Post by Lirriel on Oct 27, 2017 5:04:11 GMT -5
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[attr="class","god"]
[attr="class","god2"]
[attr="class","god3"]Bowed down to get the kings overthrown
[attr="class","god4"]And I'm all alone and the fire grows
[attr="class","god5"]
It took two days for Rubedo to become a god.
Upon the first day, risen bright and early with the emerging sun, Rubedo had set out with a willful purpose. Water had clung to his sodden pelt, for snow had piled upon him within the night, and his feverish body had in turn melted it.
He was uncaring toward the state of himself, though – shabby and shaggy, fur matted together, because without Dionysus there was no pressing need to present himself properly.
Instead, he was more focused in scouting; he wandered much of the early morn, seeking a clearing that would best provide Chaos with a shrine befitting the gods of old – for she was so old that never had the word “new” been applied to her.
And he knew much of what the gods of old desired within their sanctuaries.
It did not rankle him, as one might expect. While he had once wandered the world as Flametongue, he also understood respect afforded an elder – and the idea of a singular shrine, ensconced within the remote and desolate White Forest, was a small price to pay for his godly powers.
He eventually came across what he had sought – five trees, closely grouped, but curiously arranged. He knew not what windfall had led to their arrangement when they were but seeds upon the ground, but now the pines rose mightily, snowcapped and heavy with bristling needles. What interested him most, however, was the arrangement – he was not one for geometries, but he knew certain shapes held an intrinsic power, and the form these pines created was a five-pointed star.
However, his target found, he next came across the challenge of how best to construct the shrine. Whilst the ground must be charred, the trees burned to the ground, such a feat was difficult in a forest so ensnarled in the claws of winter.
It was at this point he realized that removing the grounded snow would, at least, afford him some sense of relief – and it was here he snarled somewhat, because Dionysus was a tool he lacked at present, and the great brute’s strength would have provided him some assistance in this endeavor.
So it was that he set about the task alone, and so it was that he accomplished his goal late into the first night, as he was given to breaks – catching rabbits and tearing them open, quenching his thirst and settling his belly, restoking the fire that flared beneath his breast.
Feeling some sense of pride at the progress he had made, Rubedo settled to sleep away the remainder of that first night, unaware that Chaos’ tricks were already beginning to warp his body.
The second day dawned much as the first, but this morning the birds were privy to a show as Rubedo traveled the length of his territory, bringing forth the dried pine needles he had once used as bedding for the numerous outposts he had carved out or otherwise occupied. Though he would surely miss their warmth as summer was swallowed by winter, this was a sacrifice both to himself and the goddess he wished to please.
He arranged heaps of them around each of the trees and further joined them to the ragged rabbit pelts he had set aside following his snacks.
And so it was that, pleased with the outcome, his body leaden with anticipation, he set about the task of burning them.
The pine needles, devoid of water and curling yellow, caught aflame first. He was quick to switch his attention to the rabbit furs next, and they too caught alight – though their flames spat and bubbled, eating away at the fat that streaked the undersides of each skin.
With both forms of kindling beyond his control, he now sought out the cores of the pines.
This was the greatest task, the true test of his faith and his fervor. Dead things burned so easily, but living creatures were of an entirely different sort – and these trees were waterlogged, brimming with life.
The first tree took to the flames as the blue sky began to darken, violet blooming around the sun’s descent and stretching outward.
Momentarily returned to his body – for their destruction was a slow process, a careful stoking of embers – Rubedo was somewhat surprised when he felt a trickle of wetness down the side of his face. He flicked one ear back, briefly distracted, then turned back toward the task at hand.
The second tree ignited easier than the first; at this point, the scent of burning pine was overwhelming, the newly formed flames licking up the side of the tree, greedily devouring the bristling needles they encountered.
The first tree roared like a demon, sharp snaps occasionally accompanying the whistling screams as Rubedo’s raging fire overtook it – the entire process was out of his control now, but he seemed unconcerned, even as embers danced in the air, the snow that remained now being forced away by the awful heat that radiated from the two pines.
He noticed that he was now drooling – and he stepped back suddenly, as if he might be burned, when he spied the spittle that pooled between his legs – for it was the scarlet-and-black of molten rock. Viscous, it slowly oozed from its original landing point, crawling across the ground with a menacing purpose.
He could feel more of it, hanging from his maw in swinging ropes, collecting around his loosened jowls before it began its slow descent to the earth.
