Sorenil A World At Its Limits

A veritable mountain of dust and dirt with numerous spires and crumbling structures jutting upwards from the surface, this once massive place of deific worship barely withstands the tests of time with only its largest tower remaining whole. Across these structures are numerous insignias and religious symbolism. Broken windows and rotted wood doors make up a majority of the openings into the structure, with most of the rooms nearest the outside filled with some measure of dust, while rooms deeper in are much cleaner. The rooms ranged from places to sleep all the way to prayer areas and even a few larger rooms featuring time-worn altars to different deities. Outside the structure was a noticeably large circular gap in the ground, possibly a moat or something similar that surrounds the remains, with the remnants of fallen bridges and destroyed pathways across. While crossing the gap would not be simple, it is in no way very difficult. It would just take time. The highest tower still standing tall and proud in the center was fashioned into something of a large clock, with faded insignias in 32 different positions on the clock face. This tower seemed to remain quite well in spite of the crumbling structures around it, with the weathering seemingly only being decades in age rather than centuries for the others around it.

No longer carefree, there is instead the hint of worry, of concern playing across her once relaxed features, subtle as it may be. She simply does not know what to think when her new traveling companion went missing, but it would do her no good to explore the vast and seemingly empty space. Not when it's likely she could become lost in a world as unnatural as this, in a world unknown to her. With the temple being their next respective goal, she reaches the crumbling space of worship with silent hope that she could reunite with the fellow here. Layered skirts making up her formal gown are gathered between gloved hands as need be, gradually working her way into the temple's depths, side-stepping when gaps require creative effort to pass through in due time. As she drifts through places of prayer as well as old sleeping accommodations, she takes note that the thick dust lessens the further she travels within, noticeably cleaner instead. Eventually, the young Lady is sure to make her way toward the large clockwork-like structure. If anyone truly does remain here as the Painter had relayed, it is surely within the space looking to be the least damaged and thus the most inhabitable, no? Dropping layered skirts and patting the dusty streaks which clung onto her clothing throughout the ducking and weaving, the particles visibly swirl away from her form upon contact beneath an open palm, finally announcing three knocks atop the door. If unanswered, she shall try the handle and if its' discovered to be unlocked, she steps beyond the door's threshold to enter with a slower gradual pace, crimson gaze cautiously scanning the interior with her arrival to glean all that she can.

A few stragglers amidst the orange streaks of light remained as Carabia navigated the temple. Some left while others simply remained and danced about the ruins. The point of access for the clock tower was seated behind an altar bearing an hourglass and various other time keeping instruments, all of which were in pristine condition and working properly. The door itself was locked and featured a strange grid of small holes and symbols running across the left side and the bottom of the grid, one for each row and column of holes it seemed.

Soft padded footfalls occasionally accented by a can being pressed to the floor entered the room. An individual appearing far older than the Artisan had stepped in. His eyes appeared to almost resemble a sunset with his irises bearing colors akin to the last lights of the day. "Some years ago, a simple request for entry like that would have been sufficient." He said, his voice seemingly full of life despite his ragged appearance. "What is it that brings you here young miss?" He asks, taking a seat on one of the more intact wooden chairs.

The young Lady does not press further still upon finding the door to be locked, instead turning in such a way so that she might face a new voice, the ultimate reason for her travel to these parts. "Good day to you, Sir. I am Carabia." She greets him with a deep and respectful bow of her head thereafter. "Today I found myself summoned to this world after its' cry for help was sent forth. A Painter of this world, an Artisan relayed how the heart itself needed help so that this space might survive. As I understand it, one needs to reach this heart to return home, but I wish to learn what I can do to provide help here, if I can. Home can wait." Briefly falling silent to admire the stranger's unique gaze, her throat is cleared politely. "I was directed here to learn more, if you've the time to spare. This land is a mystery to me. Truly, anything you can teach me of its' happenings would help more than you know."

The man's smile slowly vanished at mention of the Artisan, although it returned quickly at her mention of wanting to learn more. "Ah the Artisan. I know of him, although I am surprised he knows of me." He raised one finger slightly, a small flame flickering to life at his fingertip before it spread out into 8 flames and ignited the torches surrounding the room.
"While little has happened in the last 2000 years, the history behind this world is rich. Even I do not know it all despite how old I look. There was one kind lady I knew who was far more knowledgeable. Were she still alive today I believe she could have prevented this." He said, rubbing his hands together softly. "The world has been slowly dying for almost 4000 years now, ever since many of the gods were slain in a single night. What little magic remained was not enough to hold this world together. Many who were born of magic died outright during the slaughter. I was lucky to not be affected by the event." He relaxed in his chair somewhat, seemingly enjoying getting to tell this to someone new.

The fleeting disappearing act featuring the gentleman's smile earns a curious quirk of her brow, but otherwise the possibility of tension between the pair is not considered further. The effortless lighting of all 8 torches is quick to cast dancing amber shadows across the young Lady. "I am sorry for your loss, and for all the others forced too soon from this land." Carabia offers in kind. "May I ask who, or what claimed the lives of the past Gods? Unless it proves to be too painful to speak of its' details." A thoughtful thumb strums against her neighboring hand, pondering his words no doubt. "If I am following its' history, it sounds as if these Gods were the sole providers of life to this space." There is a quiet sadness to her realization, offering pause nonetheless for correction. She is here to learn after all, it would do no good to fall beneath assumption.

The man clasped his hands together for a short time, unlacing his fingers to reveal a small flame housed between his hands. It remained a yellow orange color for only a brief second before shifting into a mixture of turquoise and violet. "I'm not entirely sure who it was that managed such a feat, but the gods were slain with the God Eating Flames. A deadly curse that erases the very essence of a living being from existence. With so many of the gods erased the world began to decay, and as with any disaster the people began their usual tasks of looting and causing chaos to further hasten their downfall." The flame shifted into a muted grey and white color, shrinking as it did so. "Those who bore gifts of magic directly from the world died outright or were struck mad from the sudden lack of magical power. I knew of a few who were spared this fate, and now meeting you I am certain as to why they were spared." His smile widened into something along the lines of a self-satisfied grin at his realization. The flame in his hands extinguished itself with a few wisps of smoke rising and dispersing.

Her head tilts quite subtly toward her right side, the gesture no doubt a considerate sort. "I have never heard of such a curse. I cannot help but think it may be unique to this realm." She chimes in thoughtfully, yet her tone flows forth in rhetorical flavor, moreso thinking aloud, perhaps. Crimson gaze slips away for a short time, lingering upon the flames which this new face looks to manipulate absent-mindedly. It is his final words that inspire her attention once again, her focus returning to his face in its' entirety. Yet she does not ask why exactly these people were spared, nor the source of the realization made known upon a grinning smile, or even if they are one in the same. She feels no need when his own continuation is implied, instead encouraging him to continue by a perk of her brow to showcase her interest, accompanied by a small yet gentle smile.

He chuckled softly to himself before continuing. "The reason I and a few others survived was because we don't originate from this world. Just as you do not hail from this old place." He said, standing up and walking over to the altar. He wound up a spring and let it unwind, allowing the clock to continue softly ticking. "The God Eating Flames are an old curse, ironically born from the blood of the gods. Supposedly there was a way to enchant a weapon with such a terrible power but I never took the time to learn such a thing."

He then stepped to the door behind the altar and ran his fingers over the grid of holes dotting the surface of the door. "You wouldn't happen to be familiar with puzzle boxes would you? This particular puzzle has stumped me for years." He said, looking over to Carabia. His eyes seemed to brim with life more than before, likely at the revelation he had come to just now.