87th of Zi’Da 720
Flesh of Sintra, false Divinity in a mortal shell, self-proclaimed Hierophant of Ignorance, Webspinner, Mage-locked by a band of paradigm; there were few better ways to display one’s vanity by attributing such titles, giving shape to syllables spoken breathlessly by idiots and ignoramuses.
It seemed that Emma Heen had tapped into these musings, when her phantasmal voice lilted into Woe’s ear. ”You’ve got to be the most miserable person who wasn’t on the verge of hanging himself.”
For once, Woe couldn’t disagree with her. He had to admit nothing he’d tried to do to shake up his life of freedom had worked. From landing in Yaralon, to the exodus to find his mother in Etzos, only to be disappointed with who she turned out to be. Then the entire drama with Emelia Enners and Llyr Llywellyn had thrown things farther into disarray. Although it'd cheered him after a fashion at the time, even his dream therapy sessions with Vega hadn't done enough to alleviate the sharp sadness. Perhaps the sadness was integral to who he was, and he couldn't outrun it. And by the time he exited the wartorn ruins of Quacia, having sampled a taste of the ending of a great civilization, his view toward the world took a sharply nihilistic turn.
So he tried to outrun his dark thoughts, by shipping off first to Viden, then traveling the Untold to Nashaki and back again. He’d even found a ring of Paradigm, that could tame his wayward sparks. But it was at the point when he slipped the ring on, when nothing changed, he realized the problem hadn’t been the sparks that infested his soul. The problem was at home everywhere he went, and it genuinely vexed him that the issue wasn’t something external to him. It was integral to his character.
”What do you suppose I ought to do about it?” Woe inquired of Emma, as her ethereal fingers worried at his shoulders, in mock concern.
”Do what you came to Viden to do. Wither away and die.” She said, carelessly, without any filter between her heart and her mouth, as ever.
So once again Woe slipped the simple band of cobalt around his finger. His whitened hair and complexion disappeared, replaced by long black hair, a pink complexion with a singular scar running down his cheek. His body put on weight, becoming less emaciated and drawn out, less thin. His mutations disappeared, granting him a reprieve from their mastery over his fate. He had determined, since coming here, that no alien parasite would lay claim to his fate. Let alone his soul. He wished to be free of them in the moments leading up to his death, the same as he had been before taking on the first witchmark.
So he gathered himself up, and piled on heavy wool clothing and furs. His finest clothing, and his mantle of magpie feathers over it all. There would be an opportunity to divest himself if it came to needing to accelerate his ending. There would be no Labrae this time to interfere with the death blow. Deep chill was the ultimate equalizer in terms of death. One could be strong, greatly skilled, and determined to survive. None of that mattered in the face of the chill of the deep ice fields of the North.
Woe would greet them as a friend, and slip beneath the blankets of their flakey snows, forgotten forever as he always wished to be.
Breaks later, the Mortalborn would find himself a walk of a few bits north of Viden, having passed through the city gates to seek out what he would find in the barren snow and ice fields. Concern tinged Breen’s voice as he followed, padding alongside Woe as he made his way farther north, Viden becoming a smaller and smaller block of ice in the southern Horizon the farther he got.
”Master! Where are we going?” He demanded, almost insisted with a whine. He rubbed against the man’sleg, trying to get his attention. As they got further afield from Viden, the diri’s mood became ever more palpable to Woe, even though his magic was gone from him in that moment, thanks to the trinket of paradigm.
”We go to find what we will find.” To shed the mortal coil, this tainted blood of Sintra and wasted life. He thought to himself, but partitioned the thought off with a bit of meditative flourish, so that the creature wouldn’t pick it up on the surface.
Breen was oblivious as usual anyways. He hopped along, heedless of his master’s strange mood. He hopped ahead, going to scout the area ahead before wheeling around and coming back to Woe’s side, ”Well, it’s nice to go for a walk. Do you not have camping gear?”
Woe shook his head with a smile, but merely walked along. He was bulked up on furs, velvets, and only had his bullwhip with him for protection, should anything accost him on his way toward finding death.
The sunlight began to fade well into the breaks that took him north of Viden. In time, he found himself losing track of time. His mind began to wander in delirium. Was this how it felt to die of exposure, or freezing? The mind slowly breaking itself down in order that it would conserve what energy was needed to preserve the life that sustained it?
Still, Breen tracked and limped tirelessly behind him, wondering where his master was going to. In time, Emma Heen joined Woe, for the first time looking very concerned. ”Look, I wasn’t serious about hanging yourself, you know? Maybe you should turn back, build a fire… something?”
Genuine worry tainted the phantom tones of her voice, an unusual addition to her usual repertoire, but she’d always and often been fairly adept at appearing as something she was not. He wondered if this was another act. Perhaps it was, but underlying it was a genuine concern, that strangely touched him. Yet it didn’t break his resolve to do what he intended to seek here.
”What’s the matter, Heen?” He asked, smiling at her, showing relief on his face with every step farther along the way from Viden he proceeded. ”Are you wondering if you can still anchor to a dying soul? And am I the only remaining one left to you?”
Her ghostly face seemed to pale at that, and Breen rubbed against his master’s leg, pawing at him as he heard what Woe said. ”Master! You mustn’t! Turn back now! I will eat your sadness, this is a passing phase, don’t let the Winter mood condemn you. It’ll pass!”
Yet Woe wouldn’t listen to either of them. His mind was made, and neither errant spark nor pleading phantom would persuade him from what he knew was the next logical step in his life.
The wandering and searching and fighting hadn’t done anything to alleviate his existential angst. Now, he wanted only to stop the ceaseless flailing and motions of a hopeless existence, to lay down and die.
So he laid down his cloak, having put the sight of Viden well away from himself. He was surrounded by a copse of alpine trees, caked with snow and icicles. He laid his cloak on the snowy ground, and laid his back down on it. Breen did what he could, which was little enough but snuggle up beside his master, and try to provide the warmth needed to sustain him just a little longer.
Yet the chill had already penetrated to Woe’s muscles, and soon his bones would feel the chill. Emma Heen did the same as Breen, laying her phantasmal form on his other flank. His ghostly ‘bride’ of sorts another comfort as he drifted off into nothing. She whispered to him, as a ray of moonlight shone down through the clouds on the snows surrounding, illuminating the scenery far more than it should have been during the nighttime hours.
”This is how it should’ve ended, I suppose, those many arcs ago. Huddled against the cold, ready to chill and die. We forestalled fate for a time, didn’t we?”
”Mmmmhmm.” Woe hummed, cheerfully. This was the first time in all that wandering and seeking that he felt he was really doing something for himself. Following his own agency and exerting his power upon the world. For all the magic, skill, and strength he possessed, this felt more right than the use of any of those faculties ever had.
He would no longer be a mortalborn, no longer a living man, or anything really. Woe reached deep within his mortalborn fibers of his domain, and attempted to erase the memory of himself from the world, in the same last breath as he gave to the world.
As he explored those metaphysical depths, he felt his breath leave his mouth in a euphoric outpouring of acceptance and belonging. There, he gave his last breaths there in those ice fields of Viden.
As he lay freezing, he passed away. It was his first true act of personal will.
