blessed be the one
whose lips spill the truth of gods
whose lips spill the truth of gods
They see much but, apparently, not all.
Drune didn't know this; he didn't know that there were some things that the Gods the denizens of Sohorn and even beyond worshipped and prayed to couldn't see. They had shown him much, after all — death, decay, birth, and regrowth. It did not matter if he wished to see none of it.
Once again though, apparently, they couldn't see all.
Opaque, obscure. There is nothing there — wrong. There is something. Hidden, waiting, calling. They cannot see and therefore do not like; they are uncertain.
For once the Oracle does not stomp an irritated hoof, bow his head and press against the ribbon wrapped neatly around his neck. No sneer takes over his face and no snort escapes his nostrils. No, this time Drune smiles.
It's a small thing, harmless in appearance. Innocent, really. That faint smile portrays how intrigued he is, though. Against the boundaries the locked away Oracle likes play. How far he can get away with things or alter an outcome are what he enjoys trying to do. The Gods can not see and that is all it takes for the metal of his hoof to dip into the misty barrier. It parts easily for him.
Like gentle hands the fog parts and wraps around him, welcoming him and all he is with open arms. There is nothing to fear here, only something to discover.
Within it, he might be unable to see or to discern which way is right, left, forward, back, but that does not stop the Oracle. For once, the Gods do not know what lays beyond. It is thrilling, dangerous, exhilarating. Beyond the hazy gates rest a freedom Drune had never been able to experience. Forever, since he had first dripped from his lips words of valuable gold, Drune has always had the unexpected ripped from his grasp. They always took it, held it, and then began to mold it until the unexpected was forced upon his mind and revealed.
Surprises are not something Drune has had the pleasure to experience in a long, long time.
What awaits him beyond the fog is unknown. Such a thought sends a spike of pleasure down his spine. For once the Gods have no control here.
For once, there is reprieve.
Their uncertainty means that they cannot show him anything that might be beyond this; they cannot touch his brow and bestow upon him precious visions because they have no hold here. For the first time not only does Drune come to learn that the Gods can't see everything, but for the first time not a single vision can touch his mind.
Freedom, resounding, rebounding off the foggy prison he finds himself in. No, this is no prison, this is something so much better.
Time becomes nothing for the Voiceless. Becomes nothing — is nothing. Forever he could spend here, suspended in the fog that clings to his skin. It moves with him, smiling along and separating the man from the Gods. He has been Their vessel; their play-thing to use as they please no matter how far he walked, how long he slept, how quiet he stayed. Within this makeshift barricade a disconnection was made.
For once the Oracle truly becomes nothing. Nothing more than a man with a single eye, scars across his throat, and metal for a leg.
Drune of Sohorn was no more here, and what an absolutely wonderful thing that was.
What does it matter how long he wanders, lost, when he is so free for the first time since he was young? Dangerous, a part of his mind whispers to him, dangerous to remain here too long. It was true. To allow himself to get swept up into this was something he could not do. The world outside of this place waited for him — they waited for him and no matter how that thought made him grind his teeth together he knew he couldn't stay.
However, he had yet to reach beyond this place. He had yet to see what the Gods couldn't.
So on the man that is no oracle while here goes.
Thoughts no longer remain introspective. They turn outward, seen in how his ears stand at attention and in the sharp look in his glacial eye. What is here he does not know (exciting, wonderful) and Drune does not know if he is prepared for whatever might be beyond this blissful place.
As it turns out, he is indeed not prepared. Steps come to a slow halt and while the cosmos (cosmos, heavens, whatever one wished to call them he did not care for they are all one and the same) dance around him he can do nothing but look on in wonder. He cannot greet them, but the welcome him all the same.
Some things, in the eyes of the people who wished the Gods that touched him without consent, were meant for the eyes of the Gods only.
The cosmos were one of those things.
Yes, they could be seen from the earth, examined as much as one's heart wished, but they were never meant to truly be known. Not even by one like Drune. Their Oracle they might call him, but that did not give him access to all of their be beloved things. Suspended in time, suspended in space, he was seeing something the archons would have wept to know existed.
What have the Gods shown you Drune of Sohorn? You need only speak it, dear child — for that is what the Gods wish for you to do.
Of course, how true that archon's words had been.
