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landfilloftrash · 6 months ago

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A Moment Before...

This had been… a very long week.

That was really all Enososin thought as she walked back down the Astronomy tower’s stairs, and let her thoughts wander. She held Rollo’s hammer under wings and cloak as she walked through the hallways leading back to the Saint’s chamber.

Three days upon the sea with the Navy after Father Dolmayan had asked her to take care of this mission; she hadn’t been fond of the idea, considering all of the superstitions about priests on board— that wasn’t even taking into account the ones about women on board. But when she was told about the fact that they were off to destroy Nassau by order of the King, and he had requested a Blood Cleric, she figured– out of everyone– that she probably wasn’t the worst pick in this situation. Three days upon the sea and helping Silver out, and convincing the Nassauean people that she truly meant no harm; she only wanted them all to survive.

A day or two after the Navy left, and then they set out upon the waves once more, this time on a five day mission to go help Davy Jones. At least, that was the official objective; with the discovery of the blood scrying cubes, and Sol finding one connected to Saint Rollo— and upon viewing, seeing the slaughter of Father Dolmayan, the one who had sent her out on that ship therein, Eno’s far more pressing objective was to get back to him.

Five days of meeting God and gods; from Hades and Charon, to Hermes and Poseidon. Of meeting Zeke and their childlike innocence and delight. Of helping Scylla with her poisonous bellyache. Of beating up two doppelgangers, one resembling herself and one of Lockwell. Of wondering what in God’s name was happening to the King? What was he tinkering with? What did it do besides “defend the country”? How did it do that? Why was the Order of Blood seemingly connected with that entire debacle, but not in the way they thought? Speaking of— When and why on Earth did the Order of Blood have a blood cube connected to Lockwell, and to Davy Jones himself?? How did they get one from Rollo? Or General Lobo? Hell— she even wondered how they’d gotten it from the King— who had provided all of them? Was there a spy amongst every single faction doing this?

Six days of wondering if Rollo was alright. Six days of wanting so desperately to look into the cube and simply check on him. But not wanting to invade his privacy. Upon landing on the shore of Kingston, that dearly familiar city now turned into a death trap for her new friends. Today had felt like a month had been squeezed into a few short hours. Setting out as covert as a priest could be, in this place; meeting Charon, the Ferryman. A conversation with him leaving her both fairly intrigued by the minor god, and the bubbling concern nigh almost overflowing at his serious words in regards to the Saint. Easily sliding into the trees of her youth, grown along with her, and finding Rollo. Pulling him back to her; her father– her dad. Making their way back to the Church, keeping him away from possible prying eyes. Talking to Saint Clemens, and then to Saint Celestine locked away in the Astronomy tower, searching the stars, and discovering that everything in the world was very quickly twisting into a horror story.

Saint Celestine could be wrong, of course, because like any mortal, even Saints could make mistakes— even if it were a tad bit more unlikely for that to occur— but first of all, she trusted the older Aasimar to understand the stars and their whispers far better than any normal mortal, and second of all, after seeing what she had seen through the blood cubes, she was far more inclined to believe her.

The Gods rotting however, was something that concerned her greatly; possibly not as much as the fact everyone else was rotting too, but it was still at the forefront of her mind after that conversation. Gods… were considered all-powerful (aside from limitations they had set by/for themselves like all creatures of divine nature) by most people, including herself. So hearing that…

It would definitely explain why the Saints, the more divine/spiritually inclined of the mortal realm, were shifting and becoming as unbalanced as the spiritual world.

But those subjects were for Rollo and Celestine to discuss, seeing as she had asked Enososin to call him up, and she shook herself as she approached Rollo’s door. Her claws seemed to click far louder than they should in the silence.

Now, normally, it was rather quiet in this section of the building— seeing as they were sleeping chambers, as well as the fact most people that lived in the church were simply more quiet in their day to day— added with the fact that she had requested it by the sisters so he wouldn’t be disturbed? Dead quiet shouldn’t be unusal. But still, the noise from outside or around the building should at least permeate the air to make some sound, even involuntary.

But she heard nothing. A very distinct nothing. Her feathers started to raise in warning.

Steps much lighter, she cautiously gave a quiet little knock on Rollo’s door to see if he was just, in-fact, sleeping; she wouldn’t blame him if he were. He himself had said that he hadn’t really slept, and the couple of times she had checked on him in the span of their five day trip, she had only caught him resting once, uneasily, stress and sorrow written even into his sleeping features, and she had felt for him. During their confrontation, the deep exhausted circles and constant sleep deprived twitching as he talked bespoke of it just as much as his wild fervor and not realizing the state of himself did.

But any sort of thought process she had was shattered as there was a roar— only barely muffled by the wooden door— of words directed at her, crashing into each other in a near slurringly way that she could not understand, but the intent of them was extraordinarily clear; ‘Go away’.

