[_Alex_]

name Curare
nickname Cure
gender Male
sexuality pansexual

legend: x

[_Alex_]

name;;

curare
nickname;;

cure, Vessel of Ixchel
age;;

5 viscet, 26 human. wise beyond his years though.
height;;

8 foot 2 inches when standing
gender;;

male
pronouns;;

he/him
sexuality;;

100% pansexual
status;;

mated
mate;;

chronos
voice;;

Tom Hiddleston
religion;;

psuedo-mayan. although he believes in the many gods of his people, he practices very few of the traditional mayan beliefs and only actively worships one goddess. He has discarded the vast majority of the ritual sacrifices and feasts that traditional mayan beliefs ask of him, and opts not to actively acknowledge the many gods of his people. Instead, he follows an almost christian like devotion to his goddess, The Goddess Ixchel. Every morning at sunrise, or as soon as he awakes, he sends up a short, heartfelt, and silent prayer towards his goddess. On the night of the first rain of the season, he shall stand outside under the light of the moon and give thanks to her. He is highly attuned to her presence and will, being able to feel even the slightest of pushes she gives his soul. In his dreams, he often sees her manifest as a giant jaguar who guides him through the jungle. When he meets someone who's wounds he cannot heal with his medicinal knowledge alone, he surrendors himself to her will and allows her to heal the poor soul through his body. Because of this, he is known as the Vessel of Ixchel.
markings;;

glowing blue stripes along the top of his body. the glow dims and brightens depending on several factors. they are the marking of Ixchel, and were bestowed upon his bloodline many and many a year ago.
the glow;;

his markings glow a vibrant electric blue. on standard days, his markings glow just bright enough to catch the eye, but not so bright as to cast more than a faint shine on his surrounding fur. When his goddess contacts him, his markings will flare noticeably for a second, before returning to normal. When his goddess is guiding him, his markings will pulse with the beat of his heart. The brighter they are, the better he is following his goddess' path. If they dim, it means he has steered away from her path. When he heals patients through his goddess' grace, his markings glow impossibly bright, lighting up the room like lightning and not fading until the healing is complete. When severely injured, depressed, or when sleeping, his markings dim until they are just barely visible against his fur.
powers;;

curare is blessed with the power of healing and knowledge of natural cures by his goddess. just like the long line of healers before him. he has a supernatural knowledge of herbs, potions, poisons, and other natural remedies. All he has to do is look at a ingredient and immediately he knows what to pair it with to achieve a certain goal. With wounds, he has to only look at it to know what slave to apply to heal it fastest. If his natural cures are not enough to cure a wound or disease, his powers are more than enough to. He can heal deep wounds in seconds, rebuild shattered bones, give someone their sight back, and even let the paralyzed walk. If there is anything wrong at all physically, he can heal it. As long as the goddess wills of course. For it is her grace that allows curare to heal. There is a dark side to his powers though, one that he never thinks of using. The knowledge that allows him to brew up poisons deadly enough to kill a hundred elephants and the destructive power of his goddess that would allow him to summon giant hurricanes and spread deadly plagues.
his satchel;;

curare always carries a medium sized worn leather satchel with him. within that satchel, rests several rare herbs and ingredients. Açai berries from a small patch in his territory, Tongkat Ali from a friend in Vietnam, Bucha leaves and Snowdonia Hawkweed smuggled out of the country. The softest felt from the antlers of an albino elk. Feverfew, Winter Savory, Alfalfa, and countless others. in addition to this, he caries a few blades of various sizes, glass vials and bottles, a mortar, twine, needles, syringes, string, and a small flat piece of quartz he uses as a cutting board.
his grandmother's journal;;

in his satchel, he also carries two journals. The first is a large, thick, worn book. Thick parchment bound with bamboo string. Inside of it, are all of his great-grandmother's notes and musings. Written in an odd mix of portuguese, spanish, english, and latin, the writing inside is almost impossible to decipher and read. Add to the fact the writing is a looping cursive written in faded blue ink, and it's hard to read on even the best of days. Yet it is Curare's most prized possession. He never lets it leave his person and never lets another take a peak inside. Not even Kaden. He will guard it's secrets till the day he dies. The secrets it contains are only for the followers of Ixchel.
his journal;;

in addition to his grandmother's journal, Curare carries a much smaller journal of his own. Written among it's pages, is the story of his life. It contains everything he has learned over the years and the stories of all he has healed. As he travels and learns, he continues to add to it. Like his grandmother before him, he writes it in an odd mix of latin, spanish, russian, and korean, with only the rare word in english. upon his death, he will pass it on to the next viscet to inherit the glowing markings of his goddess.
territory;;

