Lesser Mistakes

Quote:

---

[OOC: Solo.]

---

“Ba-ha-ha-ha!” A deafening roar of laughter erupted through the entirety of the ethereal plain. Devastating winds threatened to blow trees away – and him too. Talons dug into the ground as his face churned red in embarrassment. The laugh left his ears tingling as it died down. A massive, manned being retracted a claw from his mighty paws, pointing at the young man, “How-how can Jomil’s mistake come to us! Requesting an audience from us!”

A young woman in a small, white dress chuckled. A wild sparkle in her eyes, she giggled, “Why, he is merely a bug compared to us-“ Her eyes widened in sudden realization, she rapidly turned to a four limbed mantis, “N-no offense, Khal'jaren!”

The insectoid only growled in annoyance, not looking up from the book in his hands.

A dark robbed woman only glared upon the boy with disapproval. His pleading eyes did nothing to sway her. As she deeply scowled in silence, Khal’jaren looked up from the book in his hands. With a third hand, he waved in a social gesture, “Come now, his reasons for coming prick my curiosity. Let him speak, even if only for our amusement.”

The white haired boy, stories shorter than the Great Thaynes towering before him, felt a deep anxiety as the beast, Hromagh, let out a deep belly laugh, “Yes! Let us!”

The peppy woman, Y'edda, smirked and curtly nodded.

The coweled woman, Jomil, let out a deep sigh. “Fine…”

Hromagh boomed, “Your request for an audience has been granted, Lesser Thayne Gwenael.”

They all watched the boy expectantly.

Gwenael stepped forth, his four owl wings slightly picked up off the ground as he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Great Ones.”

He looked up, posture straight, “I come to you today with unanswered questions.”

“Explain,” Jomil spat with bitter apathy.

Gwenael's wings drooped to the ground again, unable to hide his lonely sorrow. Yet, he extended his hand. Between him and the heightened Thayne, he caused a glyph with the symbol of a clock to form. Rapidly, it moved. The hands flew back and forth at the speed of light as the amber glyph gleamed and shimmered. Finally, at last, it reached a a decided time. The big and little hands landed on twelve. Distinct information flickered above the glyph:

Year: 1746.
Location, Deerhorn, Eiskalt.
Time: 12:00 P.M.

“Eiskalt?” Y'edda raised an eyebrow.

“That insignificant snow ball?” Hromagh scoffed.

“That 'insignificant snow ball,” Khal’jaren reminded him, “Has one of our highest followings.”

“What happened in 1744?” Jomil asked, “You were not even created yet.”

Gwenael developed an oddly amused expression. His eyebrow was raised, a weird smirk on his face. “You thought I came here for me?” He almost laughed, “I am but an insignificance. I am but a pioneer through time and space, fixing the cracks and repairing wounds in time. I watch the life threads of many, intervening to preserve the best timeline. I have no place in the world, I only swim through its currents.”

The glyph projected an image above the timeframe. There, the golden brown image shone. He appeared to be your standard Eiskaltian, black hair and blue eyes. In his hand, however, was a bloodied longsword. Surrounding him were countless victims, all neanderthal. Men, woman, children. All were in a pile of corpses as the champion roared on top.

“Oh!” Hromagh’s memory was jogged, “Cain Rhyolite!”

Jomil frowned, watching the beast god with disapproval.

Gwenael spoke, “You were so impressed with his raw strength, you blessed him and his descendants. Correct?”

Hromagh nodded, “He was quite impressive. He singlehandedly handled an army of spearmen with natural ease. Quite commendable.”

“So you approve of the slaughter of hundreds?” Jomil groaned.

Hromagh sighed, “Strength is the rule of survival in Althanas.”

Without words, Gwenael started the glyph once again. Like before, the clock hands raced faster than light. Several seconds later, it slowed to a standstill and more information shone again.

Year: 1798.
Location, Deerhorn, Eiskalt.
Time: 4:17 P.M.

The image of a neanderthal male, built and brutal, glowed. He dragged a young woman, screaming, into the darkness of a cave.

