//------------------------------//
// Entry Three 
// Story: The Hermit's Tale 
// by BlackRoseRaven 
//------------------------------//

Entry Three

The council meeting went well enough, which was... I want to say necessary, considering how bad the rest of the day ends up being. I'm sitting here now, watching the enchanted quill write over the roll of parchment on the table. To my surprise, the quill ran out of paper a few paragraphs after the last chapter ending, and it was.. writing illegible notes over the top of the desk. So I had to turn it off, so to speak, and wash off the desk, and then find a much-larger roll of parchment for it to use. I'll have to remember to check it more often.
Now, I suppose I should go back over the events that made today just so memorable. I sigh tiredly, reaching up to rub at my temples slowly. God, I want to think about anything except for this misery, I really do. I'm tired and sore and questioning myself, and... I hate questioning myself. I hate sitting here, wondering... too many things. Thinking too many thoughts.
I look around my private study, at how... well... how empty it is. I have one or two landscapes on the wall and... a shelf of nonfiction and supplies, and... that's about it. Almost all of my Valhalla-related projects and papers are relegated to my work study, while this is meant more for my personal time, to avoid mixing business into my life outside of administrating Valhalla. I do have a life outside of being quote-unquote 'god,' after all.
Look at that. The quill apparently picks up on me better than I thought it would. It knew not to capitalize 'god.' Then again, not even a quill would mistake me for an entity worthy of proper noun status. I'm just... a puppet.
I shake my head briskly and rub quickly at my temples. No, no, no, don't start going down that path. I have escaped Valthrudnir, and I choose my own life and my own destiny. Odin trusted in me, and he would not have trusted in me if I was just some... homunculus. I'm more than what I am...
That doesn't make any sense. Oh for Mimir's sake, why is it so hard to focus?
I groan and drop my head into my hands for a moment, breathing, calmly myself down, focusing on the beat of my heart. I take a moment to step back and consider where I am now, compared to the world I came from: no longer forced to stay a spectacle in a glass cage, putting on little shows for Valthrudnir. I'm no longer getting... large sticks rammed through me or forced to dance and prance around like a fool or recite the death monologues of his enemies... well, what Valthrudnir imagined their death monologues would have been. I still remember most of them...
I shake my head and reach up to carefully brush my bangs back, then smooth down my mane, breathing slowly in and out, calming further as I think that... yes, I have come a long way. I've escaped a terrible fate, and I can be proud of that, even if all I did was... outlast Valthrudnir's tortures until the long period where he was simply... gone.
I think about that for a moment, sitting up a little. How Valthrudnir would come and go as he pleased, every now and then draining my blood or getting me to put on 'performance pieces' for him, and then there would be a long string of years where he wouldn't return. Where I would be able to lay quietly in my glass cage, or meditate, or...
Well, why pretend I was always dignified? There was plenty of crying and pleading. There was calling out, praying, screaming for help from... gods I was scared in my heart would be as cruel and monstrous as Valthrudnir. And there was trying uselessly to force my way out of my prison, but... Valthrudnir's design was careful, and flawless. Easy to open from the outside. An impossible cage to escape from the inside, no matter how strong or smart you were.
It's funny how these thoughts settle me: I think it's because... they're so far in the past now. They're where I've come from, what I've escaped, and I've lived long enough to know the memory of them can't hurt me. Make me uncomfortable, certainly. But harm me? Not at all.
I breathe slowly, in and out. I rest forwards, and look down at the quill, and think of today's events: they're too close to the present still to have that same strange, bittersweet comfort about them, but assuming I live long enough... one day, they will. For now, though, they make me worried, and... that's probably why I'm having such a hard time stopping stalling and just getting to the point. Dammit.
So let's... try and focus through this. Maybe it will let me... figure things out for myself, as well. I still feel off balance from how fast things moved, how... I was caught by surprise that the meeting with the council finished so smoothly and quickly... and then surprised again, in a much less-pleasant way, when I arrive at the meeting chambers and find that the Greater Heaven emissaries are already here, and waiting for me.
I know why Aria dislikes them: it's not just because they're so... so different, and alien. It's because they're so utterly distant and detached. The way they look down on us, the way they seem to think of themselves as... above. They're cold. Although, yes, how purely... different they are from us doesn't help very much, either.
How can I describe them? I've worked with all kinds of races, many of them vastly different from ours, but all of them still have this... this spark inside them, this sameness that lets us connect from one to the other with them. But there's no common ground between us and the Angels of Greater Heaven... or, as they prefer to be called, the Pious.
The Pious are... awful. I know I should try and be more... more positive about our allies, but there's just no other word that comes to mind, no better-fitting descriptor. They're awful. Even to a creature like me, made from a mishmash of different and alien pieces, these beings are difficult to look at, difficult not to judge... and what somehow makes it all the worse is the fact they simply don't seem to care about anything.
