing the illusion of rethinking her choice. But the connection didn’t change, her mind was made up.
‘Start small.’ He advised, filling her mind with the information she needed to perform simple miracles, and to construct a crude shrine to him. ‘Livestock, or critters you can find in the forest. That way you will have the strength to overpower the heretics around you.’ He emphasized that point within her mind. The path she wanted to head down, would have those she once cared for, trusted, become enemies. People who would slit her throat, if they found out what she was doing.
Still, the connection didn’t waver, it bloomed and before him, he witnessed another become a follower of his. He saw her then, an ascended wolf, and old. Ten or eleven, easily passed her prime, and obviously worn-out.
The hut she inhabited needed some work, which meant she was mostly on her own. Seeing this, he sent her suggestions of what he could do for her, but not the knowledge to do it herself. He’d already sent too much, given the way she was massaging her temples. If he kept pushing her mind, filling it with concepts not her own, and not allowing her to reconcile with it. Her mind would end up snapping, and he had little use for mad followers.
‘You should rest, allow the knowledge I’ve bestowed time to settle.’
She looked upward, gazing at the ceiling, something mortals often did when speaking with gods. ‘Why are you helping me so much, I haven’t done anything for you yet?’
‘Yet, is the key word,’ he sent back, and more of the truth. ‘Plus, you’re my follower now, I treat my own with care.’
She lowered her head, lost in thought, and alone in a hut of youngsters. He could tell they were all she had left. He’d seen it before, men and young boys heading off to gain glory. Always thinking they would come back, that victory was guaranteed. The war to the north east was luring away many now, the honor and prestige earned, too tempting. Most would end up as laborers, while those with too much thinking ability, or refused to obey, would find themselves allowed to reach the battle grounds. There they would die, used as fodder so obedient followers had more of a chance of surviving.
‘You need only to pray, and I will answer. Sometimes with a voice, or with the knowledge you seek.’ He added before removing his attention from the follower. Hordes more called to him with similar requests; the beginning stages of desperate bargains.
He could have strung them along, promised them their every fantasy, if they worshiped him, sacrificed everything to him. But that was Wargain’s story, and no amount of false beliefs would change the core of him; not his nature.
But it was changing his powers.
Over the ages, sacrifices to him had become more effective, acquiring him greater doses of Devotion than it had starting out. His ability to lend power, to bestow knowledge, had also become easier, and every wicked deed laid upon his name.
Because of this, with more believing he could save their children. The act of fighting against the force claiming ownership of infants, lessened. That had to be true for Wargain as well, millions sending their Devotion, and belief.
“You should be besting this opponent Wargain.” But the children remained still, and the plague spreading. If his rivals weren’t winning, then he had no chance.
Thus, he told them all the truth, every soul worshipping strongly enough to form a connection. He revealed his powerlessness, and that of their gods who were failing to do the same.
‘Liar,’ some said. ‘It can’t be,’ many proclaimed. They were so desperate, and the same as with the old woman, offers came, loyal followers of Wargain turning his way.
‘I can’t provide what you seek,’ he sent. ‘All I can give is knowledge, and the ability to collect power for your own use.’ The whispers died down, temptation quieting their minds. ‘With it you may try to find a way to save your children.’ Souls reached out to him, connections morphing into solid holds. ‘Perhaps, you may find an answer, for it is not with me, I can only show the path that may lead to it.’
Malan felt his power grow, hundreds then thousands renouncing their old gods, and accepting him as their new one.
‘Work together,’ he told them. ‘Collaborate, maybe as one we can find the answer.’ He felt approval through the links, and before he pulled his attention, he sent the knowledge they would need to operate. That, and spread word to his Shadows, informing them of these new associates, and the likelihood they would need help.
Most would be dead in a year or two, even with his warnings. Instant access to power, and knowledge, always caused overly risky actions. Or worse, tendencies to get revenge. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Discipline, and restraint, were self-learned skills, he couldn’t force it upon them.
“They’ll be fine,” he told himself, for a few days or weeks. Mainly due to the time it took a follower to cultivate enough power to conjure miracles of the lethal variety. Once that happened, newly claimed followers often threw their cautiousness down a cliff.
Hard to be fearful, and paranoid, if people they didn’t like, or those who saw something they shouldn’t have, could be killed instantly.
That is, against mortals.
