poppypari
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Gods AU WIP
🕑 Added 2019-04-15 04:07:10 +0000 UTCI've been going through the process of writing a Legacy AU the love story between Inaki, the incredibly reclusive God of the Forge with a distrust of humans, and Dalik'in, the eccentric God of Agriculture with a pension for trickery. I'm close to finishing the first chapter, but I thought I'd show a WIP since I had wanted to get some of it up a week ago. It's still in its early stages, but I hope y'all enjoy the snippet.
Just a note: I don't generally write like this, but I wanted it to feel the same way the Aeneid felt for me when I was translating it. Vergil uses many, many metaphors and epic similes plus language that connects one person to another in some aspect. Without further ado:
Dalik'in was the god of many things and the patron of even more, however patience was not one of them. At least, not when it came to the brooding flame deity whose pointed glare alone had nearly burn him. Since high morning he had watched (with great amusement at first) the mortal would-be hero flounder in getting the god's attention. Dalik'in himself, disguised quite convincingly as a human man, had tried to intervene once but was quite literally shut out of the situation when the other deity had slammed the door to his abode in his face. Had he been in a calmer frame of mind, he would have considered this relatively fair treatment from a god. He would've even felt a tad proud of himself, being so well disguised at even another god could not tell him apart from a mortal. For a brief time he would've even entertained adding "the God of trickery and disguises" to his title.
He was not, in fact, in a calm frame of mind. As he sat next to a rather dejected almost-hero, he seethed, barely able to maintain the facade of humanity. The skin which he had grown up in and found to be nearly as comfortable as his true form felt too confining now. It clung to him in desperation with sticking hands as if it knew how desperate he was to tear it away. It itched like the old flax blanket he had huddled under with his mortal family on chilly nights.
He couldn't take it off though, at least not yet. His father’s orders had been terribly precise—as they always were. Coming down from the heavens, carried in whispers between the breezes that Addi reigned, they came under the guise of a request with the illusion of a choice whether he took it up or not.
“To you who thrives on mingling with those in the mortal realm, this shall be a simple request of little concern. Guide this future hero whom you have already been testing with a human guise. Take him to the great peaks of the Black Mountains where you shall find the home and forge of the Valtin god Inaki who has domain over flames and weaponry. Ask him to forge a set of armor suitable for your hero and your duty shall be fulfilled. Be warned that your mortal guise cannot be felled for your meddling may cause great discourse amongst the domain of the mountains and fire. Be swift and vigilant, my child of wind and earth.”
Clearly his father had forgotten to mention the flame god’s poignant abhorrence of humans. That was enough to crush any warm feelings he had for receiving a message from his father. Sitting outside of the entrance to Inaki’s forge, Dalik’in thought long and hard on how he had gotten himself in this situation. Of course, it was quite literally divine intervention. "Why?" would be a more effective question to ponder. For that, he had many proposals, of which he had whittled down to two:
1.) His meddling in mortal affairs was getting frustrating for those above to watch (and fix) so he was being punished by getting tasked to help one on a near impossible mission.
2.) No one wanted to deal with the God of Arms and Brooding and he wasn't there when the others drew lots on who would be the poor soul to do it.
He was beginning to wager it was a bit of both.
“What shall we do now?” the hero asked. He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched at his beard with agitation barely tethered. His pacing had grown more frantic and while counting the first dozen laps of the temple entrance was mildly entertaining, it was growing concerning. The man stopped only to look at the imposter-mortal with expectant eyes, “You were ordered by the gods; I could feel their presence. You must know a way to get us in; at least to have him consent to hear our cause.”
Dalik’in shrugged, “I’m a farmer, not a prophet. I’ve no ideas. I know little of this god either; he does not protect me nor my lot.” He held in an unspoken corrections of what their shared cause was and was not. Dismissiveness was fine in a god—expected, even—, but the mortal Dax didn’t have the luxury of indifference. To a human, indifference was suicidal, or at the very least, idiotic.
“You don't know anything about Inaki?”
Perhaps it was the tone in which the man spoke, or the situation itself, but it strained the already dwindling patients in Dalik’in’s reserve.
“I’d know something more of him if he didn’t spend such great lengths slamming doors in my face,” he snapped.