“Rollo,” she called quietly, startled as she was from her ponderous reverie, “it’s just me!”

“Go’way anyway!” Came the gruff response, not quite as loud but just as firm as the last declaration.

She leaned back from the door and blinked rapidly. The owlin was baffled. What on Earth had happened in the brief amount of time while she wandered, spoken to the dwarven Father, and visited Saint Celestine?

“Why?” She called back, as thoughts raced through her mind; had she done something wrong? No, because there hadn’t been enough time between her leaving him to get cleaned up and coming back on Celestine’s request. And besides, he wasn’t like her where those few minutes could result in a broken arm or leg and a bloodied countenance— wait— oh gods above and below had someone attacked him? Panic now tinged her voice as she followed with— “What’s wrong?”

“I am not safe to be around,” came the bassy growl, “I do not think I can control this thirst for blood. It is not safe for you! Leave me be!”

Oh.

She leaned back on her clawed heels. Well then.

Enososin stood there, staring at the door, and debated his words. She respected Rollo far too much to not do so.

He genuinely sounded pissed off, and she could count on one hand how many times that had happened. In fact, two of those fingers would be for today alone. But simply considering how he sounded, and the actions being taken at the moment, the fact of the matter was— he was pushing her away in some misguided attempt to protect her, possibly at the cost of his own comfort and health; that she absolutely could not stand.

She sent a brief look to the ceiling’d heavens and whispered, “Forgive me Father, because I’m asserting my authority as his daughter by coming in anyways.”

She opened the door like a shield, just in case, because as much as she was concerned and curious, she was also cautious and heeded her father’s words. Eno had no idea why he had said what he’d said, but she had in fact taken them to heart.

She simply had decided confirming her father’s safety was far more important than any sort of reprimand he could give her for it.

Peeking inside she promptly froze at the scene. Saint Rollo had always kept a very neat and respectable appearance; the scene before her was nigh beastial in comparison. He was on his hands and knees, with no shirt to be seen as it revealed a geometric designs curling and cutting around muscles that were definitely not just for show— those normally ‘red’ tattoos were now flecked with something dark and looking like it was poisoning him, and his back was deeply bowed in a near mimicry of prayer, as his wild, long untamed red hair nearly brushed the floor in the posture.

Seeing his hair ruffled and in disarray at the shrine she could easily chalk up to pure mental exhaustion; seeing it completely unbraided was so unusual it made her balk for a moment in her observation. As a child, she could recall having seen it in this state a few times in her memory; braiding it herself with delight those times due to an injury of his— as an adult, however, never.

But the truly main thing that caught her attention, and shoved every single thing that contradicted what she knew was her father’s normal off to the side, was the fact that one of his hands was clawing so deeply into his shoulder that blood was falling freely and very very quickly.

Eno rushed over in concern; his appearance change was radical, and her brain froze a moment before clicking back into gear, but that was considerably small potatoes to her compared to his very clear distress.

She slid to her knees nearly in front of him and gently pried his hand away from his poor shoulder with both hands before keeping one on his shoulder and the other rubbing circles into the offending appendage.

A gently colored light glittered below her hand as she murmured words for cure wounds to take effect on the damage Rollo had dealt himself, and she felt her soul’s tie connect to his as it began.

She nearly stopped concentrating from the shock to her system the difference between the time she’d connected to him last and now.

Eno had always connected to Rollo easier, in a magic sense as well as a social sense. The healers here were probably some of the only ones who had connected as often to her as Rollo had, and even then, it was sometimes both of them connecting to her. His magic was tightly woven and strong: as bright and warm as a pleasant summer day at noon, and often served as a beacon for her to locate him if she’d somehow ‘misplaced’ him— or more accurately, when she was younger, he had misplaced her.

It was just as familiar to her as his smile.

This was the equivalent of getting ice water poured on her, as she took in the frayed, bloodied state of his soul. It didn’t stop her from healing him— in fact, it caused her to be more thorough than she originally might’ve. But— The words of both Charon and Saint Celestine rung like alarm bells in her mind as she took in his state, and dread crawled from the depths of her soul and twisted her innards into a Gordian knot.

Oh God.

She should be horrified. This was something she had years and years of experience of being connected to— the glowing braid of someone’s life, someone she dearly, dearly cared about, someone who had functioned as a beacon of warmth and light; that had been Rollo’s healing, lovingly teaching hand. So, so frayed and bloody and different and just—

Seemingly a Saint no longer in the eyes of the universe’s laws. She should take the fallen’s advice and leave him be, for he had already warned her that he wasn’t sure he could contain the bloodthirst.

His own blood was now on his hands.

