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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 26, 2017 13:33:09 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Very soon after Chapter 4; Autumn
Ulysses’ mind still found itself returning to Mathias. Even when he was in his own rooms, reading, calm and peaceful, his mind wandered. It went back to the Slave Trader’s self-assured words, his certainty, his judgement. There was something there that he didn’t like, a sort of recklessness which he found awfully dangerous. The acts of a man who had woken rudely to the error of his ways, and was perhaps too eager to correct them, careless in his pursuits.
It frightened him.
Something else weighed on his mind too. The Flamen returned to the waking dream he had been shown. The blood, the fire, the chaos. Not things words and books could put out, but things he had regardless been shown. Ignacio must want something of him. It was a warning, yes, but warnings were not given just for the hearer to wait and see. What could he do?
Was there anything a mortal could do?
He would have to prepare, weather the storm, look for the signs. A dead king and an erupting mountain were signs a plenty, and the unrest caused by the dragon… He wondered if perhaps the nobles would go on to murder each other for titles, or if it would be the slaves who rose. Sad visions.
A panicked knock on the door roused him from his dark mood, and Ulysses went to answer. It was one of his Sanctum Helpers, white in the face. What he was saying was disjointed and confused, but the grey made out enough.
Omar. Fire. You must come.
Ulysses rushed down the stairs, his own blessing flickering to life to guide him in the dark staircase. Orbs of pure white light rotated around him, agitated and fast. He heard Omar shout a jumble of loud, angry words, and he heard the crackling of flames struggling for something to grab onto.
Omar’s shouts were of pain, but not a physical one.
He could hear some of the words as he got closer, and the situation became clear.
A blessing of Ignacio.
Fire manipulation, by the sounds of it.
A great honor to any Aodhian, but Omar was not of Aodh.
Ulysses would never demand him to be.
When he got down, the worst was over. The flames, somewhat small as they were, danced around Omar, unable to grab onto anything to burn. They seemed to flicker in and out of existence while the great warrior in their midst seemed small, slumped and powerless.
Ulysses approached carefully, his steps loud in the silence left behind by the shouts.
“Omar?” his words were a question, even if the expression on his face was already that of understanding. He had heard plenty enough.
He was, for once, unsure what to say. Omar was not the soft and talkative kind. Omar did not really share. All he knew were that he had been a warrior of the War Forged, but that was a long time ago – and that he had tried to run away many times.
So instead he said nothing, coming only to firmly stand as close to Omar as the flames would permit.
Word count: 522
Post #1
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Aug 26, 2017 17:16:20 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
 Tears dripping hot down his face, Omar laid slumped in a heap at the foot of the looming, dark statue. Moments ago it had been alive. Staring at him. Talking to him. Cursing him. His chest still burned hot, and the light of the fire danced behind his closed eyelids.
The one thing he wanted. The one thing he wanted more then anything since coming here, since losing his home, was just... Something from there. Something to assure him he was still a War-Forged. And Aodh--Ignacio, just took it from him. Like everything else.
His neck felt strangely heavy, as if the collar had never been removed. Omar thought he even still heard that cursed bell ringing in his ears. His brand was searing hot on his shoulder, bold and harsh in its reminder that he was owned by Aodh. He was worthless property to them, nothing more then something that could be discarded. Who knows if Ulysses would still hold his promise of helping him leave in the future...
Omar was still for a few moments, his breathing rapid and harsh as he fought back more tears. Then a heaving sob left his throat. Why, why, why, why, why? He was failing Hjalmar, he was failing the Ulfhednar. He was never getting out, never. He couldn't do it. He couldn't fucking do it. He wouldn't ever be able to get out, to go home and return the favor to Kronos. He just... Couldn't...
The flames around him flickered and sparked, blazing up for a few short moments from the surge of emotions before starting to wane and shrink, mimicking the flames that burned in Omar's mind. Twelve years of Aodh chipping away at his hardened armor, ready to grasp and smother the flames of rebellion that burned within, was finally taking its toll. His iron hide had cracked more and more with every failed escape attempt. Hairline cracks at first. Then widening. Splitting appart and barely being held at the seams.
And Ignacio dealt the final blow to shatter it.
Omar couldn't contain the sense of loss and powerlessness. He cried his grief, caring little about his surroundings. Ulysses' voice was faint, only barely cutting through the haze of pain and sorrow. But it was enough to make his sobs halt for a moment, and him to stagger and drag his feet underneath him to get up.
"I...I'm... S-Sorry for d-disturbing anyone..." He choked out, the taste of salt in his mouth.
