(Here is Pt 2) Elderon was good at what they did, (They’re a god there is no one better). Nothing could quite compare to their dreams and aspirations, their mind, their body, their soul; not exactly untouched, but touched by magic and cunning they were. They were better than others for this and Elderon loved it. Loved everything about that, oh how bitter was jealousy, how mad was envy? Only they could tell. Only they could make the mistake of telling. Many, many mistakes could be made of telling, Elderon supposed this was one such mistake.
“No matter what you may think me, I do hold my tongue well. Well enough anyway.” Elderon told the guard outside their cell. He was dead, but that didn’t deter them from talking, for the soul (still here) was so fun to torment. Or at least that’s what they thought anyway.
“You know your king, he’s ah, how do I say this, ah yes! Mad, just mad as hell. Whether it’s the angry type mad, or the other type mad that must never be named; He’s just plain mad!” They gestured slightly with their hands while saying this, a defeated slump to their shoulders and their head against the wall. A deep scream, or maybe a sigh was wanting to fight its way out of their chest. Either way they told their lungs to keep it down, and to stop trying to make noises.
A bang was heard at the end of the corridor, a door shutting. The guards in the palace always walked silently and Elderon knew there were some coming their way, for there was no other prisoner around. They couldn’t bring themself to care or to even so much as get up from their position against the wall. Their lungs tried to make a noise again and since it wasn’t a scream this time Elderon let them let out the sigh that they thought the situation needed.
A pair of paws stopped at their cell and Elderon turned their head to look them in the eye. The guard avoided Elderon’s gaze of course, tricky fellow didn’t want to get his soul sucked out by the Eyes of Death.
“Our king requests your presence.” He swallowed, nervous. “He informs you that if you do not come, death shall be unleashed upon you and your rot left in this cave?” The guard phrased it as a question, as Elderon bared their teeth at the insolence the king showed to a god. They were terribly unprepared for Elderon, it sees for they let another guard come into the dungeons.
Elderon twitched their facial muscles into a quick smile and the air shifted. The guard fell to a heap on the floor, dead.
“I think perhaps that I might just turn this poor excuse for a cell into something else, somewhere else.” It seemed they were speaking to no one, (once again). “Let no one disturb me again.” Elderon spoke with authority, with meaning, with a kings authority, a Gods rule.
Death who had stood by their side and it was their magic who warmed Elderon’s veins; Elderon spoke to the souls at their command. Faltering but forever there, slumbering but ready to wake, Elderon had many to their command, many- to many.
Elderon’s beautiful shades of violet on their skin, blending into dark, dark shades of night sky then brown coca at the torso, leaving no room for the lighter things: The eternal sun, the harsh glacier snow white, no laughter and red passion to compliment them, they were more beautiful in the way of the dark, they, a wayward god, more powerful than most more dangerous than others. They were Elderon. And as they said, it was done.
After that, no guard dared step into the dungeon, all those that tried were dead in less than half a second and then transported straight to the lords bed for a nasty surprise.
Elderon was alone and that’s how they liked it. To bad it didn’t last
The God of Luck was perhaps the only one to ever get through their defenses but that was because Elderon took down their magic wards after they saw him stumble away from Death’s scythe. As he tripped over their new couch and landed perfectly normally in front of their newly refurbished kitchen, they knew that Fate and Magic were not far behind him, along with a whole cow of other gods.
“What. In hell’s name. Do you want?” Elderon grinded out. They would say they’re surprised but surprise was hard to come by nowadays. They was dissatisfied instead, though they refrained from complaining to God and whoever thought the universe was a good idea. After all, the last time they had complained God had lost their job, and that was a terrible terrible mistake Elderon swore never to repeat again.
“Well I would like to inform you that your luck has just changed, someone will be coming to see you shortly. Good luck packing.” Luck had made a deal once to warn Elderon whenever their luck was to be changed, this is why Elderon was so dissatisfied whenever Luck appeared.
They sighed into the morning mug of coffee in their hands and snapped their fingers. The sofa folded into itself which lead to the coffee table being flattened into nothing and then the bed slowly popping itself out of existence. The counters and cabinets followed and then the kitchen set itself on fire, content to turn into ash. The books flipped into thin air and in a jiff Elderon was set to get out of their old (new) home.
They made sure to finish their coffee first, it was a desert brew after all.
Once they hit sunlight, they called to them a whistle blast that made the surrounding castle almost turn colder than ice. The inhabitants were still asleep, being nocturnal after all, the cats were sure in their castles magic and its sentient defenses enough to not keep a day watch. Elderon was grateful for that, they liked the sure footed race and did not enjoy killing them, they looked forward to seeing the fur balls again.
A blur appeared in the distance, in a flash of steel and the smell of old blood a War was in front of them. A being made of old beliefs and war torn soldiers, made of weapons and despair, made of commanding voices and fallen soldiers, made of pockets of time and a bloodied deck of cards.
They got into the saddle of the War, a hulking figure that looked much like a dog with boar tusks and a vulture’s feathers. The War bounded away from the castle, in a beat that sounded like war drums.
The Forests and lakes blurred past, Wars were a few of the faster ways to travel for god’s, yet few like Elderon used them for they thought them to extreme, to sad for cirtian god. Yet Elderon saw them as reminders, they would remember, they would know, they would never forget.
Elderon needed to arrive at the Dawn Army by the time the screams in their head get loud enough for them to stop ignoring. So they made sure to get comfortable, the ride would be long after all, when Luck tells you time is up, then it’s best not to push it.
The Dawn Army was where Elderon usually prepared for the worst, they met with old friends and new there. They consulted the fated and the riddlers there. Many say that oracles reside there but anything Elderon had seen that closely resembled oracles were the scorpions, the kind that made you think shades were colors and colors shades.
There were only barren waste lands for days before the Dawn Army really shows up. Some say they come with the wind, Elderon says they do as they please. Yet what they please depends on whose loyalties they choose, and whether or not one has tried killing them when they were still alive.
The flowers of Mordan were passed by the War and red blossoms clung to Elderon as they rode on into the night.