None of that matter now though, for their precious Oracle was gone. Their Oracle was gone and, for now, he was absolutely nothing. Not a single thing could touch him as he gazed at wondrous stars and distant galaxies. Reach out, try hard enough, and he might just be able to graze the tip of a slow-spinning collection of shining, celestial bodies.
It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
The silent space he found himself in was wonderful, and he even found that the heavy noise of the metal he walked on was dampened to only a soft, gentle clink. Here everything was different and everything was new. Drune was undone and remade, shifted and transformed until he was left entirely cleansed of all he carried with him outside of this heavenly place.
However, he was not alone.
Gods, unable to touch him and struggling to regain their beloved son, had not been able to show him glimpses of what was to come. The unexpected remained just that, and would so long as he remained here. In his eye, it was an ideal situation. He would have it no other way.
One of them he knew, the other he didn't.
Cerulean — soon, on the tip of his tongue he could feel the word. Nothing past his lips, of course. The other though, Drune has seen nothing of and isn't that strange?
Dappled lilac, wolf pelt — wanderer? Explorer? Lost? What are you?
He cannot ask, cannot - for the first time - see. Odd, but not unwelcomed. He does not catch the words spoken in a language he had never heard before, but he does catch her words that question. He knows of what she references, is too perceptive not to, but Drune is able to take that question, shift it, and transform it to relate to things only he knows of.
No, they do not answer. Not here anyway. And no, they do not know; cannot know what is beyond the veil. It makes Them uncertain and, dare he say, scared.
The Gods are scared and Drune takes satisfaction in being able to know that. After all he has endured, will endure, because of them they deserve far worse. Drune has dealt with them all his life, and so they can deal with this small inconvenience for the unspecific amount of time that he is here.
Finding himself agreeing with Stellanor in how beautiful it all is, the only way Drune knows to make his presence known among the cosmos is by letting out a more forceful sigh than normal. A stomp, a flick of his tail, a snort all seem too harsh and disruptive. He does not follow this up by moving closer to the two women, instead, he keeps his distance. Walking a half-circle (his eyes on the heavenly bodies suspended around), his steps stop only once he is in view of them.
It is then that his gaze turns to them, head subtly tilted.
Beautiful it all might be, but what is hidden within it? What does all of this hide that not even the Gods can see?
These are the things the man who is no oracle here wonders.
@Aelin, @Stellanor
Ray & Berb have permission to powerplay Drune
for the remainder of this thread
Drune didn't know this; he didn't know that there were some things that the Gods the denizens of Sohorn and even beyond worshipped and prayed to couldn't see. They had shown him much, after all — death, decay, birth, and regrowth. It did not matter if he wished to see none of it.
Once again though, apparently, they couldn't see all.
Opaque, obscure. There is nothing there — wrong. There is something. Hidden, waiting, calling. They cannot see and therefore do not like; they are uncertain.
For once the Oracle does not stomp an irritated hoof, bow his head and press against the ribbon wrapped neatly around his neck. No sneer takes over his face and no snort escapes his nostrils. No, this time Drune smiles.
It's a small thing, harmless in appearance. Innocent, really. That faint smile portrays how intrigued he is, though. Against the boundaries the locked away Oracle likes play. How far he can get away with things or alter an outcome are what he enjoys trying to do. The Gods can not see and that is all it takes for the metal of his hoof to dip into the misty barrier. It parts easily for him.
Like gentle hands the fog parts and wraps around him, welcoming him and all he is with open arms. There is nothing to fear here, only something to discover.
Within it, he might be unable to see or to discern which way is right, left, forward, back, but that does not stop the Oracle. For once, the Gods do not know what lays beyond. It is thrilling, dangerous, exhilarating. Beyond the hazy gates rest a freedom Drune had never been able to experience. Forever, since he had first dripped from his lips words of valuable gold, Drune has always had the unexpected ripped from his grasp. They always took it, held it, and then began to mold it until the unexpected was forced upon his mind and revealed.
Surprises are not something Drune has had the pleasure to experience in a long, long time.
What awaits him beyond the fog is unknown. Such a thought sends a spike of pleasure down his spine. For once the Gods have no control here.
Their uncertainty means that they cannot show him anything that might be beyond this; they cannot touch his brow and bestow upon him precious visions because they have no hold here. For the first time not only does Drune come to learn that the Gods can't see everything, but for the first time not a single vision can touch his mind.
Freedom, resounding, rebounding off the foggy prison he finds himself in. No, this is no prison, this is something so much better.