413 Words; Post 1
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 26, 2017 18:12:43 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Seeing Omar like this made him sad. He was such a proud creature – in a good way, if Ulysses was to be the judge of that. But now, he seemed broken, as if someone had pushed all the air out of him, and left this crying husk behind.
The Flamen was not opposed to crying. Emotion and passion were two sides of the same fickle coin. He did not judge the stallion’s need to wail, but he was afraid of what it might mean. Ulysses had seen the pits of self-pity, the dark halls it led into. It was not a pretty sight, and sometimes it was hard to shake.
Especially if you started of proud.
It took a while for Omar to acknowledge his presence. Ulysses’ face was soft and gentle. He did not smile – instead he seemed solemn. Stable and unshaking, but mirroring the sadness he saw in Omar.
“You are not disturbing anyone. The Sanctum Attendant was just alarmed”, he assured Omar, and went on to add, purposefully: “They have gone home. It is just me and you here now. Ealyn is upstairs.”
He didn’t say anything cheesy – Omar was not the type of person who he felt would appreciate those tried and true phrases, like ‘I’m here for you’ or ‘I know how you must feel’. Especially since the truth was that while he certainly was here for Omar, he did not know how he felt, nor did he really desire to know. This level of sadness, this deep despair that came pouring out of the chestnut’s soul, seemed terrifying.
Instead, he said: “We can talk if you want, or I can just listen. Only if you want to.”
He didn’t make assumptions of his right to hear what Omar was thinking of feeling. They were on friendly enough terms, but he did not assume that Omar counted him as an actual friend. Ulysses felt no sense of entitled ownership over the chestnut’s thoughts or emotions. They were Omar’s to share, and his only.
Word count: 338
Post #2
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Aug 26, 2017 22:05:09 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Omar sniffled, tears still running down his face. Every single impact of a tear on the ground was nearly deafening to him. His gaze remained on the ground, dragging between the few spluttering remnants of fire on the ground. His legs still felt weak underneath him, and he dared not move from where he stood.
Only listening quietly to Ulysses, Omar said nothing for a few solid moments, silently crying. "I don't have a-anything left..." He croaked out. "I'm not W-War-Forged anymore..." He closed his eyes, lowering his head. Nearly bowing in submission before the statue of the Fire God. "F-first my friends... My family... Then my f-freedom... My life, years... N-Now... Now... I-Ignacio just... Just..." His voice cracked, gritting his teeth and drawing in shaky, sobbing breaths. "H-He gave me this... I just... I just fucking wanted something from home, something to make myself sure I'm still War-Forged!" Omar shook his head. "I-I'm... Not anymore... Kaia above, I-I haven't been since I was fucking sent here..."
Falling silent for a few moments, Omar shakily laughed his back legs folding under him again. "My father knows how to d-deal out a punishment... I'm never g-getting out... J-Just what he wanted." Looking at Ulysses, he spoke quietly, "You s-should have left me t-to die a l-labor slave..." Perhaps there he still would have thought himself as War-Forged, even as he died. Maybe it would have been better. Or maybe he just would have tried to fight them, maintain his sense of rebellion and freedom until he broken there as well. He didn't know.
262 Words; Post 2
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 26, 2017 22:57:34 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses listened quietly, his brow furrowed with worry. He had never seen anyone react to a blessing like this. Fear yes, amazement quite often, but not this deep sadness and hatred.
As Omar spoke, the reason for his behavior became clear. He could not truly understand why Omar would wish to reject Ignacio’s embrace, but he could understand the need to belong. Ulysses had once felt that pain in his soul as well, that longing for something to be a part of. For roots.
Omar had had those things, but lost them, and now, he felt like they were fading with the evening sun, escaping even as he tried to grasp at them and hold on.
“Of course you are. You can be whoever you want to be, regardless of what god blesses you”, Ulysses said with certainty in his voice. He stepped a little closer, and when Omar lamented that he should have been allowed to die instead, his expression grew grim.
“Don’t say that. Never say that” the Flamen sounded, for a moment, uncharastically harsh. His tone was more commanding than usual, and he sounded… Almost offended, in a way.
“Your life is valuable. You have a purpose”, Ulysses said, striking his hoof on the floor to the rhythm of his words: “Ignacio or no, you are what you make of yourself. These memories… These terrible things that have happened to you. They might not be for a reason, but you are for a reason.”
The grey stopped for a moment, breathing to calm himself. It would not do for him to get agitated like this.
The bicolored eyes closed for a moment.
With a few breaths, first of them a gasp and third already more regular, he was ready to open his eyes again.
“This blessing… It shall be what you make of it. Fire is a terrible force, but it is also a giver of life. What Ignacio’s flames burn turns to ash, which in turn feeds the bounties of Kaia’s blessed earth. Perhaps you must become ash before bloom. I do not know”, the Flamen went on.