Although he spends the majority of his time traveling the world and following the will of his goddess, Curare does indeed have a small territory that he has laid claim to. Located in Brazil, it includes a small stretch of beach, miles of deep dense jungle, and a small stream that feeds into the Amazon less than fifteen miles away from the edge of his territory. Although humid and the home to a large number of jaguars, he calls it home.
hometown;;

a small village on the banks of the Amazon river that sits deep within the rainforest. while not the poorest village, most of the inhabitants survive only on what they hunt and/or grow.
family;;

Curare is not particularly close to either his mother or his father and has no siblings. both his parents believe he is foolish for believing in the legends of the village, and think he is even more ridiculous for following the will of his goddess. because of this, he hasn't seen them for the past four years and was raised as a viscling by the village elders.
Childhood;;

From the time he could run, Curare already knew he was different. It was they way the other visclings didn't have markings that glowed. It was the way that other viscets laughed and joked at the stories that the elders told the visclings while he himself sat there staring in awe. When one day, he scampered home eager to tell his mother about the latest story the elder had told him, the legend of The Vessel of Ixchel, the viscet who's markings glowed like his did, he realized truly how different he was. As he babbled to his mother, she broke down into tears. She had hoped her son wouldn't inherit the gifts of his great-grandmother. Yet it seemed he had. From that day onward, his relationship with his parents was strained. With each passing day, he began to see more, to feel more, to know more. His goddess was beginning to make herself known to him. And his parents hated it. So he spent most of his time out of the house. Running through the village streets with Raphael or listening aptly to the elders. When he found the town healer's hut on his own one day, and quietly handed her a random herb that he just knew would cure that fever better than the sage she held in her paw, he felt at home. At peace. That was what he was meant to be doing. Healing. From there until the day he was old enough to leave the village, he spent most of the time helping heal the sick or listening to the elders with his friends. Him, Raphael, and a third female viscet. They were the only ones who believed in the village legends. And the only ones left that were of direct blood of The Pack. On his last day in the village, he hugged his two friends goodbye along with the healer and village elder. Then he left, following the goddess's pull northward. Only rarely does he return to his hometown now.
Raphael

Raphael is one Curare's oldest friend. From the time they were visclings, it was hard to find one without the other. The only two males in the village that were green in color and who believed in the legends of the elders, they shared common ground. Both outcasts, they quickly became fast friends. If it wasn't for Raphael, Curare knows his outlook on life would have turned out far differently. Shortly after Curare left the village to travel and heal, he recieved a letter from his friend. Raphael was off to travel the world as well, but as an actor. They now rarely see each other in person, although Curare is careful to constantly send letters to the other and keep up with his latest movements. It's not hard to track a world famous actor after all. At least once every three months or so, they get together to catch up and have tea. To tell tales of the world and recommend places to visit.
Travels;;

Curare has traveled so many places over the years. From south america to northern russia, there is not a location in the world he has yet to visit. He often chooses on his own free will where to go in the world, but more and more recently his goddess has been leading him across the land. It all started, he supposes, when he mentored Zerda. They weren't together long, perhaps six months at most, before he told her the goddess was calling him in a different direction. While he had taught her several things, he and his goddess both knew it was dangerous to teach her more. She was too brash, too dangerous, too willing to use her knowledge to harm rather than to heal. Since then, he has been traveling from one corner of the planet to the other at a faster rate than previously. he knows he is paying for the mistake he made in teaching her. yet, he does not mind. because at least he gets to use his powers for good. most recently, he is staying in south korea, healing those who need him and enjoying the local culture.
Kaden

Kaden is... the closest person Curare has ever met to a soulmate. He knows the other viscet is scarred in ways he can't heal with his powers alone, yet he can't help but feel close to the other. They just click, in an odd sort of way. Kaden is so very not religious, while Curare couldn't be more religious if he tried. While Kaden can and will murder someone (Curare has been there when he awakens from nightmares), Curare absolutely hates violence. Yet, something about Kaden just continues to draw him in. It may be that Kaden is the only viscet he has come across that can come close to rivaling his knowledge of medicines and poisons. Perhaps it is the way that Kaden towers over Curare, yet never attempts to make it outstandingly obvious. Most likely though, it is they way the two balance each other out. The brash and the gentle, the quiet and the loud, the introvert and the extrovert, the vengeful and the forgiving. If Curare was honest, he would describe Kaden as the Yang to his Yin. When they travel together, wandering the land and healing, he can't help but feel at home. And it is always so wondrous how he lets Kaden into his territory just as easily as Kaden lets Curare in his own. While he knows not whether their relationship will ever take that step past platonic, Curare knows that Kaden is a soulmate of his in some way. And if at any point, Curare was absolutely certain his feelings for the other were returned, he would not hesitate to act on them. Because as much as he loves him as a friend, he is certain there is no measurement to how much he would love the other as a mate.
Personality;;

