(no subject)
Musings of my mind. Hello AU-Cael.
Terra, Ignis, Aqua, Anima, Sanguiem, Corpus.
Cael knelt against the cold marble floor, head bent in the traditional symbol of absolute humility. His hands gripped the eight feet long rod of wisdom and quidance, holding it at the precise point of the horizon. Not once his hands trembled.
Cael had been praying since the break of dawn. He could feel the warmth of the sun slowly disappearing. His eyes remained closed underneath the blindfold, his voice whispering the mantra over and over again. He would not move from this position until that the sun once again had vanished below the ocean.
His stomach grumbled, but he paid it no heed. He knew there were others in the room, he could feel their presence, knew that if he faltered there would be repercussions. He was a mage of the highest cast, one of the six selected to serve the Gods. To obey and serve their cause. To kneel and say nothing when the pain came. To whisper praise when they took him. Made him into the ultimate vessel.
He hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time he had been a child wanting to play with the other children. He could vaguely remember that he hadn’t wanted to be taken away from that. Could remember the pain from when Okhatho took him over and forever sealed his fate.
Cael winced inwardly, mentally begging for forgiveness. It was not his place to think of wordly matters. And how could he ever not have wanted to serve the Gods? He was truly blessed. Out of sixty-seven million people the Gods had chosen him, forever marked him as a servant.
It was his eyes that had given him away. In a country where all had either green, red or brown eyes it was almost impossible to see one with blue eyes. Blue as the ice on mount Wihanor. Blue as Okhatho’s eyes, God of war and despocy.
Okhatho favoured him, Cael knew that. For some reason Okhatho’s cold fire was the one who mostly frequented him, burned him from the inside up until all that he knew was white-hot pain. In a way it was comforting, because then he knew that he was still alive and that They hadn’t forgotten him.
Cael felt the exact moment when the power of Okhatho took over and pushed away his spirit from his body. He sank into blissful oblivion once more.
---
Tomato watched the whole thing dispassionately. Leaning against the back wall of the innermost sanctum of the temple, his arms lightly crossed, but still within easy reach of the sword at his right hip, his cool green eyes took in the small form that crumpled in on itself for a few moments before it woke up again.
He had seen this particular transformation quite a few times. He didn't need a second look to know which God had taken over his ward. Okhantho. Though on the utmost surface it seemed like it was just Cael there was a certain air about him that to even the casual observer screamed that something was wrong. And depending on which God possessed him it varied. Okhantho always reminded Tomato of a tiger, restlessly pacing in its all too small cage, waiting for the slightest opportunity to break free. That feline agaility which always coursed through Cael’s body when the Wargod manifested led him to believe that Okhantho not normally walked the earth on two feet.
Despite the absolute restriction of weapons and warriors in the innermost sanctuary of the temple, Cael had gone against the clergy, stating that no matter what, his personal body-guard should be present. Tomato wasn't 100% comfortable with that desicion, but he had obeyed his little mage, amused to find that not one, but three of the six Gods had agreed with Cael's wishes. That, more than anything, had resulted in that Tomato was allowed precisely everywhere that Cael went.
Tomato himself didn't particularly care for anything concerning the faith. As long as he was paid he did as told. Or well, mostly he did. Tomato's family, the ruling warrior family that aside from the spiritual council had the most influence of the country's inhabitants.
Truly, it was Tomato’s father who had fixed him up in his current employment. “A son of the ruling clan of warriors must help protect the pride of the kingdom.”
Tomato almost gagged at the time his father had said that. All that Stefano Salvatore ever cared for was more power. As the firstborn son Tomato provided the perfect bait for just that.
As did his younger sister, Yuriko. She had practically been sold to the highest bidder, and Tomato hadn’t envied her her fate.
Her husband, Aeron, high priest of Sarth, God of love and debauchery, was known to uphold the same lifestyle as the God he served. Before Tomato had come to serve the summoner of war and despocy Tomato had been Aeron’s bodyguard. More than once he had had the dubious honor of disposing concubines that could not survive the preferred level of… servitude, that Aeron demanded.
Tomato, however, wasn’t the slightest bit worried for his younger sibling. Yuriko was one of the strongest women he knew, and she would do well to stay alive, whether by assassination, trickery or manipulation.
A movement from the figure kneeling on the floor made him switch all of his attention to there. Cael/Okhantho had risen. The staff in his hand was vaguely turning bluer for each passing moment, until cold flame erupted from its tip.