Wargain’s summons, and the other works of his pantheon, weren’t foes to be defeated by such small displays of power. Wargain’s continued crusade, and success at wiping out his shrines, plus followers, made that abundantly clear.
“At least I have figured out how he is finding me.” The wave of authority he’d felt, a claim on the lands themselves. It had generated for Wargain, a beautiful map showing every location where a land dispute occurred. Ever since, his rival had continued sending out that wave, one with a time gap of a week. “Must be quite annoying,” Malan said, grinning mischievously. “Finding that my shrines keep popping back up, no matter how many you break.”
At first Wargain had kept sending out hosts of Blazors to purge the area, or Cycure and her avatars. Now though, after destroying so many, and finding most to be small pebbles of rock. Only a single Ascendant was sent to remove a shrine.
“Waste of power though,” Malan complained, but not nearly as high as it should be. His nature, and practice of making simple shrines, made the cost negligible; easily covered by his Sovereign Core. Yet, it still irked him. That power could have gone elsewhere, like helping a follower in need, Divines know they could use all the power they could get.
Because of the plague, the citizens of Wargain’s empire had entered into a zealous fervor. They wanted blood, someone to suffer for all the infants lost, and they’d deemed his followers to be the fitting symbol to let out their frustrations on. The lands were swarming with makeshift bands hunting for hidden temples and cults. Some had actually found hidden and secluded groups. For that luck, the hunters had received swift deaths from miracles.
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Still, his people were being pressed, and called to him.
‘Wait,’ he sent to so many. ‘My great work is at hand.’
For three hundred years he’d stored power, ignoring pleas, suppressing his urge to avenge his own, and refusing to lend free aid.
He did all of this in order to enact a plan that would speed up the fall of his rivals. Because, frankly, no amount of skirmishes, and acts of sabotage on his part, would stop Wargain.
His religion had become too large, self-perpetuating. The war god didn’t even have to do anything anymore, save for point and declare a crusade. But Wargain did, that accursed god never ceased in his activities. He would not stop till the realm was his. At Wargain’s current heading—if nothing changed—he would achieve his dream; the realm under his molten foot.
“How long would I have to wait to be free of him then?” A frightening thought. Even though he was eternal, would outlast his rivals, that didn’t mean he aspired to actually wait an eternity for it to happen.
He chucked out another shrine, sending it hurling outward. “Why do you have to be so good at this Wargain,” he muttered. “So damned focused.” One would think he would get distracted, or become slightly content with his progress. Taking a continent was no easy feat, none had accomplished that before. Wargain should have been celebrating, resting on his laurels, letting his guard down. But no, right on to the next continent; not a moments delay.
Malan looked towards Sun, the harbinger of a possible doom. In a few more weeks they would know the truth. And honestly, he hoped Madness was right. It partially rubbed him the wrong way, one side of himself at odds with the other. But to see Wargain suffer, to lose everything. How couldn’t he be excited by the prospect? That the arrogant, self-centered tyrant, would be brought low.
At the cost of every mortal, Malan’s own followers included.
He threw another stone, then began rubbing his hands together, fretting over the possible future. If the end really was coming; their time short. What was he going to do?
“Lead them underground?” He thought aloud. “The rock would help insulate heat, and block out the wind.”
A plan blossomed in his mind.
As a peddler, and keeper of arcane knowledge. He had a wide variety of skills at his disposal. It would be costly, but he could keep his followers alive. With their help of daily Devotion, perhaps those under him could survive the cold.
“The enemy Malan, the enemy,” he couldn’t forget that. It wouldn’t just be the elements to deal with; but a new unknown threat as well. The thought of it had his mind slow.
Possibilities diminishing.
If Wargain wasn’t going to be able to handle the situation, what chance did he, and his kin have?
“Perhaps, the pantheon will serve as a big enough distraction for us to go unnoticed.” Out of millions to slaughter, who would really care about a few thousand or more disappearing?
“Wishful thinking.” He didn’t know the enemy, so he had to assume the worst.
Sighing: “I have to talk with Madness first, get further information.”
But that too had to wait. Malan felt the last of his champions reach the mountain range, that would serve as their ascension. He wanted to wait longer, have a decent store of power for use after his grand act, but time was short. With Wargain pressing in on him, his followers hunted, and the emergence of a new foe, those aligning with his cause needed his support.
“I can’t be passive anymore,” he said towards the sky. “You have forced my hand Wargain, and I will make sure you suffer for it.”