Though he was not aware of it, the skin about his eyes had been displaced to allow this easier flow and whereas before his eyes had been of a perfectly normal sort, the skin now only sat upon his skull. It bunched and squirmed with his movements and where that had been two eye holes, there were now six – three lined each side of his nose and double-pupiled orbs of a similar consistency to the lava that flooded from his maw sat within each socket. Made of molten rock, they cast a faint glow that lit his features, sharpening them in the dying light, as day was swallowed up by night.
If he was aware of anything beyond the lava that poured from his mouth, it was only that his field of vision had expanded – and that was not something to be overly concerned about.
He turned his gaze to the third tree, and it was the quickest of them to succumb to his insistence, to its inevitable demise. It flooded with fire, and he stepped backward, smiling around a mouthful of lava that splatted upon the floor when he spat it out – it was of a thicker substance than saliva and it gathered in his jaws too quickly to be comfortable. So he expelled it, unconcerned with the puddles that were beginning to form around the clearing, ignorant of the drips and drops that lay between each pool.
He had already learned they were harmless, meant to frighten – so it was that he positioned himself nearest the fourth tree now, mouth half-hung open to allow the magma to flow freely even as he pushed within the tree, seeking the kindling he needed to make it flare from the inside.
He found it, and with a swift push, the fire ignited. Rubedo shuddered, breathing hard, because this was his fourth of the day – his ribs heaved with the expended effort, though there was not much left to them in truth. Another transformation he had been unaware of, his ribs now threaded through his fur, still forming a cage for his lungs and heart – but they were half-sunken into his skin, and the exposed bone was blackened, minute cracks crawling across the surface.
A good place to take a break, he thought – and a peal of laughter echoed from between his ears. He had not realized how far from himself he had gone, to ignite the trees, and he shook his head, the skin around his eyes rippling, magmatic spittle flying. He had fractured, it seemed, and he struggled to keep the shadows at bay, ignoring the wrathful darkness that seemed to thicken, expanding into what could almost be a presence.
Instead, head lowered in exhaustion, he moved to the center of the five trees, settling down briefly to rest. He was no fool, and the fires were now beyond his control – already the first tree was beginning to creak, threatening its impending fall.
He settled down to watch it, molten eyes transfixed by the process, and so he saw when it gave up its fight against gravity, buckling forward. It fell toward him, crashing to the ground with a groaning yell, and sparks flew off its burning body, dancing in the dark.
He continued to watch it, now only a few leaps from him in distance, taking solace in the heat that blasted his pelt, his skin.
A glinting caught his eye, and he became aware of his claws, also transformed. But they were of a saner making than the rest of his body – whereas before they had been dulled, they now curved, and whereas before they had been the flat black of keratin they now were the ivory of bone. He scraped a paw across the ground experimentally and found himself delighted by how easily they cut through the half-frozen dirt.
Of all his changes, they were certainly the most useful.
Such was his thought, before he leaned forward and deposited another mouthful of lava upon the ground. Briefly free of the thick liquid, he rose to his paws and turned to the fifth and final tree. It stood the tallest of its companions, and it alone stood untouched.
With a smirk that bled fatigue, Rubedo turned his full attention toward it – damn the consequences of his endeavors, this was the final challenge before he could truly label his task complete.
He threw his mind toward the task with a renewed frenzy, pain blooming from his skull as he pushed the fire to its limit. His heart pounded beneath his breast, as he desperately sought the singular spark he needed.
Enveloped in this intensity, he was unaware of the final transformation as his spinal column sprouted spines of bone. They pushed up through the meat of his back, parting his fur. They were slender and jagged, each pointed back toward his tail much as a porcupine’s quills were arranged.
The final tree finally erupted into flame, and Rubedo immediately retched from the effort – his body buckled, sinking back onto his haunches even as he hacked up a mix of blood and lava. Blood vessels had burst beneath his eyes, but as the skin there was slippery and squirming, the blood itself was merely pushed up toward the nearest exit – the eye sockets – and tears of blood ran from the six holes, even as he rested upon the ground, utterly exhausted.
Around him, the five trees continued to burn into the night, pyres that could be seen even beyond the boundaries of his territory, such was the intensity of the light they cast.
And as Rubedo lay there, he had to wonder if this had been Chaos’ plan – to force him into godhood by unorthodox methods, to force his body to twist and contort itself until he was a being unlike the wolves.
