Once again, the century turns, and Caelia makes yet another pilgrimage to the ruins of her ancient home to walk among its ghosts, and to curse the tomb of its Destroyer. But this time the tomb is empty, robbed of its corpse along with the sword she...
People do not make gods just because they are frightened or looking for answers. They make gods because they are intuitively aware of other dimensions in which they also have their existence. --from the Thelacian Oracle
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PLACE: THE CAPITAL CITY OF MONS
DATE: HIEROS 12TH
It was brutally cold during Melaskotia, or the Long Night as it was called, and Decimus was up for rotation on sanctuary duty, something he loved yet dreaded. By all rights, he should be deep in hypnos along with every other Eosian in this part of the world, sleeping away these frozen weeks of darkness. But a select few, chosen by the Imperator Himself, were somehow mysteriously freed of this inescapable biological function. Maybe it was the food, or perhaps that odd wine they gave him, but regardless of how it was done, he had been able to remain awake for weeks and was still able to function just fine.
Lucky me, he thought sarcastically as he yawned and slowly threaded his way along the dimly lit hallways. He tugged on the layers of his clothing to try to ward off the bitter cold.
He knew no one would be in the inner sanctuary. Well, no one except one of the mnemosynae - those mysterious women that always tended the strange blue fire. There were three of them he knew of, all nameless and terrifying. The word mnemosyne had an odd meaning, having something to do with memory, but he was always too nervous around them to discern the connection.
I hope it isn't the blonde, he thought to himself as he paused at the massive open doorway, finally looking inside.
Eheu! he lamented under his breath, jerking away, hoping he had not been noticed.
"Come on in, little man," she called, "I won't bite." He peered around the corner at her. "Well, that may not be totally true," she added with a wink.
Decimus shuddered and groaned inwardly, inhaled, then timidly stepped inside.
She was perched with head held high on a large gold fire ring surrounding a massive blue fire, swinging her bare feet, and with both arms braced against the metal surface. Her long blonde hair was layered in multiple braids interwoven with fine, ice blue lace, delicate aquamarine gemstones, and intricate silver filigree chains. They covered her like a work of art falling in long tresses about her face and behind her. Torchlight glinted off her jewelry and her shimmering skintight tunic of cerulean blue, scattering tiny reflections of light on white marble walls streaked with gold veins.
She was terrifyingly regal with an apparently permanent smirk on her face. Like the others, she had those silvery white eyes with no pupils that pierced your soul if they looked at you. And that gray skin. The other two were tolerable, but this one delighted in agitating him and watching him squirm.