***
Stone shifted like water as it retreated from them, willed away by his fellow champion Derrin. It didn’t stop till Bronduff had a few heads of empty space above him, even when he rose to his full height. Derrin began adding some cosmetic features afterward; columns with crude depictions of their god.
“You should just stick with patterns hun.” Foy voiced, while lounging on the stone floor covered in fur coats; herself wrap within one. All Kolune, which looked and smelled freshly made. “Sculpting isn’t one of your skills, and I’d hate for Malan to be offended by such…child renditions of himself.
Derrin laughed. “Like you can do any better.” Then acting upon her advice, cleansed the stone of the affront to Malan’s image.
“I can’t,” she replied unashamed. “But you don’t see me going around acting as if I can.”
“They weren’t that bad,” Derrin complained defensively.
A thoughtful hum sounded out to Bronduff’s right, the source Ryan, the ascended mouse covered in layered robes, and curled within a throne carved out of stone. “No, I agree with Foy, they were, uninspired.”
Derrin huffed. “See if I make you another throne.”
“I didn’t mean offense.” Ryan responded in an honest tone, which meant he was lying. “I was only giving a helpful critique of your alluring work.”
Derrin began to giggle, and mumbled: “He thinks I don’t know.” The words weren’t aimed at anyone, save for Derrin’s own mind. A bad habit, which Bronduff surmised had developed due to the amount of time the Dargown had spent alone in subterranean tunnels.
“Care to share what’s so funny?” Ryan asked.
“Share what? Derrin replied, his befuddlement genuine.
“You said-
“Oh, don’t bother,” Foy voiced, interrupting Ryan. “His mind is in a thousand places; he probably doesn’t know himself.”
“What?” Derrin added helpfully.
“Nothing hun,” Foy replied. “Say, when are you going to be done?” She asked and spread her legs. Even clothed, the invitation was obvious. That is, if Derrin had bothered to look in her direction.
“I suppose, till I get bored of it.” Derrin answered, still not looking at her; she began glaring at the back of his head.
“Derrin,” she said in a childish voice, seeking his attention, but only got a hum as he continued warping stone.
“Derrin!” She shouted in her real voice, and finally got him to turn around and look.
“Oh,” the ascended dog voiced, his miracle stopping dead, same with the stone. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He asked approaching, and discarding clothing.
“Because, I am a lady hun,” Foy replied, pants already removed.
“Funny,” Bronduff said as he looked her up and down. He still wondered what Derrin found attractive, since, neither of them were the same race. “I thought you were a child.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “This body is just old enough to give birth, so I’m a lady.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan added in, his gaze elsewhere. “And can you two have some decency, go make another room to conduct your wastefulness.”
Foy rolled her eyes as Derrin laid on top of her, and wasted no time starting their mating. “For one,” Foy managed out with a moan. “I’ve been pregnant a number of times,” then hissed. “Right their hun, and don’t you dare slow down.” Returning her attention to Ryan, she continued: “And two, no I don’t have any decency, I’m over five hundred years old.” She added, then gasped out: “That died ages ago.”
Ryan sighed as his head tilted upward, a clear sign of asking their god, why?
Bronduff kept his eyes on the two lovers, he’d seen the sight numerous times, so he wasn’t put off by it. No, he continued to wonder what Derrin found so alluring. Foy took his focused gaze the wrong way, or did so purposely.
“Care to join Bronduff?” She asked, before squeaking, and biting Derrin on the shoulder with her buck teeth.
“No,” he answered, like so many times before. “I’m not aroused by Heon, nor by the thought of laying with a child.”
“Lady,” she retorted; the word muffled by Derrin’s shoulder.
Derrin chuckled. “It’s all the same really, save for tightness,” he grunted, almost bucking.
“It’s all delightful.”
“Whatever you say,” Bronduff commented as he continued watching the pair. That is, till he felt a pulse of alarm from one of their Sigils. All sound stopped in the chamber, to Derrin’s grief. Bronduff heard him whispered into Foy’s ear. “I was so close.” She responded by putting a hand over his muzzle, while the rest of them focused, and opened their etheric eyes.
Sigils glowed around the bend that led to a small opening, one blocked by a slab of stone. Only those of the Glen, or with unnatural sight, could see the runes, and the riddled instructions. They heard the stone slide away seconds later, frigid air howling into the heated cavern, and then promptly re-shut.
