[P] screaming the name of a foreigner's god

[Blyse]

heaven and hell are just words to me   Darkness came early to Novus, announcing its reasons with screaming wind and distant thunder that hushed every living thing within Blyse’s earshot.  He felt as if he was the only creature alive then, acutely aware of each graceless step he took by the riot it produced against the silence.  Only the wind kept him company, running its chilling fingers through his tangled, ivory hair as it howled around the curves of his body praying for his steps to falter.  It seemed to push him back, willing him to go back where he came from—whether just to the mountains or back across the sea he did not know, but he simply ignored it over the deafening sound of his intuition telling him to press forward.   Novus had produced an abundance of mixed-messages for him since he arrived.  Some he catered to, others he called a bluff—really there was no rhyme or reason to either choice, just instinct…or faith, perhaps.  Truth be told, he did not care much for that word or its meaning. It called for the murder of logic and control and many things in which he held in high regard.  But this new land called for some level of faith; Gods by their very nature demanded it. Blyse drew his eyes up to the heavens, casting an ireful glance towards to the sea of boisterous black clouds that threatened the earth with its promise of perpetual darkness.  It was, in its own way, a form of prayer—but not one that would please any God.  His prayer was a demand for retribution without sacrifice.  He desired a place in this new world and a purpose, but one that did not intermingle with celestial beings he did not wish to give his devotion to. In a seeming expression of reprisal there came a surge of lightening, so bright it forced Blyse to pull his eyes closed in reflex.  The roar of thunder came tumbling slowly after, rattling the earth to her very bones.  What is it that they say?  Hell hath no fury like a woman’s scorn?   Yes, scorn would nicely define it, if coincidence would not suffice. The  backlash was quickly followed by the sound of a downpour creeping toward him from across the vale.  Blyse watched as it raced across the river and through the fields; watched as the high grass bowed to the torrent and the trees turned over the last of their leaves to welcome it.  It was strange to see rain move like that, like a curtain drawn over the earth.  And then it washed over his body, drenching his wings and permitting the coldness to penetrate his mahogany coat to slide its icy fingers against along his spine.  He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, before taking his leave of the open fields to find a bit of cover in the mouth of a nearby cavern that lined the hillside. @Sparrow // Bring whoever you like ❤  we’re just standing in a field getting rained on and feeling cynical today apparently.

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