I think, finally, I've begun to understand the Nephilim, Selene. She was a being of immense power, and yet her only emotions were... muted, and seemed somehow all very... child-like. On the occasions where I was forced to deal with the Overseer myself, she always wanted to check with Brynhild about every little detail, and it was only recently that I understood... these weren't delaying tactics, played out simply to annoy me. It was her way of expressing the few emotions that were trying to overwhelm her Pious genetics: it was a woman who wanted to be Brynhild's daughter, trying to impress her adopted mother.
If I had gotten to know Selene more, I think I would have better understood the Pious. What drives them, what's beneath their... their faceless features. They do not look like Selene: Selene always took the shape of these ponies, as I do. Another point showing that she at least wanted to try and be like us: the Pious do not take our shape. The Pious have their own... mangled, awful shapes.
I can't describe them. Mouths, but no lips, and no face: just smooth, rubbery flesh. Large, square teeth, but I've never seen them eat, nor do their mouths move when they speak. Over the years, I've only ever been able to decipher two expressions: one is a stretching like a grin, that seems to mean disdain and disagreement. The other is an opening of those strange jaws, showing off their teeth, spewing their rancid breath into the air... it means they sense weakness, and vulnerability.
They're very tall... like most bipeds and humanoids, they stand on two legs, and they have two... arms. But their arms are... have more joints to them. Usually three, sometimes... sometimes more. They stick out near the middle of their bodies. And many of them have a second set of upper limbs, that stretch out of their backs, where the shoulderblades would be on a humanoid or pony. They're... straighter, with fewer joints, but they seem to be filled with cartilage instead of bone, and they have... the strangest long-fingered... they're almost too unnatural to be called hands.
They are... the Pious are not just, different, they're apart, do you understand? It's... it's so hard to even put into thought, let alone words. It's this instinct, this... thing that you just know by looking at them. That they're nothing like you, that there's as much... distance between you and them as there is between your living, breathing self and a machine that's been programmed to... recite prayer, and kill.
So when I had three of them already waiting for me, dressed in their... strange vestments... I think I was understandably a little concerned. They're usually very particular about times and schedules, careful to never be early, and never be late. So you can understand the multitude of reasons why I'd be less than happy to find them already waiting for me.
The Pious seem to have... some kind of hierarchy system. It's not one I'm entirely familiar with yet, thanks to the fact they won't actually tell us anything about their own culture. All they respond is that they are the servants of the 'One,' the 'True God,' 'He Of The Many Countless Faces,' and... many, many other names for the entity they serve. It's... I don't know why, but it's unsettling.
It bothers me that I can't... seem to figure out their motives, what they are... even who they really are. Every other divinity I've met with, every other... force of some Heaven or Hell that exists out there, across different planes or worlds, I've been able to learn about, get to know, understand more than a little. I can speak dozens of languages and know a hundred different methods to show respect to a hundred different cultures. And these creatures... all I can do is repress my shivers and nod politely.
One of them crosses its strange, multi-jointed arms over its chest in a gesture that I still have yet to decipher the meaning of, and its jaws stretch a little open: even from where I was standing I could smell the stink of its breath. Sweet, and rotten, and... unpleasant. Like it's... dead inside. Mimir's head, that thought makes me shudder.
I shake myself out, then take a breath and a pause, fighting back that... that chill that always comes on every time I start thinking too much about the Pious. That was always there, but what's made it worse lately is that... what Excelsior brought up. Hidden agendas, and not acting like myself and... all my worries that maybe Gymbr knows something, is after something.
I haven't seen him lately. I feel terrible for bringing him here, still, but... at the same time, there's still that stupid hope that I did the right thing. And even though some paranoid part of my screams that maybe Gymbr and the Pious have some... I don't know, hidden, conspiratory agenda together... the part of me that always has been and always will be logical and calm and calculating doesn't believe this is at all possible.
Gymbr, after all, is... passion, and animal, at his core. And he has helped me, just as Hel has helped me... oh Aesir past, why are all my strongest allies also the ones I want the least to do with? Or... no. Maybe that's a lie. Gymbr... I don't know. I really don't know. It's too complicated, made all the worse by his lashing out and attempts to reel himself back in and now this soulstone project.
Everyone wants something. The Pious wanted something, too: as the others make that same odd gesture, it speaks. They speak through psychic signals, sending out these... echoes. They speak in no language and every language at once, into the minds of everyone around them... it's... it takes some getting used to.
They don't waste time on formalities: they don't care about names, or introductions, or small talk. In a way, they're like the Skin Walkers that help protect Looking Glass World and a few other layers of reality... but these creatures aren't any kind of Guardian Elemental. Even the Skin Walkers I can still find common ground with, we can interact with others as equals. With the Pious, there's... no sense of equality, but in some ways there's not a sense of them holding themselves as 'superior,' either: they're simply too... different.
