OW: ASA - CH 90.5 - Interlude 4 - Investment

Interlude 4

Investment

Time Unknown

“She called to me. I felt her Divinity pull me in.” 

The voice was soft yet full of grief. The woman who spoke had long, flowing straw-colored hair and skin as white as porcelain. Most notable was the woman’s eyes—white, through and through. Her pupils, iris, and sclera were one milky color. She was wearing a soft yellow tunic, cinched at the waist, and no shoes. The woman was tending to another’s wounds. 

“Who?” The man said, his voice pained as the woman dabbed at the deep gash on his wrist that was flowing golden blood.

His face was covered by a cowl, but the red of his eyes still shone through the darkness. When he tilted his head back to get a better look at the woman, the lower half of his face was illuminated —displaying his sharp, angular jaw and subtly grey skin. 

“Who else? Your girl. The one you descended for.” The woman continued, “She sent a prayer for me to refrain from appearing. It was a sad, desperate thing. I didn’t have it in me to defy her wish.”

A heavy silence filled the air, and the man sighed, “What did you do?”

The woman didn’t speak immediately. Whether it was out of trepidation or contemplation was unknown. 

The man leaned forward, lifted his free arm up, and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Frill, my friend. Tell me.”

Frill met the man’s gaze, a sad smile on her face, “I offered her the same compassion I once offered you all those millennia ago —before I had the power to back it up. I told her to call upon me later when she was less haunted by her Divinity.”

The man hummed, “I wouldn’t quite say that’s how it went.”

At his words, the woman laughed lightly, “You were a broken man, Morloch. Freshly Ascended and still defending your people. And I was just a girl. Granted, I was a girl with a unique and powerful healing class. But a child, nonetheless.”

“You were nearing forty,” Morloch rebutted. 

Frill tutted, going back to tending Morloch’s ever-bleeding wounds with her own enchanted bandages, “As I said, a child.”

A grin split Morloch’s face, and his sharpened teeth glistened in the darkness under his cowl. 

“Tell me more about her.” 

“What would you like to know? I had but a brief glimpse, but I saw enough to answer your questions,” Frill said gently, tying off the final bandage. 

“What did she pray for?” Morloch half-whispered. 

Frill stared at her friend as she leaned backward, resting her thighs on her calves. Her answer came slowly. 

“She prayed for the suns, Troya and Dreya, and the sky, Klua. She prayed for the moon, Revel, and the tides, Oceania. She prayed for the town she found herself in —Fellan. For it’s wealth and it’s health.” Frill gave a small, sad smile. “And lastly, she prayed for me to refuse her call. She prayed for our continued separation.”

Morloch nodded slowly, his grin twisting into something pained. “And yet, you reached out.”

“I did. And I will not apologize for it.” Frill’s gaze did not waver, not even under the narrowed eyes of her friend. 

Finally, Morloch said, “I would not ask that of you. I know you better than that. I trust you. You would not sabotage one I have taken an interest in.”

“An interest? In a human?” Frill teased lightly. “Perhaps you have grown soft in your age.”

“Don’t be foul. The drow are not the only ones who have suffered at the hands of humans —you need only look at the elves and gnomes to see how vile they’ve been treated. But I do not believe an otherworlder is responsible for the sins of this world.”

“How many humans pray to you now? Six hundred million? More? Is it not time to forget the past? Those that wronged your people are long dead —most at your own hand. It has been ages since the drow last ventured out of their underground, so long that most of the humans forget that they persist. Surely, you cannot hold condemnation for the children of the latest generation?”

Morloch shook his head, “The newest generation grows complacent. They pray to me, yes, but they do no more. They still expect me to gift them power rather than earn it. They are the logical end to what began with the expulsion of the drow. Some sacrifice, yes, some work, but they are the exception —not the rule.”

“But not the otherworlder?” Frill asked, genuine curiosity lining her tone. 

“The first time she called to me, she asked to bloom. The girl asked for power, and her Divinity compelled my response. She had prayed for strength, but not just that. She asked to be better. She wanted to be more. And so I told her how to tend to her her own strength.” Morloch paused, debating whether to continue or not. “I thought she would ignore me and pray to others. I told her she would receive no Skills or shards of my Divinity. I told her I would only appear if we both willed it.”

Frill nodded, “But she didn’t, did she?”

“No. She didn’t. She neither willed me to her, nor did she ever request my strength again. Though, she did call for Abelia —once.”

The expression the woman made was hard, and had no place on her usually soft face, “Her latest frenzy. She took one of Minare’s followers.”

“She did. Oberon Rellar. Named after Minare’s beloved nephew, it was only right that he prayed to her.”

“You know his name?” Frill asked, shocked.

Morloch snorted, “Only by circumstance. He was close to the girl.”

“You watch closer than you claim,” Frill stated, an observation of fact rather than an opinion. 

“She is more than a pawn for those two fools. And Scylla did her wrong. I cannot help but to remember my mortal days. When the Gods did something similar to me.”

“Ripped from the overworld, your family wrecked, and thrust underground to fight the monsters of the deep. You feel it similar?” Frill tilted her head, looking into her friend's eyes. 

“Her life was taken from her, the journey here too long for her ever to be sent home, her family effectively dead to her. A new world, a broken mentality, a host despised by the very people meant to love her. She is young and thus at the mercy of others. I would not call it the same. I would call it worse.” At the end, Morloch’s voice broke in a way uncharacteristic of him.

In response, Frill closed her eyes, golden tears falling across her cheeks. 

“She is in pain.” Frill said without opening her eyes, “She’s working through it, though. She calls herself the God of Nora. Did you know that?”

“I did.” He nodded, strength returning to his voice. 

“Do you think it would have been different had she been reborn to another?” Frill asked suddenly, opening her eyes rapidly.  

“I think that it would depend on the original soul,” Morloch responded slowly. “Why?”

“Because—” Frill paused, working her lower lip, “As we were discussing, the System offered me an opportunity.”

“Explain.”

“The dragons have opened another portal, and the System has granted me access to it.” Frill took a deep breath. “It has asked if I am willing to offer a soul my Compassion.”