Curare is best described as a healer, for that is what he is at the core. He's drawn to the wounded, both physically and mentally, and longs to help them. A kind soul and a bleeding heart, he gives his all to help make the world a better place. He's quiet most of the time, yet when he speaks, it's with a smooth easy grace and confidence that can reassure even the most frightened of viscets. He's calm. Extremely slow to anger and far more likely to remain level headed than to snap at you. He's forgiving, well aware all creatures make mistakes and all creatures can feel regret over those mistakes. He's generous, always giving any money he can spare to single mothers or those who live in poverty. He's humble, never taking more than absolutely necessary from his clients to survive, after all, the goddess will take care of him. He's confident, extremely sure in his abilities and absolutely certain in all that he does. He's devoted and loyal, giving all his time and effort to any cause that resonates deeply inside him. He's religious, very much so, there isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't thank his goddess for all she does. He's gentle, all soft edges and soothing words. He's stubborn, never giving up until he's completed a task unless his goddess tells him otherwise. He never backs down, and isn't afraid to hold his ground. Until it threatens to lead to violence at least. Curare is very much a peaceful type of viscet, a pacifist who despises being involved in violence. Generally, he is very polite. Yet if the need arises and/or his life is threatened, he does know how to fight back and make his hits count. He's accepting, never having a problem recognizing people for what they want to be recognized. He's opportunistic. Always looking on the bright side of things. He's happy and upbeat, always ready to smile. If you manage to get close to him, he acts slightly childish at times. He makes friends easily, but quickly loses contact with most of them due to his nomadic lifestyle. He's very sweet most of the time.
quirks and little things;;

absolutely hates it when his tail drags against the ground, and thus can always be seen holding it high. can not dance to save his life, so while he loves dancing to music while in the privacy of his own company, he will literally refuse to even attempt dancing in public. has a bad habit of tugging his claws through the silky drapes on his elbows and tail when stressed. when bored, will often pick leaves off of trees and tear them into little tiny pieces. actually walks extremely light on his feet, almost like a jaguar. literally, can not climb a tree. at all. ever. don't even let him get more than two feet off the ground. he will fall out of the tree. every single time. He is deathly afraid of hospitals. He just can't stand the places. Gives off such a good aura that he often stumbles into deer and other wildlife who don't even blink at him as he passes by. Loves rivers and the ocean, but hates lakes and ponds. Tends to quirk his head to the left rather than the right like most viscets. Is ambidextrous, therefore he can use both paws equally and has no real preference for either side. His handwriting is different depending on the paw he uses. Absolutely loves curry. He discovered it while in India one day and has been in love ever since. Soup is a close second to curry however. His greatest fear is losing touch with his goddess. While he detests fighting, he would fight to protect his mate. May or may not have a crush on Kaden. On days that his glow is especially dim, he tends to hid in the depths of a jungle or forest, his coloration letting him blend in with the foliage.
Legend of the Vessel of Ixchel;;

