"Do you remember the Crossroads?"
"Do you remember the Crossroads?"
Most Abaasy knew this aforementioned place well. It was the largest accumulation of dimensional intersections within the omniverse as well as the only entrance leading to the Maelstrom. The Fae of the Deep Dreaming and Arcadia dubbed it The Promenade, for their purposes were leisurely and light. The Djinn of Jannah christened it the Silent Chasm and, though this was a rumor, it was said that true peace could be found at the end of the path. Abaasy, because they were what they were, simply called it the Crossroads.
It was where the most lucrative contracts were forged, willingly or otherwise.
One such Abaasy and maker of contracts, Kysad, would slowly nod his horned head to answer the question. More than remembering, of course, he could still smell the scent of celestials in transit. His ears were often reminded of the chime of belled hooves as the assemblies of otherworldly chitterlings moved in phantasmic groups, their parties included in an endless procession of visitors hailing from countless dimensions with infinite reasons to travel. His eyes were reminded of the splendor of the Crossroads only when they witnessed actual miracles happening - which wasn't often and certainly wasn't as satisfying.
Miracles, mirages, and marriages were all deceptions in their own right. This much Kysad swore by.
"I don't," Philiadus Loe murmured, his distorted visage reminiscent of an ink blot. So dark was his flesh, creation was envious. His features, including his mouth, were lost in the void of his person. A silhouette, a shadow. He had more in common with the idea of lightlessness than he did with any of their peers, and how he retained his maleness was something Kysad often questioned, though privately. Loe was incredibly powerful and, more importantly, detached. If death were to come swiftly, for reason of wanton slaughter or for purpose of repurposing the corpses, the Abaasy often dealt with butchers such as Loe. He was never early, nor was he late. He simply was. When the shadow spoke, his rudimentary limbs bent and retracted, tendrils of ethereal darkness his form would swallow when there was no longer need for them.
It bothered Kysad, and if something such as Loe unsettled a contract demon, it was safe to presume humanity was incapable of fathoming Loe without consequences.
The two were perched over the causeway overlooking the lower thighs of the sleeping behemoth. Abaasy, known as a race of scavengers and thieves, made their home in the slumbering shell of their greatest hero, Khu'chev. He, who tore asunder the magnificent heavens in the dimension of Ichor, was met with eternal sleep as punishment and collapsed within the great basin of Nod's Ixithaca Valley. Once, this land without light or direction was open to the endless storms of the seasons. Thunder during the low tide stretch, fleshy hail storms during high tides. Now, the efforts of the native Abaasy ensured they stayed dry and safe from the elements thanks to the sacrifice of Khu'chev.
A city inside the still breathing carcass, prodigious and ramshackle, was built. It was where Abaasy such as Kysad had lived much of their lives, though it was formally unnamed. Colloquially, Khu'chev was used, but outsiders often called it like it was.
"The Corpse is crowded tonight. A raid returned, didn't they?" Loe's sightless portrait tilted to direct his attention toward Kysad. "Do you still avoid them? The raids?"
"They're a sore spot for me, but I go when I'm needed," which, both Kysad and Loe knew, wasn't often. "They consider my condition a liability. I don't blame them."
"Condition?" Like the scuttling of scraping claws on marble floors, Loe's laughter clicked and clacked and scraped Kysad's ears. "Virgin heart, sutured psyche- your abnormality affects nothing!"
"Raiding is grunt work," Kysad retorted, his red lips offering a partial snarl. "Carrying the dead for dismantling, skinning and removing bones... I never cared for it."
"That does make you the odd fish in this sea of flesh fondling miscreants and torture enthusiasts. Perhaps the word is rare."
Silent as a statue, Kysad continued to look at the massive outline of the felled behemoth impassively. His interests were elsewhere. This place was... nothing. It came from nothing and it would fall to nothingness once more. Elsewhere, of course, was a fantasy he had convinced himself the importance of. Where this was all business and slaughter and the business of slaughter, there were actual choices to be made elsewhere.
"Come," Loe said as he rose, stygian and fluid, the trace of a limb forming to motion toward Khu'chev. "I have questions I need to be answered."
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Aeonian || In Chapters - by Kat - 08-27-2019, 02:29 AM
RE: Aeonian || In Chapters - by Kat - 08-27-2019, 02:30 AM
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