Otherworldly - A Shadowed Awakening

Peak of Autumn, Week 5, Day 3

It was different, this descent. Unlike when Scylla leaped out of her statue, now it seemed as if Morloch —because it had to be Morloch— was taking over the figure and bringing it to life. No longer did his golden blood disappear before it hit the water. Now, it sank into the pool, leaving dark golden streaks. His pale flesh pulsed with life, and the darkness under his cowl seemed to steam. I refused to look any closer at the darkness. It was not the sort that I could control. Every instinct in me warned me not to even think about trying. The aura that rolled off him was restrained in a way I was certain was intentional. Scylla had simply let me be overwhelmed.

“Child.” His voice was layered and strong, but it didn’t hold the light air the Scylla had, “Hold one moment.”

I blinked as the God held up one hand, and with the other, he reached into a bag attached to his thigh. He pulled out two rolls of black fabric and deftly began wrapping his forearms. A whisper of sound reached my ears, though I was half sure I was delusional.

“What? Do they think I walk around getting the world bloody?”

I was frozen in shock, fear, and something similar to amusement, but not quite. After a silent minute, Morloch had sealed off his wounds. His dark cowl turned back to me, and he stretched his arms. Once he’d returned to a relaxed position, he spoke again.

“Greetings, I am Morloch.”

He stopped speaking smoothly. As if that was all he had to say. And even through the cowl, I could feel his expectant stare. As the anxiety within me swelled, the silence stretched on. Until—

“Hello,” I half-whispered, “I’m Nora.”

Morloch nodded in response, and I braced myself for the same feeling of being overcome to fill me and for my body to move on its own. Only the feeling never came. I was free to stew in my anxious silence all I wanted.

“I know. I know much about you —you took my Solar Boon, didn’t you?”

I let my eyes turn to the red glints in the cowl, and I nodded. I hadn’t chosen Morloch for a good reason, really. Simply, I didn’t want to be tied further to the Dawn name —or influenced by Fate. No. I chose Morloch because he was the antithesis of what a Dawn should have chosen. He lived and breathed in darkness with the Drow. True, he was a savior who sacrificed for his people and was changed by that sacrifice, but he wasn’t known to help worshippers outside the Drow —and thus, he was worshiped all the more under the domain of Self-Improvement.

“Is that how it works? I’m bound to you because of your Boon?” I filled the gap as best I could, but Morloch shook his head.

“Of course not. Countless youths selected my boon this year, I do not watch over them all.” He paused. “Nor did I watch over you, either. Not until your Affirmation.”

I swallowed and whispered, understanding hitting me, “Scylla.”

“Yes and no,” his voice was amused, “Though being shoved out of the way was rather interesting.”

“No. Your Divinity —it was strong. 82 is more than most nobles reach in a century, let alone a matter of months. Not to mention your prayer. Most nobles are a bit more sincere when it comes to asking to be Affirmed. But it took you three tries to manifest true desire for Divine Intervention.”

I blinked, my mouth moving before I thought it through. But it was by my own will that I did so.

“Are you talking about the sea serpent thing?”

In an oddly casual gesture, Morloch brought one hand to the back of his head and scratched as if to ruffle his hidden hair.

“Yes. I rather liked it.”

This was too much. Too much. It was so different from Scylla, who had casually disregarded my wants. It was different from the twin Gods, who spirited me away and dropped me here carelessly. In fact, I was actively committing mental blasphemy, and he hadn’t said a word. Perhaps he couldn’t hear it? Or, maybe—

“Please calm yourself. I am simply here to give you advice.”

How perfectly timed. He must have been —oh wait, I was hyperventilating again. Garbage. I covered my mouth with my hands and tried to slow my breathing.

“Well,” he said, almost awkwardly, “You prayed to be more. So I’ll build off of that.”

“Scylla has given you a curse. Though, when she told me of it, she claimed it was a course corrector. Brel told me the same of his Skill, and I imagine it would feel the same. And Grel simply said his would be fun.”

I was halfway to calm and focusing intently on his words; they were odd, but they were grounding me. They also sounded more like the Gods I’d come to know.

“You won’t want to hear this, but you’ll want to use them. All three. No matter how unbearable it seems.”

I dropped my hands and dug my nails into my legs. Morloch was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t risk [Eternal Communion] overtaking my soul or being caught with [Steal Nerves].

“You wished to be stronger, so I will recommend to you the best way to do so. Level, increase your Divinity, master your Attributes.”

He’s just like the others, with his vague answers. He wants me to fall in line. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I focused on my knees.

“If you wish to grow, to bloom, do not worship me —or any other. Worship yourself. Become the God of Nora.”

My head snapped up.

“What?”

“I did not stutter. Eat, grow, practice, learn. Put in the work. Pray to yourself, to your discipline. When you come to a Church, do not beg for strength. Make it yourself.”

But that’s—

“Blasphemy.” I finished my thought aloud.