“You are a warrior, Omar. Years can not take that from you, neither can chains. Fire is a weapon of war. Would it not be as good a tool as any?” Ulysses said, still somewhat stern. Then, his voice and face softened, and a promise was made: “When you are ready… When your teke is again stable, when your body and not just your mind remembers the swing of a blade, I will let you go. But if you let yourself be lost in this darkness, that day will not come. We both know it.”
Word count: 447
Post #3
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Aug 28, 2017 9:46:14 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
The sharp tone from Ulysses was startling, and earned a flinch from the chestnut. He didn't feel like anything he said was true. What fucking purpose? To be property for the rest of his life? He didn't want that. He slumped back down to the ground, partially wanting to let Ulysses' words slide past like water around his feet, for they didn't mean much... And partially wanting to dispute him, hissing at him, asking him if what he meant was 'him being there for a reason' was 'him getting others killed in pointless attacks.'
Ears flattened, Ignacio's words rang in his ears, almost identical to what Ulysses said now. 'I have crafted you for greatness, and greatness you will know again. As the phoenix ascends from ash, you will rise.' He bitterly laughed. "I ain't a warrior anymore, Ulysses." he said. "I haven't been one for twelve years. I can't hold a sword, I have no comrades anymore, I have nothing to help me plan and create strategies. Nothing. Both you, and Ignacio said I would fucking rise from ash like a phoenix. Maybe a half baked one." He drew in a shuddering breath, hesitating for a few moments while tears dried on his cheeks.
"The only fucking reason why I wanted to get out was to kill my father," he bluntly said. "Fucking tyrant of my clan. I was in the running to be the next leader. Then he kicked me down, shunned me, because of my partner..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Hjalmar. That was his name. I'd been with him since I was a teenager. My father hated both him and me when he found out. And I got angry, I was bitter. I planned out a coup to overthrow him. I took my friends, my comrades who I'd fought for years with, Jakob, Rasmus, Vigge, Osgar, and Hja, the Ulfhednar, and they all swore to help me. We tried. We fucking tried." He sucked in a sharp breath.
It was painful to say this out loud. To actually tell someone. Much less an Aodhian. It felt like a sin to admit their names outside of his nightmares. "We lost. Badly. Six raiders against my entire clan. What was I thinking. Rasmus ran. My father must have killed him afterwards. Jakob was shot down from the air, broke his neck. Osgar was overwhelmed, his back prickled with arrows like a porcupine's quills." He swallowed thickly, nearly smelling blood again. There had been too much then.
"...Vigge, Hja, and me were overwhelmed as well... Pinned down and held there. By my siblings. I thought my father was forgiving me, even proud of what I had accomplished. He acted like it. He asked for my friends to be released-" His breath hitched, pictures flashing across his mind. Slow motion. The knife flashing, blood flying through the air once more. Bright purple eyes glazing over as gargled, desperate gasps cracked through the silence. "H-He... Slit t-their throats... While their backs were turned..." He mumbled, tears welling up again. "All of them j-just... Gone."
Opening his eyes, he looked at Ulysses, a painful smile on his face. "You see. I have no one anymore. Even if I r-rise... How am I g-going to do anything to my father. I c-couldn't do it with f-five other trained r-raiders. N-Now I have just me. I can't do a-anything with just me. I've lost e-everything. There's no possibility of me ever... Ever getting back at him for what he did... It's... Painful to t-try and deny this. Every single day. They all haunt me, I-I see them every single night. Getting worse with every failure. They know I can't do it. Maybe if I accept it they'll leave me alone." He laughed lightly, staring at the marble underneath him.
"I'm g-giving up, you hear..." Why was he admitting this to a pampered Aodhian. Ulysses was better then the others, but he couldn't ever know about the things he talked about. Never. He didn't know what he saw. Stupid. Stupid... First person in twelve years he admitted his sins to. It was an Aodhian. Fucking stupid...
691 Words; Post 3
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Post by ThatDenver on Aug 29, 2017 16:12:19 GMT -6
ULYSSES
With his words, it seemed the proverbial flood gates were open. Ulysses was silent once more, merely listening, feeling it would not serve him well to interrupt. There were times for asking questions, for clarifications, but this did not feel like one of them. This was a vulnerable man, one who hid behind the hardest and toughest of shells, baring his soul, and all the secreted, painful memories within. They were worse than he had thought. Of course Ulysses had been able to sense that something terrible must have happened to his new friend – something more terrible than just being a slave. One did not get such an air of pain from nothing. Still, this was cruelty.
