He who sought redemption

now revels in damnation

   He knew not what had brought him to the summit of this mountain, that carried his hooves into a temple mount dedicated to gods unknown. He had heard this was a place of blessing and curse, where gods might deign to visit, and certainly no place for a man who did not even have a name for himself. Yet still Ammon's hooves carried him inwards, past alcoves where candles had been lit and melted to stubs. Past other quiet worshippers, no doubt keepers vigilant of their precious deities' temple of worship. Why was he here? What could he desire from these nameless and faceless foreign gods, when his own had forsaken him as well? He had never been a devout man, but he had always obeyed the customs nd bowed his head for the dead, whispered a prayer of protection in his dark hours, sacrificed momments he had made upon the equinoxes. Yet still his own pantheon had never once responded to his prayers, nor did they ever respond to his silent worship with anything but frigid absence.

   What would be different here? Ammon stopped when he reached the altar room, gazing upon the shrines for each of the gods. He knew not even their names... though, he supposed, it was quite fitting, as he himself held no name. For a long time he simply stood, gazing upon the offerings others had left behind, his mind slowly turning, digesting the whispered information each sight gifted upon him. There, a wrapped mommet in the vague semblance of a foal, a prayer for a safe birth perhaps or the wish of a grieving mother that her child be safe in the embrace of the gods. Another was a pinch of grain, for good harvest perhaps, either thanking for or praying. So many objects left for gods who held no need for them, yet still treasures and sacrifices were heaped upon the altars.

   And he brought with him nothingness.

   Not wholly true, for within him raged desire and thirst, a starved man clawing for the fruits of vengeance even as fate dangled them just beyond his reach, an eternal cycle of torment he was doomed to. That was his bleak outlook of truth for the task he had set himself to, a fate he resigned himself to with acceptance and that vicious flame within him. He would set the world afire, if it purged those whose ancestors had wronged him so grievously from the face of the earth. He would bring chaos and ruin, if to appease his own drowning despair. He would become an instrument of destruction, if it would just but give him purpose he had lacked from the moment of his awakening. He mulled over his thoughts silently, over what purpose may have driven him to seek out these gods he knew nothing of. He was a creature of knowledge, perhaps that is what he sought, knowledge of these gods and these people. Or perhaps he sought restoration of the magic that had once flooded his veins. Or perhaps he sought to merely see whether these deities were true gods, or false beings of foolish faith and insubstantial dreams as he grew to suspect his former patrons had been.

   Therein he faced a choice, to pick which shrine to speak his prayers to and feverently hope for a sign. Yet knowing this decision lay before him, Ammon's feet refused to move, and he continued to stand in silence before the altars of the gods. How could he pick a deity, whence he knew so little of any? He could very well not give his patronage to any, yet then should they prove to be actual forces of power then he was without spiritual support. Hand in hand, should he pray to the wrong deity, to a god he knew not the domain and scope of, he risked the ire of another god as well as his prayers being unheard at best, twisted at worst.

   Finally Ammon breached the silence, his breath breaking the quiet in a deep, resigned sigh, his weariness overcoming him. He yearned for his simpler years, for the life he held before even as it had been fraught with betrayal and turmoil, at least then he had known the way of the world and had held his purpose true and dear. Now he was set adrift, alone and wretched, a forsaken raven drowning in the sea of his own solitude. "I shall return unto thine benevolent presences, mine heart too unsteady for prayer for thine blessings." Grief swelled within him in a wave as silence rushed in to fill the gap left in his words, and despair so black it threatened to crush him nearly buckled his knees and sent the black stag crashing to the ground. Ammon stood strong against these powerful emotions, resolute to become a boulder defiant and unmoved admist the chaotic maelstrom of his own feelings. 

   He had learned his lesson on that beautiful marble floor so very long ago, and would not reveal his weakness even unto the very gods themselves.