We were supposed to have a discussion over... trade rights, alliances, little details. The point was much less in actually figuring anything out, but engaging in mostly-pointless bureaucracy in order to have face time with one another, so I could perhaps decode a little more of their strange culture and they could inspect Valhalla, and hopefully... I don't know. Find common ground with us? Stop holding themselves so... so distant and apart from us?
I think the one in the center, the... 'leader,' so to speak, was the one who said it was Selene's mother. But they all look the same to me, and all it said to begin the conversation was: “The One desires to know if we may spread our Sacred Word to your people. This will be beneficial for us both. We will build Sanctuaries and protect your layers of Midgard, and some of your people will come to acknowledge the True God.”
“Ponies have their own gods and religions already.” was all I could think of to say. Even now I'm a little disappointed in myself that was the best stalling tactic I could come up with, whether or not the Pious caught me off guard.
The Pious didn't reply. It probably knew it didn't have to, and the fact it left me digging for my thoughts or a counterargument somehow... bothered me even more. It still bothers me, as a matter of fact. Even now I'm trying to sort out my thoughts more, think of what I could have said... but all I really managed to ask during that uneasy conversation, to try and stall for more time, was: “What would these... Sanctuaries entail? These worlds are the territory of Valhalla...”
“Even though you do not make your presence known to all? Even though there are many layers of reality that do not know of their deities? Even though ponies worship many gods and look to many religions for guidance, with those who watch over them so... absent?” The Pious' response is etched into my brain even now. It's an effect of their... chosen method of speech. And also probably because the thing is so quick to poke holes in arguments I haven't even made yet, and I regret ever underestimating their capability in a debate. But they so rarely do anything but make demands I thought the only discussion tool any of them possessed was declaring things righteously at me until I agreed.
There was silence, as the creature looked at me with its jaws slightly spread, in that... that uncomfortably-eager expression. It unsettles me just to remember. It makes me think I missed something important... they so rarely have tells, after all. They so rarely get excited, or interested, or push their agendas so much...
I tried to stall again. I was desperate at the time, ready to fall back on any argument I could make to try and get them off balance so I could even the odds. It felt, somehow, like I was fighting a war, not just in a debate with creatures that were supposed to be my allies... wait, debate? It wasn't even a debate, really, was it? But why did it feel like a conflict or an attack when the creature was just asking questions... was technically trying to offer help...
I don't know why I risked the question I did. I don't know why it sprung to mind as a good idea, when I asked: “Will you cloak your true forms, like Selene did?”
I remember how fast the Pious' jaw snapped shut. If it had eyes, I knew it would be glaring at me. As it is, I remember feeling... this intense pressure bearing down on me. This uncomfortable prickling, but what came next is far more significant.
“We do not speak of the excommunicated, nor do we hide our faces. We are proud to be the Host of the One True God.”
And then, there was the faintest twitch that all three shared before they straightened and crossed their arms over themselves again, reaffirming the gesture. That helped me see it, helped me understand what had just happened.
After years of never learning anything about them, keeping themselves to themselves, never letting anything shine through... they had just revealed something to me. And they had confirmed something else, as well: even if Selene came from these... 'angels,' she was nothing like them, and they had discarded her. They had originally come to me, acting superior, saying they would be 'merciful' and not 'demand justice' or 'recompense' for the way we had 'used' Selene, but... it seems they never really cared about her after all.
I wasn't surprised by it, but it was necessary proof. Now I could refute the patronizing way they would hold Selene's death over my head, push back a little. More than that, they showed... they may possess alien emotions, but they still have something like anger inside them. Yet all the same, not perhaps in the way we feel it... I've had time to think about it, and understood finally, I think, why it reacted so badly. Because something about Selene – not her power, not her strangeness – made her 'mother' discard her. Something that has to do with their strange belief system, that made her a heretic to whatever teachings they follow... and if they're protective of anything, it's their so-called 'Holy Word.'
I remember that there was silence for what felt like the longest time, before the creature finally asked, as if nothing had changed, nothing was wrong: “Will you allow for us to place our Sanctuaries in several of your worlds? Our only desire is that we are able to spread our word to your people.”
I couldn't say no. But saying yes felt... dangerous. It felt like an invasion... passive, certainly, and the Pious had never shown any indication of aggression apart from the irritating way they seem to assume that their One True God is some... divinity beyond the divine, inferring that somehow their deity made all our deities and everything else... but only an idiot would think there wasn't some secondary motive here.
But denying them... unfortunately, I couldn't risk that, either, much as I wanted to. I still believe they're... necessary allies. Or maybe I just believe we have to try and stay on their good side: the last thing we need is to go to war with another Heaven. I know that commonly, the 'strong' politicians are depicted as being forceful, powerful, not swaying or giving ground: but mortal politicians have short lives, and do not need to plan for possibilities a thousand years in the future, and usually only care about dealing with the specific groups that keep them in power.