He found that he did not care, truly. He no longer cared for mortal lives, no longer cared for the appearance of a bright and cheerful Flametongue. All he cared for was revenge – and the thought of melting Winterfang’s throat with bubbling lava was delicious.
Upon the first day, risen bright and early with the emerging sun, Rubedo had set out with a willful purpose. Water had clung to his sodden pelt, for snow had piled upon him within the night, and his feverish body had in turn melted it.
He was uncaring toward the state of himself, though – shabby and shaggy, fur matted together, because without Dionysus there was no pressing need to present himself properly.
Instead, he was more focused in scouting; he wandered much of the early morn, seeking a clearing that would best provide Chaos with a shrine befitting the gods of old – for she was so old that never had the word “new” been applied to her.
And he knew much of what the gods of old desired within their sanctuaries.
It did not rankle him, as one might expect. While he had once wandered the world as Flametongue, he also understood respect afforded an elder – and the idea of a singular shrine, ensconced within the remote and desolate White Forest, was a small price to pay for his godly powers.
He eventually came across what he had sought – five trees, closely grouped, but curiously arranged. He knew not what windfall had led to their arrangement when they were but seeds upon the ground, but now the pines rose mightily, snowcapped and heavy with bristling needles. What interested him most, however, was the arrangement – he was not one for geometries, but he knew certain shapes held an intrinsic power, and the form these pines created was a five-pointed star.
However, his target found, he next came across the challenge of how best to construct the shrine. Whilst the ground must be charred, the trees burned to the ground, such a feat was difficult in a forest so ensnarled in the claws of winter.
It was at this point he realized that removing the grounded snow would, at least, afford him some sense of relief – and it was here he snarled somewhat, because Dionysus was a tool he lacked at present, and the great brute’s strength would have provided him some assistance in this endeavor.
So it was that he set about the task alone, and so it was that he accomplished his goal late into the first night, as he was given to breaks – catching rabbits and tearing them open, quenching his thirst and settling his belly, restoking the fire that flared beneath his breast.
Feeling some sense of pride at the progress he had made, Rubedo settled to sleep away the remainder of that first night, unaware that Chaos’ tricks were already beginning to warp his body.
The second day dawned much as the first, but this morning the birds were privy to a show as Rubedo traveled the length of his territory, bringing forth the dried pine needles he had once used as bedding for the numerous outposts he had carved out or otherwise occupied. Though he would surely miss their warmth as summer was swallowed by winter, this was a sacrifice both to himself and the goddess he wished to please.
He arranged heaps of them around each of the trees and further joined them to the ragged rabbit pelts he had set aside following his snacks.
And so it was that, pleased with the outcome, his body leaden with anticipation, he set about the task of burning them.
The pine needles, devoid of water and curling yellow, caught aflame first. He was quick to switch his attention to the rabbit furs next, and they too caught alight – though their flames spat and bubbled, eating away at the fat that streaked the undersides of each skin.
With both forms of kindling beyond his control, he now sought out the cores of the pines.
This was the greatest task, the true test of his faith and his fervor. Dead things burned so easily, but living creatures were of an entirely different sort – and these trees were waterlogged, brimming with life.
The first tree took to the flames as the blue sky began to darken, violet blooming around the sun’s descent and stretching outward.
Momentarily returned to his body – for their destruction was a slow process, a careful stoking of embers – Rubedo was somewhat surprised when he felt a trickle of wetness down the side of his face. He flicked one ear back, briefly distracted, then turned back toward the task at hand.
The second tree ignited easier than the first; at this point, the scent of burning pine was overwhelming, the newly formed flames licking up the side of the tree, greedily devouring the bristling needles they encountered.
The first tree roared like a demon, sharp snaps occasionally accompanying the whistling screams as Rubedo’s raging fire overtook it – the entire process was out of his control now, but he seemed unconcerned, even as embers danced in the air, the snow that remained now being forced away by the awful heat that radiated from the two pines.
He noticed that he was now drooling – and he stepped back suddenly, as if he might be burned, when he spied the spittle that pooled between his legs – for it was the scarlet-and-black of molten rock. Viscous, it slowly oozed from its original landing point, crawling across the ground with a menacing purpose.
He could feel more of it, hanging from his maw in swinging ropes, collecting around his loosened jowls before it began its slow descent to the earth.