Did the War Forged, their allies, live like this? How could Aodh condone enslaving these individuals who had merely lost in their personal struggles, as if that was some sort of reasonable punishment? He supposed it was better to be a slave than be dead – for there was always hope as long as you were still alive – but now the Flamen could see why Omar felt like it would have been better to be gone, to not feel or think or remember.
Memories were a well of knowledge. Much joy could be found in memories of the past, but much sadness just as well. The past could not be altered. Some blessings allowed their owner to glimpse into the past with terrifying accuracy, as if they had been there themselves, but none allowed to change it.
As a Flamine, Ulysses was partial to pacifism. He found no enjoyment in pain of others, and detested the Crucible fights on principle alone. Yet he felt like he could understand this need for revenge for this atrocity that had been committed against Omar, by his own father for no less.
For something as harmless as a same sex relation? Truly, he could not understand such motives at all.
But, even if he understood why Omar wanted revenge, he saw little good coming out of it. Revenge didn’t turn back time. It might have sated a need, but he was sure that pleasure would be hollow and not worth much in the end.
When he was a young man, Ulysses had sometimes fantasized about finding his birth parents, and exacting revenge upon them. Not in the form of violence, but perhaps in the form of guilt. He had wanted to hurt them in some way for not loving him.
With age, he had grown out of the notion, and learned to accept that he would never know. Perhaps he was never meant to know. What difference would it have made regardless, after so many years?
Ulysses stood in silence for a moment after Omar was finished. Then, he settled down on the floor as well, next to Omar. Very close, almost touching, yet not intruding on the personal space of the other.
“I am truly sorry. I know words mean little, but I am. There is no replacing what you have lost”, the Flamen said, his voice friendly and gentle. Soothing, even.
“Friends are not meant to be replaced. But… Would revenge truly make them happy? Is that what they would want, for you to throw yourself into another battle you could not possibly win, as you have said?”, he questioned, not sounding judgmental or mean, more genuinely curious than anything, trying to understand Omar’s thought process.
“As for purpose… Until you figure one out for yourself, one that makes you happy… I could use your help. Training. I think it is about time I learned to defend myself”, Ulysses said, and then eyed the room to see where Jarl was: “Your young familiar needs you too. He has already lost a mother.”
Ulysses was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was just above a whisper, spoken more to himself than Omar: “We are all orphans here.”
Word count: 654
Post #4
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Sept 3, 2017 21:00:24 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Trying to control his breathing and calm down, Omar ignored Ulysses standing silent until he settled down next to him. His gaze flicked to the Flamen for a moment before returning to the marble below him. What did he think he would do? Give him a pep talk? Tell him to keep going? That he'd let him loose? Yeah, words alone made such a big difference...
He gave a soft snort. Damn straight... Nothing could repair what had happened. No amount of praying or talking would bring them back, or fix what had been broken that day. His heart had a splintering crack in it, missing large chips and chunks. Pieces long left behind and forgotten in Onea, buried below the cold ground. He couldn't go dig them up.
Pausing, Omar's ear twitched towards the Flamen. He hesitantly opened up a door he had tried to barricade and lock closed since that day. Memories. Maybe Vigge would have... Full of anger and spite, he would have tried... But Rasmus would have reined him in, talked him out of it. Osgar maybe too... But he didn't... Seem the type. Neither would soft spoken Jakob... Rasmus was maybe the one out of them all who would have wanted it. But he would have known better. And Hja... Hjalmar would have told him to let it go...
They all would have. Said to just let whatever happened pass, then dragged him to a tavern and pulled his mind off of it... Tears started welling up again. Twelve fucking years... They... They... They weren't haunting him because he couldn't get revenge for them... But because of the fact he was trying to do that very thing... They wanted him to stop it...
Gritting his teeth, Omar sucked in a sharp breath. Idiot, fucking idiot. Blinded by anger and pain. For twelve fucking years. And it took him being shattered completely to see what a fucking idiot he was. He rubbed his face on his leg, wiping the tears away. Peering up at Ulysses, he worked his jaw slightly. Train him? He was quiet, thinking for a moment. There wasn't exactly... What he needed here... Nothing like what he had used in Onea...
Omar turned his gaze towards the stairs leading to their rooms, his ears twitching at the faint whines of the wolf pup he had locked in his room. The pup that he thought... Might hold a part of Hja... He set his jaw. "...I can train you." He said stiffly, holding his tone firm to keep from breaking down again. What other use was he now.
