The Lost Can be Found

Virga... Her curiosity pleases you. But more than that ‐ her fire. Something cousin to a smile tilts across your face. You hold her gaze evenly, your dark eyes bottomless. Reserved. You give little away easily, and in truth you wish she had fewer questions, but you sense this is important. If you want to achieve your goals, you need to put aside your distaste for formalities. Gods are fought with belief as much as they are fought with weapons. So you nod. "This place took me as well," You respond. "My family. Most of my homeland. The... god here, Kisamoa, slew our gods and dragged us into this place. Left my home a smoking crater in the ground." Here you pause, ears flattening back, teeth grinding. How you want to tear him, crush him, kill him again and again and again. Your eyes grow vacant, farther and farther away until with a start you turn back to the stranger. Blink. It's an effort, dragging yourself up from anger. From the past. "I don't know how many are here," you tell her. Your voice is softer now, flatter, as if part of you is still far away. You find it difficult to remember her questions. "Most of them don't know what they're doing. They're cowards. Resigned to it, I think." You hate them almost as much as you do Kisamoa. Your tail lashes, a black whip cracking against your flanks. Shifting your weight, you step back and then a few paces to the side, to get a better look at her. "You're not from Helovia..." This much is obvious. You find you don't particularly care where she is from, because it isn't here. And so many of your kin are spineless. "My name is Virga," you managed finally. Still. Still, still, still as deep water. Your eyes focused. Intense. "My grandmother was the god of the moon in Helovia, the wisest and most powerful of the pantheon. In her name, I am going to find Kisamoa and I am going to rip him apart until he stays apart." With a stamp of your hoof, you utter a loud, impatient snort. "You might help, if you think you can." light shines brighter in the dark

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