Time becomes nothing for the Voiceless. Becomes nothing — is nothing. Forever he could spend here, suspended in the fog that clings to his skin. It moves with him, smiling along and separating the man from the Gods. He has been Their vessel; their play-thing to use as they please no matter how far he walked, how long he slept, how quiet he stayed. Within this makeshift barricade a disconnection was made.
For once the Oracle truly becomes nothing. Nothing more than a man with a single eye, scars across his throat, and metal for a leg.
Drune of Sohorn was no more here, and what an absolutely wonderful thing that was.
What does it matter how long he wanders, lost, when he is so free for the first time since he was young? Dangerous, a part of his mind whispers to him, dangerous to remain here too long. It was true. To allow himself to get swept up into this was something he could not do. The world outside of this place waited for him — they waited for him and no matter how that thought made him grind his teeth together he knew he couldn't stay.
However, he had yet to reach beyond this place. He had yet to see what the Gods couldn't.
So on the man that is no oracle while here goes.
Thoughts no longer remain introspective. They turn outward, seen in how his ears stand at attention and in the sharp look in his glacial eye. What is here he does not know (exciting, wonderful) and Drune does not know if he is prepared for whatever might be beyond this blissful place.
As it turns out, he is indeed not prepared. Steps come to a slow halt and while the cosmos (cosmos, heavens, whatever one wished to call them he did not care for they are all one and the same) dance around him he can do nothing but look on in wonder. He cannot greet them, but the welcome him all the same.
Some things, in the eyes of the people who wished the Gods that touched him without consent, were meant for the eyes of the Gods only.
The cosmos were one of those things.
Yes, they could be seen from the earth, examined as much as one's heart wished, but they were never meant to truly be known. Not even by one like Drune. Their Oracle they might call him, but that did not give him access to all of their be beloved things. Suspended in time, suspended in space, he was seeing something the archons would have wept to know existed.
Of course, how true that archon's words had been.
None of that matter now though, for their precious Oracle was gone. Their Oracle was gone and, for now, he was absolutely nothing. Not a single thing could touch him as he gazed at wondrous stars and distant galaxies. Reach out, try hard enough, and he might just be able to graze the tip of a slow-spinning collection of shining, celestial bodies.
It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
The silent space he found himself in was wonderful, and he even found that the heavy noise of the metal he walked on was dampened to only a soft, gentle clink. Here everything was different and everything was new. Drune was undone and remade, shifted and transformed until he was left entirely cleansed of all he carried with him outside of this heavenly place.
However, he was not alone.
Gods, unable to touch him and struggling to regain their beloved son, had not been able to show him glimpses of what was to come. The unexpected remained just that, and would so long as he remained here. In his eye, it was an ideal situation. He would have it no other way.
One of them he knew, the other he didn't.
Cerulean — soon, on the tip of his tongue he could feel the word. Nothing past his lips, of course. The other though, Drune has seen nothing of and isn't that strange?
Dappled lilac, wolf pelt — wanderer? Explorer? Lost? What are you?
He cannot ask, cannot - for the first time - see. Odd, but not unwelcomed. He does not catch the words spoken in a language he had never heard before, but he does catch her words that question. He knows of what she references, is too perceptive not to, but Drune is able to take that question, shift it, and transform it to relate to things only he knows of.
No, they do not answer. Not here anyway. And no, they do not know; cannot know what is beyond the veil. It makes Them uncertain and, dare he say, scared.
The Gods are scared and Drune takes satisfaction in being able to know that. After all he has endured, will endure, because of them they deserve far worse. Drune has dealt with them all his life, and so they can deal with this small inconvenience for the unspecific amount of time that he is here.
Finding himself agreeing with Stellanor in how beautiful it all is, the only way Drune knows to make his presence known among the cosmos is by letting out a more forceful sigh than normal. A stomp, a flick of his tail, a snort all seem too harsh and disruptive. He does not follow this up by moving closer to the two women, instead, he keeps his distance. Walking a half-circle (his eyes on the heavenly bodies suspended around), his steps stop only once he is in view of them.
It is then that his gaze turns to them, head subtly tilted.
Beautiful it all might be, but what is hidden within it? What does all of this hide that not even the Gods can see?
These are the things the man who is no oracle here wonders.
Ray & Berb have permission to powerplay Drune
for the remainder of this thread