The clock started again. Then stopped.

Year: 1799.
Location, Deerhorn, Eiskalt.
Time: 2:37 A.M.

The woman handed a baby, forcefully, to a boy in his late teens. She shouted, she shooed him away. Still in the nursing bed, she absolutely refused to even look at the crying newborn. “Take it! I don’t care what happens to it, it’s not mine!”

The boy looked down to the screaming child, sympathy in his eyes as she shed frightened tears.

The glyph collapsed in on itself, ending the snippets of captured time. Gwenael looked up, lowering his hand. “Did you not double the blessings for this child?”

Jomil ever so slightly lifted her hooded head, “Yes.”

A small smile spread across Gwenael’s face. He once again summoned a glyph. Present time clicked on the time clock, an image of a young woman came up. In her late teens, she was incredibly toned and fit. A tough, muscled stature housed much muscle, built and sturdy. Her red hair was pulled back in a humble ponytail. Green eyes were bold yet sweet in shade.

“She turns eighteen today,” Gwenael stated.

“This is her?" Jomil asked, “Felicity Rhyolite survived her childhood after all…”

Gwenael nodded, “You’ve obviously paid little attention to her, despite her achievements.”

“Achievements?” Hromagh huffed, “What achievements?”

Gwenael waved his arm, “Haven’t you heard? She aided in the destruction of a golem. She saved a shepard's herd from a drave. She cured a town from disease. She helped in saving Donnalaich from-“

“-Minor achievements,” Khal’jaren interrupted, “Anyone could accomplish such things.”

Y’edda crossed her arms, unimpressed.

Hromagh nodded in agreement with the others, “Even so, the only reason she could do such things is because of the blessings we gave her.”

Gwenael could not help his annoyed expression, “Yes, she has your blessings. Maybe that’s why-“

“-Why bring such a puny spec of dust to our attention?” Khal’jaren’s insect eyes narrowed, “We have far greater things to worry about. There is fire falling from the sky, the earth groans with molton rock-“

“-The apocalypse, yes.” Gwenael crossed his arms, “I have already seen it. Plus it’s ten million separate outcomes, each different per time thread.” He realized how hot headed he was, taking a step back. The boy lowered his head, long strands of snow white hair falling over his face. “I-I apologize for interrupting-“

“-Your perception of time loosely bends around singular reality,” Jomil scoffed, “Your sense of time is fluid, liquid like water.”

She sighed, eyeing him carefully, “So tell me, Lesser Thayne Gwenael, what is at the end of Felicity Rhyolite’s thread?”

Gwenael was, well, shocked that Jomil defended him. It took him a moment to recuperate before responding, “She-she…”

He thought of the many, many threads in her life. Some were cut, fringed, smack in the middle. Many threads were tangled, messied, in confusion. Many had already ended as far back as birth. Yet, she survived this far. The longer threads spiraled on, and he saw every current outcome, some not at all pretty. He looked up again.

“If her path went dark, she could devastate Althanas.”

His voice was now cool again as he continued, “Guided in the right direction, she could become a hero. A legend.”

Hromagh made light of it all, “Guided? Once again, needing assistance.”

Khal’jaren nodded in agreement, “How would she do if she went it alone?”

“She’s been alone!” Gwenael shouted, growing heated again.

The Greater Thayne were all silenced as he lost his cool.

“She’s been alone!” He repeated, “The select few forms of guidance she had has only made her worse off. Ashla Icebreaker for example!”

Silence.

Then.

Even Khal’jaren roared in laughter this time. Only Jomil placed her palm on her forehead, “That insignificant girl. The pathetic last of her old line.”

Hromagh had to use his paws to wipe the tears from his eyes, “She could not even kill the one assassin she sought!”

Gwenael looked back upon Ashla, or Ayleth’s, time threads. He shook his head, “I personally believe her existence is a mistake. She only wounded her timeline.”

Khal’jaren had swiftly calmed down, already having collected his former composure, “There is one thing we all can agree on.”

Gwenael bit his lip, “Although, if she did not exist, neither would Hanuh Toivonen. She has every ounce of power and talent to impress even you, Great Ones.”

Y’edda spoke up, “Did she not travel back through time?”

“Yes.” Gwenael spoke. Inside, he growled. She left how many fractures and wounds in time; recklessly traveling back like that! I have to manually fix every one…

After the darker musing, he spoke up again, “I do believe we are off topic, however."

Y'edda nodded, “Yes! Who were we talking about again?”

“Felicity Rhyolite.” Gwenael coughed.

“Oh, right!” Y’edda clapped her hands.

“Well, Gwenael,” Jomil spoke loudly, despite her shadowy form, “She seems like your average Althanian to me.”

“-But the potential!” He threw his hands, “You created this! You gave her your blessings! Why ignore her for so long?”

Hromagh shot upright, his eyes burning with fiery coals. It took no genius to see how angry he was. Gwenael had to dig his talons into the ground again.

Hromagh boomed, the fury of mountain winds shredding the very air, “HOW DARE YOU QUESTION THE GREAT THAYNES! YOU INSULENT PEST!”

The boy cowered, hands over his head. Clinging for dear life, he weathered the storm by pulling his wings straight back. “G-Great Ones, I-“

“SILENCE!” The Thayne boisterously sounded.

Then, suddenly, the wind fell to a standstill.

Too terrified to get up again, the boy kneeled before them.

Khal’jaren apathetically sighed, “Lesser Thayne, we do not tolerate such accusations from the likes of someone so small.”

“I thoroughly apologize, Great Ones,” Gwenael’s voice was hoarse, “I-…”

He sighed, hair in his face.

“I understand if you refuse to watch her,” He muttered, “But I will.”

Hromagh scoffed. Y’edda shrugged nonchalantly. Khal’jaren was silent. Jomil sighed, “Whatever you choose to do with her, it does not matter.”

All four Great Thayne spat in union, “Now get out of our sight!”

Their word was law. Gwenael gave them a proper bow. Then, he turned around and flew away.

His mission was unsuccessful.

Back at the Thaynes, they all reacted differently. Hromagh stormed off, enraged. Y’edda merely shrugged it off and skipped off. Jomil silently withdrew from the scene fuming. Only Khal’jaren remained, hands folded, as he remained deep in thought over the situation.

As he silently flew along, Gwenael shook his head in frustration. For the current great gods of Althanas, the Thayne were the most apathetic souls he ever faced. Apathetic and full of pride. He growled in frustration as he landed in front of a sycamore tree, needing to rest. As he placed a hand against the twisted wood, catching his breath, he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Gwenael.”

He hastily turned his head. Yellow eyes caught sight of her. Her long, dark robes covered all but her stone cold face. Jomil.

Gwenael could not hide the deep glare that formed, “Now what?”

For a moment, her composure dropped. Her usually clasped hands fell to her sides. Once again, she sighed in exasperation, “Listen, Gwenael, you may be a mistake, but-…” she carefully searched for the perfect words, “… that does not mean I am disappointed in you.”

A rare hint of warmth barely escaped her tone of voice, “I actually am impressed.”

He could of accepted the compliment, yet… something inside him blocked the warmth. Instead, he only felt a bitter chill. Caught in a moment of vulnerability, however, he rode the emotional waves.

“My heart is cold, mother.” His voice was coated in sorrow, “There is a shard of ice that never melts."

She turned away from him, “Your petty problems are not my problem.” Bitterness seeped through her voice as she shut him off, “And do not call me your mother.”

She slipped away.

Left alone, Gwenael bit his lip until it bled, overcome with bitter sadness. Rage encompassed him as he growled. He turned, piercing the tree's bark with his talons and digging in. He ripped wood out in deep agony. Tears filled his eyes as he hissed. Why did his creator hate him so much?

He transformed. A white barn owl with silver edged wings replaced the boy. It let out a woeful shriek, flying away from the Thayne's Dimension for good.