“To some, yes. But those are mortal thoughts. Do you think I worshiped another when my people were cast to the Underdark? Do you think someone else dragged me up? No.”

Morloch’s arms were outstretched, gesturing to the world around us, “When you pray, you put your future in the hands of a Divine. So do not pray for yourself. Pray for the suns. Pray for the moon. Pray for the stars. Pray for Gargantua itself. It matters not.”

I found myself nodding in response.

“Who should I pray to?”

At that, the darkness hiding Morloch’s face retreated to his nose, revealing a sharp, pointed chin and a wide grin.

“Pray to me. Or Frill. Or Xanth. Pray to Ital. Or Yllium. Or Mera. Any you choose. But be wary —with the first threshold behind you, you are more likely to draw in an audience any time you do so.”

Now, my fists were clenched for a new reason. A better reason.

“Not every God will sacrifice themself to make you stronger. You will receive none of my power. I will gift you no Skills – no boon but no curse. And should you pray to me, I cannot promise an answer.”

Morloch’s grin never wavered. It was an infectious thing, like his words, and it stirred something within me. Suddenly, he shifted his body back to how it all began –his arms casually by his side and his face shadowed.

“Goodbye, Nora. Should we will it, we shall meet again.”

And then the figure went silent. No longer was it moving. I was shaken, but not so shaken that I was ignorant of how much time had passed. So, I stood up from where I sat on the stone floor and brushed off my dress, straightening it out. There was no reason to look disheveled if I was simply praying to an empty room.

My mind was racing. And for once, my anxiety was gone. Silent in the face of the empty chamber. Silent in the aftermath of a God who told me not to worship. Who told me to pray to myself.

I looked at the column behind me, with a now empty bowl, then back to the figure in the reflecting pool. It was already fading away. The etchings in the three alcoves undid themselves, revealing smooth stone. It was as if Morloch had never descended at all.

I collected Noir and opened the door. As I walked out, I nearly ran into a man dressed in gold and black flowing robes that were cinched by body chains like all priests. His eyes were covered with a black piece of fabric, and his shock of white hair was tied back. And he was panting. His hand gripped the edge of the door, and as I stepped back, I realized I couldn’t hear or see anyone else. Not the priestess who brought us to this room or Sir Limrick and the squires. I was alone with this man who was hunched down to meet my eyes. He was not nearly old enough to justify the snowy color of his hair.

“Who are you?” He half-shouted at me, his voice overly excited. And just like that, my anger was back.

“Can I help you?” My nails dug into Noir. “And can you step back?”

At my harsh tone, the man jumped back, a sheepish expression crossing his face, “Sorry, sorry, I got ahead of myself.”

Straightening up, he gave a practiced bow, but despite the solemnity he performed the bow with, I could see the jitters in his muscles. When he spoke, his voice was slightly manic.

“I am Hiram, Priest of Morloch.”

I wanted to swear.

“Are you?” I said sharply, “I would never have guessed.”

“Well, technically, I’m a junior priest.” He corrected himself, “But! I am the ranking priest of Morloch right now.”

I closed my eyes for a beat. Then, releasing a long-suffering sigh, I looked back to Hiram.

“Can I help you?” I bit out. Because nothing ever happened in a vacuum. Couldn’t I have just left quietly?

“Oh,” the man recoiled slightly, “well, yes. I was wondering if I could have the name of our latest benefactor?”

“Eunora,” I smiled tightly, “Is that all?”

The man blinked. I hated this. I wanted to leave and digest what Morloch had said. I didn’t want to have to deal with the God’s holy equivalent of an entourage.

“Uh, well, technically, yes, but—“

“My Lady!” I heard Sir Limrick’s deep voice, and I snapped my head to look for him. He was turning the corner sharply, and his hand was resting on the pommel of his sword as he looked over Hiram.

“Sir Limrick,” I fought back the anger in my voice like one would muzzle a rabid dog, “Do we have any other business with the Church?”

“No, Lady Eunora,” he answered stiffly, whatever familiarity we’d built lost to professionalism, “We are set to head out.”

“Then, let’s.”

“But—“ Hiram started, but Sir Limrick glared him into silence.

I wanted to ask, ‘Where were you?’ To scream, ‘Why did you leave me alone?’ But, instead, I swallowed my irritation and sidestepped the ambush priest, and walked right past Sir Limrick. He turned and followed silently.

It wasn’t until we’d made it around the corner to where Arlen and Klein were waiting that my anger ebbed a bit. They were probably just sitting since they didn’t know how long I’d be.

It’s not their fault a God descended, I reminded myself bitterly.

And though I had calmed some, I was still overflowing with emotion. I was reeling from what Morloch had said.

Use all three. Pray to yourself. Worship yourself.

Privately, I wondered which self. I had three, after all. But as soon as the thought flitted in, it sputtered out. Obviously, he had meant me. Not Eunora of before or [Eternal Communion]. Neither of them had said a word before the God.

No. If I was to commit blasphemy, it was to be in my name, not in the name of ghosts of past and future.