It's not like I don't overhear the warriors of Valhalla... and some of them don't seem to understand I speak their old tongue perfectly well, so I know precisely what it means when they call me a skartsmaðr. They think of me as soft and weak because I am willing to yield to outside influences, and try to work through negotiation instead of force. They conveniently forget all the times I've held my ground against aggressors, that I have never permitted a single moment of interference with Valhalla's affairs or any of the layers of Midgard by outside forces, and that under my watch Valhalla has been flourishing.
Yes, I would love nothing more than to... to tell Greater Heaven to go back where they came from. I want to have Hel's ambassadors and minions thrown back into the pit they crawled out of, with rocks poured down after them for good measure. Nothing would give me a greater pleasure than having the miscreant little godlings who act like Valhalla is some... college fraternity they can crash and party at, bound and gagged and strung up by varying appendages like birthday ornaments.
But acting on these impulses could destroy everything we've built. We're no longer a clan of indomitable warrior and nature gods, guarded by a peerless fighting force known as Valkyries. We're a handful of divine beings that qualify as 'gods' mostly by technicality, with very few truly adept warriors, heavily reliant on the help of the goddess who often all-too-gleefully refers to herself as 'Heaven's archenemy' and the demons she provides us.
I understand pride and ego, I do. I'm... as I've confessed, those have contributed to my own problems. And what I also remember is that pride and ego are what cost Odin everything, and are at the root of what destroyed Valhalla. And so, while bowing one's head can hurt, it's better than having your neck broken. Wounded pride and ego hurt badly, but they're like scrapes: minor, tiny injuries that will ache badly for a short time, then quickly fade away.
And I think that's why I was forced to settle on a solution that I knew would not end pleasantly for me, but... it was also the safest option available. Even if I was already dreading what it will undoubtedly lead to. “I will allow you to set up one Sanctuary in a monitored layer, what we refer to as Looking Glass World. If this first... test is successful and there are no major problems or disturbances, I'll allow you to set up two more Sanctuaries, in other monitored layers.”
“We ask that you allow us to build two Sanctuaries; we will accept your terms of placement for both, but we are eager to spread the Holy Word of the True God.” responded the Pious. I could sense its intentness. I remember that feeling of mental pressure again... and for some reason, Gymbr came to mind. Lingering, uneasy thoughts of that... entity, the way he talked, how hard it was to deny even his softest words. There was a strange similarity there, but it didn't make these creatures any more understandable to me... it just made Gymbr feel like he might be more alien than I first thought.
Why is it so hard to focus on one thing? This should be easy, but... I keep... straying. I'm worried, and uneasy, and my thoughts keep turning away from the conversation down all these other paths and tangents, and I feel like something... is sitting there on the horizon. I have to get it together: I once scheduled thirty hours of work into a twenty hour day and still finished early. How can I not handle keeping my thoughts in line on a simple summary?
I suppose the exact details aren't that important, anyway. What's important is that our negotiations reached an unexpected turn, and the compromise we settled on... well, I feel that I've done my best. A little anxious about what the reaction of the Valkyries – particularly ever-volatile Brynhild – will be, but... I've done my best to minimize the reach of Greater Heaven, while at the same time maintain positive relations with the Pious.
Strange, though: they agreed to one Sanctuary in Looking Glass World, if they were allowed to build what they referred to as a Cenobium in Asgard, outside of Valhallan territory. Although it is... worrisome in some regards, that they would ask to do this... at the same time, it will give me a chance to observe their culture more directly. And from what they described, the Cenobium is like a self-enclosed dormitory, or monastery: I plan to keep a close eye on them, but I think it's a sign they're... trying to find a way to close that distance between us.
The Pious are not... hostile, after all. They are far from friendly, seem to look down on us, and are extremely secretive and... simply alien, but they are not hostile. At least, that's what I keep telling myself, to try and... give them more of a chance. Although... I suppose it shows that... I'm not at all fond of them, and they contribute more than I'd like to my anxieties. I can't help it, much as I try to be fair. There's something about them, something deeper than how xenomorphic they look, how forceful and patronizing they seem, how... distant they are...
I'm getting paranoid. But as my thoughts sift back and forth uneasily, insisting on... rehashing every little detail again and again, an odd memory comes to mind. It's about Selene, who feels like an important link, a clue of some kind, the piece of the puzzle I need to make fit to make Greater Heaven make sense...
She used to say that Brynhild reminded her of her mother. But nothing about these Pious reminds me of Brynhild: she is a creature of very raw, very powerful passion, they are... well, I've spent a lot of time by now trying unsuccessfully to describe what I think of them, there's no point in wasting more words on that subject.