Terra, Ignis, Aqua, Anima, Sanguiem, Corpus.
Cael knelt against the cold marble floor, head bent in the traditional symbol of absolute humility. His hands gripped the eight feet long rod of wisdom and quidance, holding it at the precise point of the horizon. Not once his hands trembled.
Cael had been praying since the break of dawn. He could feel the warmth of the sun slowly disappearing. His eyes remained closed underneath the blindfold, his voice whispering the mantra over and over again. He would not move from this position until that the sun once again had vanished below the ocean.
His stomach grumbled, but he paid it no heed. He knew there were others in the room, he could feel their presence, knew that if he faltered there would be repercussions. He was a mage of the highest cast, one of the six selected to serve the Gods. To obey and serve their cause. To kneel and say nothing when the pain came. To whisper praise when they took him. Made him into the ultimate vessel.
He hadn’t always been like this. Once upon a time he had been a child wanting to play with the other children. He could vaguely remember that he hadn’t wanted to be taken away from that. Could remember the pain from when Okhatho took him over and forever sealed his fate.
Cael winced inwardly, mentally begging for forgiveness. It was not his place to think of wordly matters. And how could he ever not have wanted to serve the Gods? He was truly blessed. Out of sixty-seven million people the Gods had chosen him, forever marked him as a servant.
It was his eyes that had given him away. In a country where all had either green, red or brown eyes it was almost impossible to see one with blue eyes. Blue as the ice on mount Wihanor. Blue as Okhatho’s eyes, God of war and despocy.
Okhatho favoured him, Cael knew that. For some reason Okhatho’s cold fire was the one who mostly frequented him, burned him from the inside up until all that he knew was white-hot pain. In a way it was comforting, because then he knew that he was still alive and that They hadn’t forgotten him.
Cael felt the exact moment when the power of Okhatho took over and pushed away his spirit from his body. He sank into blissful oblivion once more.
---
Tomato watched the whole thing dispassionately. Leaning against the back wall of the innermost sanctum of the temple, his arms lightly crossed, but still within easy reach of the sword at his right hip, his cool green eyes took in the small form that crumpled in on itself for a few moments before it woke up again.
He had seen this particular transformation quite a few times. He didn't need a second look to know which God had taken over his ward. Okhantho. Though on the utmost surface it seemed like it was just Cael there was a certain air about him that to even the casual observer screamed that something was wrong. And depending on which God possessed him it varied. Okhantho always reminded Tomato of a tiger, restlessly pacing in its all too small cage, waiting for the slightest opportunity to break free. That feline agaility which always coursed through Cael’s body when the Wargod manifested led him to believe that Okhantho not normally walked the earth on two feet.
Despite the absolute restriction of weapons and warriors in the innermost sanctuary of the temple, Cael had gone against the clergy, stating that no matter what, his personal body-guard should be present. Tomato wasn't 100% comfortable with that desicion, but he had obeyed his little mage, amused to find that not one, but three of the six Gods had agreed with Cael's wishes. That, more than anything, had resulted in that Tomato was allowed precisely everywhere that Cael went.
Tomato himself didn't particularly care for anything concerning the faith. As long as he was paid he did as told. Or well, mostly he did. Tomato's family, the ruling warrior family that aside from the spiritual council had the most influence of the country's inhabitants.
Truly, it was Tomato’s father who had fixed him up in his current employment. “A son of the ruling clan of warriors must help protect the pride of the kingdom.”
Tomato almost gagged at the time his father had said that. All that Stefano Salvatore ever cared for was more power. As the firstborn son Tomato provided the perfect bait for just that.
As did his younger sister, Yuriko. She had practically been sold to the highest bidder, and Tomato hadn’t envied her her fate.
Her husband, Aeron, high priest of Sarth, God of love and debauchery, was known to uphold the same lifestyle as the God he served. Before Tomato had come to serve the summoner of war and despocy Tomato had been Aeron’s bodyguard. More than once he had had the dubious honor of disposing concubines that could not survive the preferred level of… servitude, that Aeron demanded.
Tomato, however, wasn’t the slightest bit worried for his younger sibling. Yuriko was one of the strongest women he knew, and she would do well to stay alive, whether by assassination, trickery or manipulation.
A movement from the figure kneeling on the floor made him switch all of his attention to there. Cael/Okhantho had risen. The staff in his hand was vaguely turning bluer for each passing moment, until cold flame erupted from its tip.