So it really didn’t surprise her that her first instinct was to clutch the implement causing his harm closer to her, bordering on protective. She looked at her father and felt nothing but pure loyalty. If God, the Father of them all, wanted to turn His back on he who had never turned his back on her, who had picked her up every time she’d stumbled, then they were going to have strong words later. She would stay by Rollo’s side as he weathered this storm he found himself in, and no God nor Devil could warp her mind into not doing so.

The gentle light of her healing magic brightened briefly with her conviction and turned the deep cuts into clean light greyish lines; soon to become dark grey again as the new skin healed. She eyed them critically before once again detaching herself from their connection and once more focused on Rollo himself, ‘green’ eyes blazing with.. something.

“I cannot hear the voice of God; the light is gone.” He growled. The vibrations of his voice rumbled so deeply she could almost mistake the hurt and fear for pure anger.

Her heart ached for her poor papa.

Using her now free second hand to press his hand tighter in order to grab his scattered attention she murmured with fervor, “Then I shall just have to keep listening for the both of us, hm?”

He was silent, but the tightened grip upon her claws spoke for him. She relaxed a fragment at the squeeze. No matter the changes happening, this was still the man who raised her, and that fact alone soothed her. As long as she took these new things in stride and adapted with him, then she would make sure they both survived this; no matter how frightening it all was.

“I came by to tell you Saint Celestine is looking for you—” Rollo glanced up as she continued, “she has something to tell you, apparently. And if it’s anything like she told me, it’s not great.”

“What did she tell you?” He asked, quietly.

“Well,” she sighed, like it was a silly little antic of a child she was about to divulge, “apparently the King swung by, who is apparently rotting by the way, along with the Gods. Everyone is rotting. And Fimbulwinter is coming, that too.”

He blinked. A brief moment before he seemed to come to a decision as they sat there, and slammed the ground with his free hand before standing up smoothly. Eno followed him up and released his hand as he seemed to fortify himself before her eyes. “We have wasted time, then. I will go speak to her.”

“Perhaps, you should grab a shirt before you go?” She suggested, a mite playfully, because as concerning as it was initially, it was a tad funny simply seeing her dad go around bare-chested for more than three seconds.

He seemed to consider it for a fraction of a second before he shook his great head. “No. I’ll be fine.”

She briefly remembered when she was younger, other people staring at her father in a way her childish mind didn’t recognize, but with the gift of adult hindsight, was with a very intense appreciation for his form. She sent a playful little prayer for strength for the people who were going to deal with him like this.

As a second question— a silent one this time— she offered his hammer to him; it wasn’t her trying to force it upon him, simply a question of ‘Do you feel comfortable carrying this now?’

He reached over and grasped it. He then shifted his position to hold it, and it once again caused her brain to break just a little; Rollo carried that hammer as a staff. A third leg, a part of him he respected not to use carelessly, and rarely wielded it like he was now— a tool.

Both of them seemed to recognize this fact at once, and he held it out back to her. “You keep it,” he insisted.

“Alright,” she conceded, taking the weapon back. It hummed in her grip as she once again held it like a staff, “Go, go. I’ll wait for you near the front.”

Rollo nodded and set off the way she came.

Eno briefly eyed the picture sitting on his bedside, and wondered if she should take that with her. But no, that was Rollo’s. If he wished to bring it, then he’d do so— but in this brief moment, she took the time to look at it.

It was a day in time where she was no longer just a foundling of the church, but rather a youth amongst it. It might’ve even been the day that was officially announced— it was over a decade ago, so she wasn’t completely sure however. It was rather cute, though she couldn’t help but wince in amusement at how her feathers were still quite downy and that look of mischief not yet contained was perfectly captured in her eyes. Rollo himself seemed pleased and perfectly content with the little monster beside him, and if she squinted, she could see flowers stuck in his braid. The angle wasn’t the greatest for that, but she did definitely remember that aside from bringing dead mice and small birds like a cat, she did have a tendency to sneak little flowers into his braid when she could. Generally much lower, but sometimes she managed to get them closer to his shoulders, and this was clearly one of those times.

She could see why he’d kept it.

Sighing, she headed out of the room and closed it behind her— she didn’t think she’d need anything from her room (maybe grabbing a spare change of clothes wasn’t the worst idea, however)— and headed out towards the main sector of the Church.

She was barely a short jog away when something snagged her attention.

There was screaming, she started running, and then she met Abaddon.

#my writing #long post #3k words #DnD #pirate campaign #DnD OCs #Enososin Folook #Saint Rollo #guess who's back. back again #yeah that's right. it's me. and I am once again forcing you all to read my writings #I wrote this like. Nearly as soon as I processed everything from that session (so in the middle of making the linked comic)#I just really wanted to get into her head during this part because oIUUYGHgH. oughh.#change is *scary* esp with someone who has been an EXTREMELY solid foundation all your life. I should know.#and also I'm planning on writing a bunch of childhood segments w/ her (ft. Rollo and also not!)#anyways; bone apple teeth!#rea's trash

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