Still, one of the Pious has claimed to be Selene's mother, and while there are obvious tactical and political advantages in making that claim... deception doesn't seem to be either their strong point, or their modus operandi. When they don't want to answer a question, they simply don't answer; when they want to change a subject, they change the subject; when they desire something, they ask for it... or demand it.
But the subject of Selene is... strange. Maybe... I don't know much about parentage apart from what I've gleaned from sociological studies and psychology texts, but maybe Selene saw her blood mother differently, not just because of who she was, but because she was her daughter. I feel like I'm grasping at straws here, though, trying to understand something I... I admittedly have a very difficult time grasping myself.
I never had parents, after all, nor friends, nor kin... I just had... Valthrudnir. And then Odin, and the All Father was always... a generous mentor to me, and treated me with compassion. Compassion that made it even harder for me to believe all the old stories in the archive about him: but I suppose no one really wants to believe the bad things about the people they... that they look up to.
I think about this for too long, my hands nervously reaching up to tighten my tie and play with the material. Finally, I realize what I'm doing and quickly lace my fingers together to force them to stop trying to... neaten everything. I sit down, I breathe slowly, and I just... try and stop for a moment.
Even if the Pious have some... nefarious agenda, even if Gymbr is somehow involved – and even though some scared, struggling little part of me is terrified this is possible, the rest of me knows the very idea of this is ludicrous, if not impossible – and even if I've allowed Greater Heaven to gain a small foothold... really, how much can they accomplish without being noticed? In Looking Glass World, the Strange Ones and the Valkyries will both be watching them like hawks. In Asgard, even outside of Valhalla's territory, even if they set up all manner of wards and defenses, there's little they'll be able to blind our eyes to.
I suppose so far I've never really... explained Asgard, have I? That Valhalla... 'Heaven,' as the ponies call it... doesn't just sit alone as its own plane, but is part of a... a much larger world, so to speak. Rather, the Vale of Valhalla is an ever-expanding meadow, kept abundant and growing by magic energies while at the same time never pushing past its predetermined borders. It's a time-space paradox enabled by applying mathematical chaos theory to dimensional-altering magic on the molecular level... except I think that's a little too difficult to explain as part of this little narrative, and I... honestly dislike thinking about it. My own magic could never be as powerful as the magic that runs rampant through this world. It's humbling, if not embarrassing.
The Vale of Valhalla is protected on all sides by the Giant's Denial: an impassable wall charged with magic energies. The barrier was designed to resist the efforts of the Jötnar to enter Valhalla, and so far it's proven unbreachable by any means. The Gates of Valhalla are the only way in and out – apart from a direct portal from another plane, of course – and unfortunately they are a little less sturdy than the walls: they can be forced open with enough brute force.
Asgard itself is a fairly wild world. The flora and fauna are very different from the mortal realm, and everything possesses a sense of magic. What we refer to as 'wild spirits' roam here and there, Pales and other specters that have found peace not inside the Vale, but instead being part of the strange and beautiful ecosystem of this... strange and beautiful world.
I mean, aesthetically beautiful, of course. The colors are vibrant, the flowers and wildlife are pleasant to look at and rarely emit any sense of hostility, there's a strong atmosphere of safety and balance. Of course, anyone venturing outside the walls of the Vale is very rare: not just because many of the Blessed don't care to know that they're actually inside a self-contained little world, but because the Vale is... their paradise. There's pleasures and work to be done, there's comforts and luxuries, and the fact alone that they live in Heaven now has a sort of... placebo effect. The simple knowledge of where they are soothes the ponies in a way that the magic of Valhalla is not entirely responsible for.
Of course, some do still seek the adventures that lay in Asgard's many realms: it is a large world, filled with the unknown and magic, territories owned only by land spirits and animals and nature, and all manner of natural supernatural phenomenon.
Natural supernatural. What kind of wording is that? This is so much harder than I thought it would be. Why can't my thoughts just line themselves up and fall into place?
I sit back and shake my head slowly, but my thoughts linger on Asgard's wilds for a moment. It's because at first I didn't understand what kind of insanity could possess people to want to venture into the unknown while having all this safety and security right here... but... more and more, I think I'm starting to know why. How staying in the same place for so long, doing the same things over and over again... it can grow stagnant.
I have these... strange thoughts sometimes, after all. I am an administrator first and foremost, no warrior, and I would never dream of being one, but... all the same, I still wonder sometimes what it would be like to... to go out there. To journey a little, and see this strange world that the Gods lived in and fought to control, to explore the ruins that once housed civilizations that no longer exist and see all of Odin and Frigg and the other gods' projects.
I suppose that's just the blood of the Aesir in me, calling for adventure, though... and maybe the blood of the Vanir, who were so joined with nature. But I'm not really Aesir, nor am I Vanir... I simply... am an administrator. So these instincts are best... simply ignored.