The wind serenaded as it blew songfully through the trees. The gentle breeze played a soothing toon as she made way through the countryside. Heavy baggage on her back, Felicity Rhyolite took a moment to stop. Staggering still, she pushed her loose hair out of her face and sighed. She bent over, placing her hands on her knees. As she panted, sweat fell like rain. She had been travelling, on foot, for hours on end without rest. She shook, pulling out one of her ultra vitamin and protein bars and shoving them in her mouth. Her legs shook as she took long steps towards the nearest tree. Her baggage was carefully set down before she plopped down. Back against the tree, she rested her head against the sturdy bark.

The singing draft swiftly put her to sleep.

The girl only lightly snoozed, however, as the sound of a bird’s squeal shook her eyes open again. Groggy and annoyed, she looked up. Within a long, winding branch above, she saw it. Again? A pure white barn owl with silver wings watched her with what appeared to be curiosity before taking off. Not making a sound, the owl took to flight, soaring away.

She could of sworn she saw that bird before.

No, she shook her head. She must be tired. Too exhausted to take her thoughts seriously, she shrugged the strange feelings off. She sighed in annoyance and placed her head against the wood again. She easily fell asleep.

Khal’jaren was like a statue, perfectly still like stone.

He gazed into a pool of stars. Countless lights, stardust, quasars, planets, and more raced past at frightening speeds. The Thayne of knowledge, he knew the details of every one, down to their unique names. The images flung past within the still waters. Remaining still, he willed the seeing pool to gaze down upon Althanas. The blue planet started as a blimp in the series of stars and planets. Then, it closed in. Zooming through the atmosphere, the moving pool came to stop upon the image of her.

Within a laboratory, the teen chopped up some herbs. An elderly man, in his sixties, pushed his glasses up as he watched her. The dusty, hazy lab had many tubes and veils, potions and pills. It was too cluttered and unkempt for the insect's likings. He preferred everything to be neat and organized. He had to resist the temptation to fly down and clean the room himself! Yet, he remained a still tree, observing.

“Now,” The man leaned against the chair she was in, watching her closely, “What does athelas have that most healing herbs don’t?”

She continued to chop plants in a neat, almost expert level, “It is far more potent in its healing capabilities. It is magically imbued by nature. It is ruthless against natural diseases and poisons. It is also used to aid in healing against unnatural, magical ailments as well.”

The man smiled, “Very good.”

As she continued to work within the pool, Khal’jaren finally broke his silence. “Why did you double Hromagh’s blessing in her?”

From the shadows of the trees beyond, Jomil remained within darkness, “I needed to extract justice upon Cain Rhyolite in the most ironic way. Her father was a survivor of the massacre her grandfather extracted.”

Khal’jaren continued to watch the pool, listening to his fellow Thayne.

“She is a descendant of both Cain and the peoples he worked to slay. It was too wry of an opportunity to pass up.”

Khal’jaren blinked, closing the images in the pool. As the pool returned to a more natural appearance of still, clear waters, he spoke. “Gwenael did have a point, regardless of his disrespect and boldness. Since her birth you moved on.”

“A mere mortal, no matter how blessed, is not my responsibility.”

Khal’jaren frowned, “Neither is your son, apparently.”

Jomil spat venom, “I do not care what happens to him, he is not mine!”

Khal’jaren folded his hands in meditative prayer, internally sighing, “You still created him.”

The sound of leaves stirring announced her departure.

We were but outcasts
Forsaken by those we needed most
We could rust to dust in time's moving past
Or we could fight together, reclaiming hope

“Why did I choose you? Well… I have a history of following Jomil’s actions closely. When I saw what she did to you, and your life story, I felt something stir inside… I saw we were one in the same.”

Lesser Mistakes.
Basic Judgment

Rewards:

Flamebird receives:
1170 EXP
130 Gold

"Right beneath the numerous sufferings in life lies the precious gift called success."

Auliq-i email

All rewards have been added.