A heart beat passed before Bronduff caught sight of a Heon—cloaked in Kolune fur—carefully peering into the chamber; his etheric eye also open. Their gazes met, and Bronduff waved is old savior forward.
“Rimean!” Foy shouted thrilled, the tension in the air dispersing. “Care to join?” she asked a breath later as Derrin began humping her.
“Later,” Rimean grunted out, hastily entering the chamber, and promptly collapsing into a pile of fur coats. The sight got a chuckle out of Foy, and her lover.
“Did you run all the way here?” Asked Ryan, the Verm peering over the lip of his throne, and staring down at his fallen comrade. He got a grunt as a response, as Bronduff made his way over to Rimean. He kneeled, and pulled at the power stored within his form. Some collected into the palm of his hand, glowing softly.
“Here,” he said, lightly tugging on Rimean’s shoulder, and getting his attention. His friend took it, breathed in deep, and pushed himself upright.
“Thank you,” said the ascended rabbit. “And yes, I did.” He commented while looking at Ryan. “I was at Wargain’s new front of war.”
Ryan gasped. “You’re mad, you didn’t rest or anything?”
The Heon shook his head. “If I had, it would have been another week, or two.”
The Verm threw his hands up in the air: “Does it look like we’re in a rush.” Ryan said, and pointed at the other two champions in the throes of passion. Derrin howled, bucked for a few seconds, and collapsed on top of Foy. Effectively hiding most of her miniscule body, save for her head, which held an annoyed face.
“Really hun?” she said. “You couldn’t hold on a little longer?”
Derrin groaned pleased, unbothered by her stare. “I haven’t laid with a lass in months, so, the rush took me.” He shifted about, pressed his face against hers, and gave her a lick of affection. “I’ll be ready to go again, just give me a minute.”
“You better.” Foy replied, before moving her gaze to the rest of them. “I agree with Ryan, you shouldn’t have pushed yourself, not with that unaltered body of yours.”
Rimean waved his hand dismissively. “I made some changes, it’s not as mortal as you all think.” He hummed a miracle, and the layer of snow sticking to his fur coat hissed into heated air. “It was the prolonged chanting that wore on me, and the hazardous climate.”
Foy chuckled as she petted Derrin’s head. “Thank Wargain for all the wandering fools in the wilds. I didn’t even have to look to find a Kolune to skin.”
“Agreed.” Rimean commented, pulling his cloak around him tighter. “It was also why I pushed myself. The lands are filled with hunters, thousands are on the prowl.”
“Not surprising,” Foy added. “Half the city I left was emptying of its inhabitants, all thinking they were going to find and kill heretics.”
Ryan nodded his head, the Verm’s eyes glowing bright with power under his hood. “It was the same with me, lands normally empty were swarming with city folk.
“Kill any?” Foy asked.
Ryan shook his head. “Waste of Devotion, since I couldn’t risk forming a shrine. I used miracles Derrin passed on to me to sneak passed them. By the way, thank you for that,” Ryan added and got Derrin to smile and laugh. “It’s always fun doing that, watching them muck about confused, and fearful, when odd sounds happen around them.”
“It’s unfair,” Foy voiced. “All these unguarded sacrifices, yet we can’t extract Devotion from them.”
“Given the topic of shrines,” Bronduff said as he sat next to his savior. “All I have personally made, regardless of their location, have been destroyed.” Bronduff felt the tension in the air.
“Did you lose any orphanages?” Rimean asked, and Bronduff shook his head. “I never mingled the areas, too much risk.
“Wise,” his savior said, and they both heard Ryan sigh. “Do you have to rub it in?” The Verm complained. “Bad enough I’ve probably lost half my following,” they all stared at him.
“Oh, don’t you all act surprised,” Ryan stated. “It was my role to form a large host, armies to carry out Malan’s will. It was only natural for them to be centered around shrines, that way frequent, and large, offerings could be easily conducted.”
Derrin hummed in thought, before sitting up right, and holding Foy in a tight embrace. “I recall Malan mostly telling us to disperse, and keep low profiles. No armies come to mind.”
“He also said to conduct ourselves in a manner that would best spread his religion,” Ryan pointed out hastily. “And with my race’s natural ability to breed quick as grass. Its only right for an army of my kind to come about, ready to spread and cleanse the lands of heretics.”