I mean, the thought is ludicrous. Me, out there, trying to be an adventurer. I am a creature of schedules and habits and nightly tea, not... war and battle. Yes, I have many means by which to defend myself, but not to act as an aggressor in any situation. I am far from suited to violence: I prefer to monitor battles from a safe distance and control the field through tactics and strategy.
I shake myself out, and then my hands reach up and smooth out my dress jacket before I look up towards the ceiling. I wonder how the Pious are going to fair, outside of Valhalla's walls and in Asgard. The strange magical energies that permeate the air of the wildlands, as we call them, will undoubtedly interfere with any of their magic... they might even find the world hostile towards them, for lack of a better term.
There's sort of a vindictive pleasure in that thought: they'll be trying to build their Cenobium in a place that won't at all be receptive to their presence, trying to instill order in the most wild of wild lands. I really shouldn't enjoy the fact even their strange kind will likely have to struggle to even build the foundation of what they claim will be such a mighty complex. Yet I do, all the same... and really, this is the essence of my negotiating strategy. Appear to bargain from a position of weakness and allow the opponent to press the advantage, until they end up a victim of their own demands. I've heard the irritating Draconequus that often accompanies Freya everywhere refer to what I do as bait-and-switch.
The Pious... Hel... and Gymbr. My thoughts turn to the last now. Strange as the Pious are, they are not my biggest concern. Gymbr is. And while I know I should likely be preparing in advance for Hel's twisted little game, at the same time I feel like... I have to figure out what he wants with this soulstone orb first and foremost.
Yet I trust him. I sympathize with him and I trust him even though I know I shouldn't, even if my soul screams that I'm being a naïve idiot. I sigh softly and run my hand through my mane nervously: I don't know what to think, I don't know what to do. I almost look forwards to when the Valkyries undoubtedly come knocking to find out what Greater Heaven is doing, building one of their temples on their world.
I think... maybe I should confess to what I've done. Except I know that if Gymbr senses I've even considered telling the Valkyries he still exists, that I saved him from Decretum before I quarantined it more than a decade ago... he'll undoubtedly do unpleasant things to me. Call me a coward if you want, say I'm an idiot for trapping myself in his own claws, but all the same... that's the situation I'm in.
Worse, part of me sympathizes with why he doesn't want to be seen, understands why he wishes to hide from the world. When Odin first found me, I... I remember cowering, afraid. And after fear came humiliation: having to be helped out of my cage, a naked mass of... tumorous, ugly flesh, a quilt made from the pieces of a hundred others.
I spent... many years hidden away in Valhalla. Lurking in the back rooms, a secret: not because Odin wanted to hide me from his unpleasant allies, but because I pleaded like a child with him to not tell anyone about me. I didn't want to be seen by the world; I was afraid of it, and I was afraid of people, and I was afraid of... everything, really.
Odin kept me company often, and eventually I allowed him to introduce his child to me. I knew so little of the world even then that... I never thought it strange this falcon-headed old man had a son who was a horse. And Sleipnir certainly never thought it was anything necessary to explain himself. But through Sleipnir, I began to get a better grasp of the world... mostly because he was so insistent on dragging me along on his adventures, whether I liked it or not.
He often took me outside the walls of the castle: he'd trot happily through the Vale, flirting with mares and doing his best to spread his cheer with everyone. No one seemed to find it strange I would always end up riding along on his back, usually dressed in a cloak or loose suit to hide my damaged and mishmash body.
I studied these ponies from my safe perch on Sleipnir, letting him draw all the attention to himself while I simply watched. I rarely joined in conversation, and usually ignored the ponies that greeted me or Sleipnir's attempts to make me talk. I wasn't... comfortable with the thought of interacting with creatures that back then, I thought only of as Odin's pets. I... looked down upon them. I unconsciously acted like Valthrudnir, thinking of them as inferior, as nothing more than golems of flesh that served Odin.
Yet Odin was good to them. He treated them better than I thought they deserved, and he worked hard to make sure they were happy in this... Heaven. The numbers in the Vale have grown steadily as more ponies trickle up from the worlds, but... not all souls find peace here in the Vale of Valhalla, and our numbers of Blessed are not as great as you would think with... so many ponies of so many worlds all congregating here.
From my research into the subject, I've deduced that it's our personal beliefs that play a part in where we end up. Not just so-called 'sin' and 'virtue,' nor what we rationally or morally deserve... but personal belief. If a pony truly believes that their death is their death, and will be the end to their existence, that will be what they are given. If they believe in something apart from the Vale of Valhalla... then often, their soul never passes into this plane of paradise, but goes... I don't know where.
Unlike Helheim, which is divided up into slices that are each assigned a few worlds, therefore mostly avoiding too many instances of different versions of the same pony from multiple layers meeting, the Vale is one massive, open area. All the same, 'communities' have formed across its reaches: cities and settlements and little towns, often all populated by ponies of the same or very similar worlds. We have had instances, of course, where multiple 'version's of a pony have met: that is to say, Pegasus A from Layer 1 meets Pegasus A from Layer 2, who is recognizably 'twinned,' much as I loathe the completely incorrect use of that term.