The hero lurched away as if those frustrated words had been iron-forged weapons pointed at him. With hushed tones meant to assuage his angers, the mortal man said, “You stand near the threshold of a god’s divine temple. The least you could do is soften your voice. I know this is not what a farmer would ever expect, but it’s a great honor to be tasked by a god. No less, to greet Inaki himself. He is famous for his aid in our wars. He gave weapons to the just and righteous. He taught man how to create his own weapons to defend and protect. Every soldier memorizes his stories and pays homage to him. He—”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” he said, “but the day has long since ended and you will not make any further progress pacing all night.”
“Ever since I was young,” the hero continued undeterred, “He has done good for me and my family. My father and his father were soldiers. He has protected them and now he may protect me when I…”
He knew what went unsaid. A hero was not without dangers. Champions only when they finished their tasks, this man would remain nameless and unrecognized until his was complete. It was an immense burden to ask of a mortal who's life already seemed like a flash in the grand cycle of Time’s wheel. It cooled a part of Dalik’in’s inflamed chest and brought enough clarity for him to think past the indignation.
After a moment of deliberation, looking at the bolted, obsidian doors that separated them from a god, Dalik’in conceded to one point the hero had made, “I spoke with frustration unwarranted,” but added in prideful haste, “Not unwarranted to Inaki, but to you. You’ve a great weight on your shoulders. I’ll try to at least ease the dangers of the journey ahead with my own duty.”
Before the man could respond, he said, “Go and rest, I will keep watch tonight.”
“An ambush?” The hero cracked a smile, “Perhaps the great God will be more reasonable when he comes out in the midst of night.”
He smiled as well and huffed a breath, “Perhaps.”
———————
When the Charioteer had brought her sun down and the God of the Moon came out to watch her fleeting form as he did every night, Dalik’in sat awake in front of obsidian doors made inkier by the moon’s pale shine. The flickering of the flames played off ancient reliefs, reflecting the old stories of even older gods, many of which he had never met. Even as a child of one who came from Fire, he’d never known Fire herself. Looking at her bold form on the gates of the temple, he found himself wondering where she had gone. Off on her own chariot around the world, perhaps. Or perhaps she had divied herself up to be present in each flame, now too old to care for a tangible form like he and the many other gods that drew humanoid forms for themselves did.
He traced her form with burning fingers. Even in the cool night air he felt aflame, as if his very being responded to her call. That, or perhaps it was the vicinity to the Great Forge of Inaki which he'd learned was in use day in and day out. The pounding of metals and the sounds of his anvil had never ceased and now when he touched the doors their power thrummed through him. It felt terribly similar to the way the earth’s power thrummed underneath his feet as he plowed fields or when he lay in fields with the winds rushing around him, touching him with familiar hands like old friends. It hadn't occurred to him how starved he was for that sensation until now. So high above where the earth was rocky and unwilling to allow more than the strongest to survive and where winds were deflected by great rock walls, he'd been left devoid. Without realizing it, he had leaned against the door, desperately feeding off that power. He only realized he’d done it when the forge had gone silent. Inaki knew he was there.
He stepped away with rabbity steps until he was far enough that the reliefs looked to be only blurred lines. Inaki opened the large doors with ease and in the night, his fiery hair and beard glowed like molten metal. Bare chest and arms were covered in veins that shone the same way as if his blood too was heated iron.
“I can see you,” he seemed unamused. Frustrated even. “I've told the other already. I will not make your armor, now leave.”
“Huh. That's more than you've said to me thus far,” Dalik’in said with a ready grin. “Would you be open to trade more words then?”
There came a terrible silence that burdened the very air around them. It heated the cool night, brought a brighter blaze to the fire at their makeshift camp nearby. It made his blood sing. It shouldn't have.
“What words would a human have that I would find worth trading?” Inaki said at last. He spat the word human out as if it were a curse.
Dalik'in’s smile faltered briefly. There was an anger made rough by pain in that word.
“I’ve plenty of words if you were willing to listen. If only for a moment,” he dared a step towards the god and, in a tone he more often reserved for nurturing plants, he said, “Please.”
He wasn't sure whether it was simply exhaustion or his pleading tone, but the god bit out “Very well. A moment, but no longer.”
“We mean no insult and we did not come here of our own accord,” Dalik’in began, “I received a message from the gods themselves, from the Voice Akius carried by Addi. I am only doing my duty. There must be a way for us to get the armor Akius himself decreed to be made.”
He watched in mild fascination at the way Inaki’s hair blazed with his annoyance. His face never changed, remaining just as hard and stoic as it had been before.
Inaki’s voice was barely constrained as he said “How shall I know you are worthy to wear armor made by my forge when all I’ve is your word?”