434 Words; Post 4
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Post by ThatDenver on Sept 4, 2017 13:12:07 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Ulysses felt nothing short of relief as the gears in Omar’s head began to turn, and the large stallion was, at least for that very moment, knocked out of this self-destructing spiral. It would doubtless return – for moving onward was never easy, not when your mind was the mightiest torturer you might ever face – but if the worst was over for now, there would be something to build on. A new identity, a new purpose, perhaps. Perhaps one day.
He hoped Omar would find happiness again. Whether it be here, or somewhere far away. The world needed more people with the sort of blunt honesty Omar possessed.
He hoped Omar would stay in his life for a while longer before the chestnut was called away to his own adventures and destiny. A rather selfish idea, he knew, but still. It felt like at this time, Omar still needed this place, whether the large stallion would admit it or not.
“Wonderful”, he commented on the subject of training, and smiled almost shyly. He had no doubt that he would eventually regret this idea. Ulyssess was not a sickly creature, but he had never really spent much time, effort or thought on physical education. Books had always been more his thing.
It felt increasingly like he would need to know how to defend himself and those he cared about in times of need. He couldn’t always trust for pacifism and knowledge to win the day. Many forces were at work here in Aodh, some of them nefarious and violent.
Ulysses would never call violence his, but he would learn about it. He simply had to.
“When I was blessed”, he then said, rising up and seeming more solemn again. Being blessed in of itself had been a joyous occasion for him, but what he had been told had haunted him. Ignacio had told him for a reason. Ignacio wanted something. If Ulysses only knew, what.
“I saw something. A battle”, Ulysses went on to say: “Not on desert sands. Here. On these very streets. It is coming.”
Things would get much worse before they got any better. He didn’t know who would be fighting who, but he would try to stay out of it, to provide sanctuary to those the war would trample. Or, if his hoof was to be forced, he would try to choose the righteous path, to be on the side Ignacio would find just, without forgetting the lessons of mercy and forgiveness.
“We have to be ready”, he added.
Word count: 421
Post #5
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Post by Moose-On-Ice on Sept 8, 2017 21:07:14 GMT -6
"This was the face of slavery. To have nothing, and still have something more to lose."
Omar gave a soft snort, turning his gaze away. Looking up at the looming statue in front of him, he stared at the dark figure. Why had he done this to him.... He didn't want it... Flicking an ear at Ulysses beginning to speak, the chestnut pulled his gaze away to rest on the Flamen again. A battle? Aodh had something of the sort. The Crucible fights. But they were nothing like the battles that he had once led, with blood flying, bodies smashing and crashing against one another, hooves overturning stones and pounding bones into dust.
The idea of there being an actual battle on these streets was something that nearly made him scoff. With this God, he may be trying to cause chaos. Who knows. He was an idiot... Slowly gathering his feet underneath him, Omar pushed himself up, standing still for a few moments to make sure he could actually hold himself this time. He'd... Humor Ulysses, with the fighting, he supposed... He still doubted that such a herd could properly fight. The Flamen had nothing to truly worry about.
"Time will be the only teller." He mumbled lowly. "I don't have anything to do, whenever you want the training go ahead and tell me. Doubt I'll still know much." He knew he didn't remember much. It was fuzzy. Maybe muscle memory once, but he did not really think it could be jogged again. Over the twelve years he had lost the edge of a honed, tempered, trained blade and turned into more of a desperate, furious, snapping and snarling wolf instead. Still dangerous, still volitile, but no where near as powerful. Easy to subdue and chain with the right power. He could see that much firsthand.
290 Words; Post 5
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Post by ThatDenver on Sept 20, 2017 23:57:26 GMT -6
ULYSSES
Well, a somewhat dismissive attitude was better than outright self-destructiveness, that was for sure. They had time, and Ulysses could work on this, could try to… Heal Omar? That was the wrong way to put it, certainly, but he hoped that in time, they could work through the large stallion’s issues and make him more whole as a person again. Now that he knew the root, it would be easier to adjust his actions accordingly. He hoped.
Omar was something of a complicated person.
“Well, you’ll know more than me, that’s for sure”, the flamen remarked, smiling slightly. His eyes went to the scorch marks left on the floor after the outburst. They should come off well enough with some cleaning solution and water, since nothing had really burned. Blessings, such volatile things.
“I’ll head to bed now”, he informed, Omar, looking the chestnut up and down one more time, before nodding to himself and wishing a good night. It felt like an abrupt departure, but it was late, and the work did not stop for anyone. Not the dead king, not Ulysses, not Omar. Aodh always moved forward, endlessly like a well-oiled machine.
Besides, he didn’t think anything much could be gained by pressing the matter further tonight. Omar needed time.
Word count: 212
Post #6
OOC: Sorry for the long wait, and thank you for the game. 
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