“Right,” Foy said in an elongated tone. “Even though my kind is the faster breeders, and yet, you don’t see my sect concentrated around holdings.”
Ryan tensed, and straightened in his oversized throne. “My people need a civilized society to be comfortable, Heon,” he said strongly. “We can’t just mingle with the land and be at peace with it, there must be structure, order, settlements, cities.” He hissed…then sighed at Foy’s large grin.
“Even after all this time, it’s always amazing, and amusing to see you get so hair raised about the subject of breeding,” she said pleased.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Ryan spoke tiredly. “When your kind is constantly bragging about it. And your supposed destiny to fill the lands with such numbers, that all will bow before you.”
“Really?” Foy said in mock surprise. “I thought that was your kind.”
Ryan hissed, and Bronduff sighed.
“It’s both of your kinds.” He added to the conversation, getting two glares, while Derrin nodded, then yelped when Foy bit into his shoulder.
“You’re just afraid that one day the Kolune’s time on top will come to an end.” Ryan said in that confident tone all Verm used, when it came to the topic of numbers. Which, with how things were going, was true.
Kolunes, as a whole, had never kept up with the breeding of others. It was only because Wargain was a Kolune shaped god, and naturally held them as the highest in society, that his race held sway. That, and their much larger size, and bodies better tooled for acts of violence.
“I’m not afraid of that,” Bronduff responded truthfully, since he didn’t care about who was on top, as long as his kin were allowed to live their lives as they wished. “As long as Wargain remains, Kolunes will hold the leash of power. However, our numbers are going to take a dip.”
Many, of every race, would be lured towards the east, but it would be his kind, in particular, that would be the most pulled by it. Conflict was in their blood, the need to fight for dominance, or control, a central part of them, and Wargain’s society. Many Kolunes were going to die, while the other races would swell in numbers.
“True, true,’ Ryan commented, and looked towards Rimean. “How is it going in the east?”
“Well, for Wargain that is,” Rimean answered. “His armies are taking lands quickly, or had been. By the time I left, whatever pantheons calling that realm their own, had finally committed to the fight.”
“That’s good,” Foy said, while Derrin nodded and added: “It will distract the war god, Celestials know he’s been looking for an honorable fight.”
Which Malan had been denying the pantheon for ages. Even now, with his sects taking worsening losses, their god remained dormant. “Should I inform Malan you’ve arrived?” Bronduff asked, looking down at his savior.
Ryan nodded. “My absence has delayed his divine grace long enough.”
“Wait a moment,” Foy spoke. “Hun, would you be so gracious as to perform a cleansing miracle on us.”
“Of course, of course,” Derrin replied, letting go of her, and allowing them to stand up. He hummed; eyes glowing bright. The area pulsed with power, and in an instant, they, along with everything in the chamber, became pristine.
Bronduff felt refreshed, the filth he hadn’t known clinging to him, gone without a trace. Fur, clothing, armor, even the rocks around them had a polish of cleanliness.
“I love that miracle,” Foy said, before promptly putting her pants back on.
“Malan taught it to me,” Derrin informed, following her example. “After he answered my summon, and noticed I was covered in filth.”
“You savage,” Ryan said appalled. “You’re of his race, how could you present yourself before him as a mongrel?”
Bronduff was of like mind, it must have shamed Malan to see a Dargown in such a state. Especially after the visions his god had shown him of the past. When Malan’s city was a shining jewel, and a place of divine wonder where those of his race lived.
“I didn’t stink,” Derrin said defending himself. “I was covered in dust. I had found an abandoned chamber filled with lost tomes.” The miracle worker looked upward, his mind elsewhere. “There was so much lost knowledge, I couldn’t help myself. I ended up going through everything before making a shrine and presenting my findings.”
Foy patted Derrin’s leg, bringing the Dargown back to the present. “Its fine hun, we know you’re not filthy, there’s no need to provide excuses. Isn’t that right Ryan,” she added, staring, and daring him to counter her.
“Quite,” Ryan said with a hand motion, before turning his attention to Bronduff. “I think we’re ready now, unless there’s something else?” None voiced an objection.
Bronduff closed his eyes, emptied his mind, and thought to his god, calling to him. ‘All of us are here lord, what is it you need of us?’
Instantly he felt a presence fall over him, caring and warm. ‘First, to answer a question.’ Their god sent, and not only to him, but the other four as well.
‘Do you five wish to become gods?’