An explanation that there are multiple layers is usually provided during our quote-unquote 'introduction sessions' for those who have just arrived in Valhalla. As is also explained that the Blessed generally take on the appearance of the time in life when they were happiest, modified slightly by a mortal's self-image. A pony who died of old age, but was happiest as a youth, for example, might have the appearance of a teenager: if he was confident in himself, then that will translate directly into his physical appearance, making him perhaps... more handsome, more neat in overall form.
It's a simple, short summary for a long, complicated process. People do not merely... pop into Valhalla, magically intact, fully aware of their surroundings, what's happened to them, and the bodies they are in. It takes adjustment and time, which is why I've begun a sort of community outreach program, so to speak.
I let my thoughts spill to an end. It's funny, explaining all this, when I know these scrolls will likely be found by someone in Valhalla... except more and more, I think... I think I should prepare a method to deliver them to Looking Glass World if something happens to me. They would have a better chance of reaching Freya that way, and there would be less of a chance of them being destroyed or stolen or simply... discarded.
And once again I find myself back on the subject of Gymbr, whether I meant to be or not. I sigh, looking down, rubbing slowly at my face. I can't... stop wanting to believe in the deity, and I can't stop seeing the similarities between us. After all, he clearly could wear any guise he wanted... but he chooses to be a pony, like the ponies he was made from, like the ponies he claims to want to protect. I too, chose the guise of a pony, even if I like to retain my ability to walk on two legs and complex hands.
I look down at these, studying their shiny luster. How the ponies manage to do so many things with their hooves, I'll never know. Even Gymbr has his claws...
I touch my neck, taking a slow breath, then I frown a little as my fingers shift, feeling my pulse. Fast, a little erratic... have I really allowed my anxieties to get this bad? By Mimir's head, why am I letting this all get to me so much? I've lived through worse, and whether or not Gymbr is a danger, whether or not the Pious have some plan... I'm doing what I can to minimize the damage all these things can do.
I pick myself up out of the chair, shake myself out, then head for the door, not looking back. I feel like I've forgotten something as I let myself out of the private study, but I disregard it. As always, I double-check to make sure the door is locked and secured, and absently draw a finger over the blood seal on the door: this is the one ward that even Gymbr cannot bypass without me knowing, thanks to the fact it's crafted from my own... unique... blood.
Unique blood. A euphemism if there ever was one, as I stride moodily down the corridor. Although made originally as just a trophy and testament to Valthrudnir's genius, my blood has certain... interesting properties, thanks to the fact it's made from the stuff of so many gods mixed together. Valthrudnir used my blood like chemical fuel for his disgusting creations and machines, among other things. I know that was never my intended purpose at first, but... like... I don't know, like a flower, I suppose, I was grown for my appearance before he discovered my life essence could be used for... oh I hate metaphors. Why am I trying to think of a metaphor for this, it's not like...
I groan and roll my eyes. That's what I forgot, to remove the enchantment for tonight from the quill. I throw my arms wide and turn around, grumbling as I begin to storm back down the hall: thankfully, there's only a few people standing around to observe me, and by now I have the feeling most of Valhalla thinks I'm nothing but an insane idiot anyway. Or a coward. Or a thousand other unpleasant things.
I stride back to my private study, but just as I grasp the door, a voice calls to me. I close my eyes tiredly: I want to drop my head against the door or ignore the approaching demon, but I know that I can't. So instead, I turn towards her as she grins and hurries up to me.
Have you ever known someone who, for all their good qualities, for all the nice things they do for you, for the way that even when they're twice your size, they seem to look up to you every time you meet them... have you ever met someone who for all these things, simply... irks you? Well, that is my relationship with Terra.
Terra smiles down at me, eagerly. I look up at her sourly. There's an awkward silence that feels... ridiculously long and uncomfortable, and I have to resist tapping my hoof or checking the pocketwatch in my vest. She's still smiling. She's still staring at me with those big, bright, babylike blue eyes of hers.
Which is very cute in a demonic dragon and all. A quadrupedal, towering demonic dragon with steel scales and razor-like spines and who wears jewelry made out of the teeth and bones of her enemies. With ease she could pick up a pony or a Nibelung and either fillet them into pieces with her claws or crush them down to the size of a pebble with her brute strength, and she's in possession of a wide variety of supernatural powers.
It's not that I'm not glad for her. It's not even that I don't like her, although part of me never will find the Pride demon... palatable. She's almost a match for a Destroyer with her draconic and demonic heritage, and she serves as mentor and trainer for the new Valkyries alongside several other powerful and trustworthy demons. It's that I've only just lately come to understand why Hel was so eager to pass Terra off onto my hands in spite of having once been a personal guard of the goddess at her beneath-the-universe estate.
Finally, I sigh and force a smile, asking despite the fact I want nothing more than to leave: “Yes, Commander Terra? What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to report that two more new Valkyries have completed initial training, sir. That brings the total of battle-ready rookies to ten.” Terra salutes me proudly, and I nod, and my smile becomes a little more natural. Sure, intensive, short-term training is nothing compared to the literal centuries of work that went into the original Valkyries, but from what I've seen, the trainers ensure that every new Valkyrie is capable of taking on at least a Second Tier demon in direct combat.
It's not much yet... but as they gain experience and train further, they'll grow stronger. I don't dare hope that one day they'll be as powerful as the old Valkyries, but... I do hope to carry on their memory and mission, and perhaps to pay tribute to them a little. I respect who they were, after all... the strength they had... and by that, I don't just mean their raw power.
Terra leans down a little too close for comfort, and I wince a bit: her breath is burning hot, although it smells more like chocolate than it does sulfur. “And Prestige Luster asked me to find out when the next date is that Antares Mīrus could visit and help her train. I've also been asked to ask about the Helheim exchange program again.”
I sigh tiredly: these are both topics I really don't want to discuss, and Terra keeps... sidling a little closer, like I'm not going to notice the giant dragon trying to all but cuddle up to me. I reach up and carefully push her head back with one hand, then say dryly: “Child of a Valkyrie or not, Antares does not get to simply flaunt the rules of life and death however he pleases. He is only permitted to visit when Freya or Brynhild visit, we've already agreed on this. Besides, Prestige is at the top of her class, even if she's not yet qualified for full Valkyrie status-”
“And the lass remains our top student precisely because of Antares.” wheedles Terra. Mimir's head it annoys me... admittedly because of the fact she's probably right. “He motivates her to work harder, and they teach each other well. Besides, Antares desires to be a Knight of Valhalla, and he's taken many steps forwards fortifying himself for this task.”
“Even if Antares is immortal or very near it, he is not permitted to simply... move into Valhalla just because he wants to.” I say crankily, my hand squeezing the doorhandle. I wish I could just go into my private study, but I don't want Terra to see the damn quill recording my damn thoughts. I also realize what could happen if the demonic dragon happens to read that I find her voice annoying and her overall demeanor childish... no, no, don't record that, don't write down these thoughts!
I know that order is futile already, and Terra is looking at me oddly, so I finally sigh tiredly. She's only like this with me. With others she's friendly, but she maintains professional distance... it must be because I'm in a position of authority, she seems to think that this extra-friendliness will make me cut her more slack. That's all I can think of, anyway. I really don't want to reinforce this behavior, but... when caught between a closed door and a clingy dragon... “Fine. I'll speak to Freya and Brynhild, I know that I'm going to have business with them shortly, and... I will make time to discuss with Antares the path he's chosen. But if he's only doing this for her...”
“He's not. I think we both know that, Lord Kvasir... and while I don't think he'd be happy as just a soldier guarding Heaven, I think it will help him find his real place. Just as I think Prestige will find hers. We all have our place in the world, sir, all of us.” Terra emphasizes the last sentence, and I frown at her curiously as she leans forwards pointedly.
Finally, she clears her throat and leans back, then smiles and reaches up a claw, holding up a small bracelet with several... teeth on it. And... are those claws? “I made this for you, sir. Just... just a gesture of goodwill.”
She blushes a little, which I find odd, but I'm a little too focused on the bracelet to care. It's... barbaric. I don't want to touch it, especially if it's made of... other demons. But oh no, she answers that worry for me right away, seeming to sense my discomfort as she babbles out: “Oh, it's... it's made of my own teeth and claws! You know they all grow right back, after all!”
Oh Mimir's head, how do I say no? How do I not accept this graciously? And she's looking at me with those big bright sensitive eyes and... she is a Pride demon, and expects certain etiquette and if I make her angry...
I reach up and take it, pinching it awkwardly between two fingers and trying not to shudder. I hold it up, and Terra leans down, urging: “Try it on, try it on!”
Oh, why does this happen to me?
There's a long, awkward moment where I just continue to stare, and then I finally sigh and slip it over my wrist, just... telling myself not to think about it. Far easier said than done, of course. Then I hold up my hand and study the bracelet uncomfortably, as Terra smiles brightly at me, leaning in a little too close again.
“Thank you.” I finally say awkwardly, looking up at her. She looks happy. I'm glad she's happy, really, I am, but I quickly turn and yank open the door, excusing myself lamely with: “I need to write a letter to Freya.”
The study door closes behind me before Terra can say anything, and I sigh tiredly and grab my face before grimacing and holding my arm out at length, looking moodily at the bracelet of teeth and claws around my wrist. Oh, Odin's ghost save me, why are all these creatures so strange?