There was a spartan quality to Raymond and Calliope that took to outriding like a spark to dry tinder. The trappings and endless intrigues of court life were not for them (even Raymond, who so very easily slipped into the mannerisms of civilized folk), and the only dust that could ever dirty their flesh was the dust of a hard day's travel trapped in the proverbial amber of honest sweat.
Florentine and her entourage might hesitate in the shadow of their stony walls, but Raymond would not. Calliope would not.
He drew easily alongside as the black unicorn slowed and took up a guarded stance as she approached the strange, sealed stand of trees, allowing her to approach them alone as he examined the structure as a whole. The trees seemed simultaneously ancient and young, gnarled with the passage of time but almost hospital-clean, and nothing about their surroundings suggested that such a thing should exist - there or anywhere. It was not the first time Raymond had seen powerful magic at work and he doubted it would be the last, but it set his teeth on edge with a slow-simmering distaste.
Gods had never destroyed anything that Raymond loved. They had never bent him to their will or toyed with his life, because Raymond would not be so handled. But he had known many a good horse turned sour by the dread opiate religion, had exploited the piety of others to his own ends, and knew that gods were all it took for good people to do unspeakable evil.
Meddlesome. Vile.
Calliope turned toward him, and as their eyes met he saw her as clearly as the sealed gathering place: black as an oil spill, shining with sweat and dust from the road, the cuff on her horn glinting in the fiery evening sun. He lingered on the image as she spoke and his mind lingered on it after she fell silent.
He did know the dark portents that followed the mention of Ravos, but he also knew the fickle mortality of its gods and the games they sought to play with the lives of their adherents. They were vain and fallible. The rift had been a greater and more terrible god than they, and it was nothing at all but a putrescent, gangrenous wound tucked between the toes of ten thousand separate worlds.
"I would not mind if it were like Ravos," Raymond replied coolly.
Give him a god he could kill.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
@Calliope @Random Events
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