It is said that there once was a pack of Viscets so large and so strong that not one, but three Alphas were needed to lead. For centuries, this pack (known only as The Pack) thrived, hidden deep within the Amazon jungle. Everything changed though, when the white men invaded the land. Never before had The Pack seen humans with skin so pale. They were used to humans with skin as dark as the cocoa beans that grew on trees or no lighter than the bark of the great mangrove tree. And together, they lived peacefully. The viscets of the jungle and the dark skinned humans. But these humans, with their pale white skin and fair hair, were a different breed of human. Unlike the dark skinned, the pale faces were ruthless and viscous. They listened not to the song of the forest but rather to the song of their greed. Armed with sticks that shot lightning and blades sharper than a visclings claw, they rode beasts that were as fast as the fastest viscet and far stronger. For once, The Pack, was facing a threat they could not beat. So on the night of the blood moon, the Alphas meet under the light of the moon. The first Alpha, a large yellow male with red markings who could pull even the largest tree out of the ground, proposed his plan first. "I propose that we fight these pale faces head on. We have the numbers and the strength. We could kill them all before the night is over." The second Alpha, a small purple female with bright pink markings who could outrun the even the fastest wind, proposed her plan second. "I propose that we flee from these white ones. We are faster than them. We can be safely hidden by morning." The third Alpha, an old two gendered viscet with greying green fur and electric blue markings spoke last. "While both of your ideas are good, neither are what is best for our people. I propose that we make peace with the strange ones. If we run, they shall hunt us down and kill us. And with their weapons of fire and lightning, they shall slaughter us in a fight." They looked between they're fellow Alphas. "If we want our people to survive, peace is the only way." Together as one, the two young Alpha's shook their heads. "No, my people will not fight nor shall they make peace." the female said. "And my people shall not run or make peace." The male said. "Then we shall split The Pack into three." The oldest said. "And hope the gods are merciful upon us." The two younger Alphas locked eyes and shook their heads. Neither had faith in their gods. In their minds, there were no gods. The next morning, the Alphas gathered The Pack and explained the situation. Those who wished to fight would go with the male. Those who wished to flee would go with the female. And those who wished to make peace would stay and welcome the white ones with the eldest Alpha. The next morning when the white faces arrived, they were met with the sight of twenty viscets standing proud among their city. They were the few who had stayed. Who wished to make peace with those who could easily destroy them. Together, the twenty gave the pale humans many gifts. Berries of the sweetest caliber. The tenderest meat from the youngest of deer. Golden bracelets that had been polished so thoroughly they could be used as a mirror. Each of the white faces were measured, and each was given a piece of armor or jewelry. The viscets gifted the commanders with elaborate paintings. And, through a series of gestures, warned the humans of the viscet army that awaited them just miles ahead. One viscet, a black and green male, even pledged himself to the white men to serve as a mount for the small female healer that accompanied the warriors. So pleased were the white ones with these gifts, that they swore to never harm the members of this small pack. Each and every one of the twenty was given a collar to wear as a symbol of their peace. And the healer, so touched by the black and green one's servitude, blessed him through the power of her god. To the surprise of all the viscet's present, the viscet goddess of healing and peace appeared before all gathered. with a small smile, she gently headbutted the black and green one. With a flash of brilliant blue light, electric blue markings appeared all over his coat. "You have strove to make peace and create healing beyond all others." she said in a light airy voice. "So I gift to you the power of healing. For the rest of your days you shall be able to heal any wound that you lay your paws on. And so shall your descendants if they so happen to be born bearing my markings. The same markings that you now bare." Before he could thank her, the goddess was gone. From that day onward, the black, green, and blue viscet served his people and humans like as the greatest healer to touch the earth. There was no would he could not heal and no sickness that he could not cure. People came from far and wide to be healed in his presence. And so committed was he to his cause, that he charged not a single cent for his payment. And on the day he died peacefully in his sleep from old age, his great-granddaughter hatched out of her egg, bearing the same markings he had. And so the cycle continued. Healer after healer was born from the same bloodline. The only catch however, was that the next healer was hatched on the day the last healer died. And so Curare, the great-great-great-grandson of the original healer, who's name literally means to heal, but also to poison, the one who can heal any wound, proudly carries the glowing blue markings of his patron goddess.
Amadeus

The jeweler and Curare are friends of a sort. Curare first met the red viscet in London. The goddess had led him there to heal a little viscet who had fractured her spine beyond (normal) repair. While exploring the market, he almost ran into the other. literally. They chatted for a while, before Amadeus's mate, a black based viscet, came running up to drag him away. Several months later, they met again. This time at a cafe just a ways from where they were hosting a large gala in rome. Curare had been catching up with Raphael when Amadeus walked in, a purple male trailing behind him. immediately, Raphael turned to greet the pair. Apparently they were friends of his. Since then, they've ran into each other a few times. And while they have polite conversations with each other when that does happen, they don't know each other well enough to really be considered friends.
the first meeting;
written from the pov of ugin*** (by james)

Uɢɪɴ ʟɪsᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟʟʏ ᴀs ʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴏɴ ʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ғᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ Nᴏʀᴛʜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴀɪʀɪᴇs, ᴄᴀɴʏᴏɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴs. Hᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴏɴ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ — ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ sɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴄʟᴜᴇ ᴀs ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇxᴀᴄᴛʟʏ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs,
ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴅɪʙʟʏ ʜᴜᴍɪᴅ. Hᴜᴍɪᴅ, ʜᴏᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ sᴏ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ.

Uɴᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀsɪᴛᴇs.

Tʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ᴡᴀs ғʀᴇsʜ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴄᴇᴀɴ ᴡᴀs ᴄʟᴇᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʀᴇsᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴡᴀs ᴅᴇɴsