Inactive
“Tell them that if they won’t do as I say, I’ll kill their firstborn,” Rhi said, rubbing her belly. “Oh, and while you’re up, would you mind getting me some sorbet? Uh, shuura flavored.”
The messenger departed, leaving her alone in her private suite. Well, she wasn’t alone for long. The High Priest Pushan arrived not long after, bowing low before her couch.
“Stand up,” she ordered. “Ooh, tell me you have good news.”
Pushan rose, gathering his robes around him. His horns were painted, and his aged face was marked by symbols carved into the very bone of his skull. “Forgive me, Goddess. Your scouts have returned with reports from the north. They say that Moroz has appeared there.”
“Moroz,” she echoed. “As in, the Winter God?”
Pushan nodded sadly. “I can think of no worse a time for him to return.”
He spoke with such graveness, Rhi couldn’t help but get serious. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“The Pantheon is in turmoil.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Rhi had been the cause of much of the turmoil, after all. “But what does that mean for Moroz?”
“It was prophesied that the Winter God would return to have his revenge upon the other gods. Especially the Autumn God, who dismembered him and scattered the pieces of his body across the north.”
“Lysius did that? What a little chit.”
“Well, to be fair, Moroz backstabbed Lysius first.” At a glare from Rhi, Pushan quickly got to the point. “Ever since then, we’ve had no snow or ice here in the south. But the prophecy foretold that the return of Moroz would bring with it a long, bitter, vengeful winter.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to go and see if this is the real Moroz.” Just then the messenger arrived with her shuura sorbet. “Thank you. Uh, don’t mention this whole Moroz thing to anyone else, Pushan. Don’t tell them where I’m going, either.”
“Of course, Goddess.”
The messenger departed, leaving her alone in her private suite. Well, she wasn’t alone for long. The High Priest Pushan arrived not long after, bowing low before her couch.
“Stand up,” she ordered. “Ooh, tell me you have good news.”
Pushan rose, gathering his robes around him. His horns were painted, and his aged face was marked by symbols carved into the very bone of his skull. “Forgive me, Goddess. Your scouts have returned with reports from the north. They say that Moroz has appeared there.”
“Moroz,” she echoed. “As in, the Winter God?”
Pushan nodded sadly. “I can think of no worse a time for him to return.”
He spoke with such graveness, Rhi couldn’t help but get serious. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“The Pantheon is in turmoil.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Rhi had been the cause of much of the turmoil, after all. “But what does that mean for Moroz?”
“It was prophesied that the Winter God would return to have his revenge upon the other gods. Especially the Autumn God, who dismembered him and scattered the pieces of his body across the north.”
“Lysius did that? What a little chit.”
“Well, to be fair, Moroz backstabbed Lysius first.” At a glare from Rhi, Pushan quickly got to the point. “Ever since then, we’ve had no snow or ice here in the south. But the prophecy foretold that the return of Moroz would bring with it a long, bitter, vengeful winter.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to go and see if this is the real Moroz.” Just then the messenger arrived with her shuura sorbet. “Thank you. Uh, don’t mention this whole Moroz thing to anyone else, Pushan. Don’t tell them where I’m going, either.”
“Of course, Goddess.”