Though he was not aware of it, the skin about his eyes had been displaced to allow this easier flow and whereas before his eyes had been of a perfectly normal sort, the skin now only sat upon his skull. It bunched and squirmed with his movements and where that had been two eye holes, there were now six – three lined each side of his nose and double-pupiled orbs of a similar consistency to the lava that flooded from his maw sat within each socket. Made of molten rock, they cast a faint glow that lit his features, sharpening them in the dying light, as day was swallowed up by night.
If he was aware of anything beyond the lava that poured from his mouth, it was only that his field of vision had expanded – and that was not something to be overly concerned about.
He turned his gaze to the third tree, and it was the quickest of them to succumb to his insistence, to its inevitable demise. It flooded with fire, and he stepped backward, smiling around a mouthful of lava that splatted upon the floor when he spat it out – it was of a thicker substance than saliva and it gathered in his jaws too quickly to be comfortable. So he expelled it, unconcerned with the puddles that were beginning to form around the clearing, ignorant of the drips and drops that lay between each pool.
He had already learned they were harmless, meant to frighten – so it was that he positioned himself nearest the fourth tree now, mouth half-hung open to allow the magma to flow freely even as he pushed within the tree, seeking the kindling he needed to make it flare from the inside.
He found it, and with a swift push, the fire ignited. Rubedo shuddered, breathing hard, because this was his fourth of the day – his ribs heaved with the expended effort, though there was not much left to them in truth. Another transformation he had been unaware of, his ribs now threaded through his fur, still forming a cage for his lungs and heart – but they were half-sunken into his skin, and the exposed bone was blackened, minute cracks crawling across the surface.
A good place to take a break, he thought – and a peal of laughter echoed from between his ears. He had not realized how far from himself he had gone, to ignite the trees, and he shook his head, the skin around his eyes rippling, magmatic spittle flying. He had fractured, it seemed, and he struggled to keep the shadows at bay, ignoring the wrathful darkness that seemed to thicken, expanding into what could almost be a presence.
Instead, head lowered in exhaustion, he moved to the center of the five trees, settling down briefly to rest. He was no fool, and the fires were now beyond his control – already the first tree was beginning to creak, threatening its impending fall.
He settled down to watch it, molten eyes transfixed by the process, and so he saw when it gave up its fight against gravity, buckling forward. It fell toward him, crashing to the ground with a groaning yell, and sparks flew off its burning body, dancing in the dark.
He continued to watch it, now only a few leaps from him in distance, taking solace in the heat that blasted his pelt, his skin.
A glinting caught his eye, and he became aware of his claws, also transformed. But they were of a saner making than the rest of his body – whereas before they had been dulled, they now curved, and whereas before they had been the flat black of keratin they now were the ivory of bone. He scraped a paw across the ground experimentally and found himself delighted by how easily they cut through the half-frozen dirt.
Of all his changes, they were certainly the most useful.
Such was his thought, before he leaned forward and deposited another mouthful of lava upon the ground. Briefly free of the thick liquid, he rose to his paws and turned to the fifth and final tree. It stood the tallest of its companions, and it alone stood untouched.
With a smirk that bled fatigue, Rubedo turned his full attention toward it – damn the consequences of his endeavors, this was the final challenge before he could truly label his task complete.
He threw his mind toward the task with a renewed frenzy, pain blooming from his skull as he pushed the fire to its limit. His heart pounded beneath his breast, as he desperately sought the singular spark he needed.
Enveloped in this intensity, he was unaware of the final transformation as his spinal column sprouted spines of bone. They pushed up through the meat of his back, parting his fur. They were slender and jagged, each pointed back toward his tail much as a porcupine’s quills were arranged.
The final tree finally erupted into flame, and Rubedo immediately retched from the effort – his body buckled, sinking back onto his haunches even as he hacked up a mix of blood and lava. Blood vessels had burst beneath his eyes, but as the skin there was slippery and squirming, the blood itself was merely pushed up toward the nearest exit – the eye sockets – and tears of blood ran from the six holes, even as he rested upon the ground, utterly exhausted.
Around him, the five trees continued to burn into the night, pyres that could be seen even beyond the boundaries of his territory, such was the intensity of the light they cast.
And as Rubedo lay there, he had to wonder if this had been Chaos’ plan – to force him into godhood by unorthodox methods, to force his body to twist and contort itself until he was a being unlike the wolves.
He found that he did not care, truly. He no longer cared for mortal lives, no longer cared for the appearance of a bright and cheerful Flametongue. All he cared for was revenge – and the thought of melting Winterfang’s throat with bubbling lava was delicious.
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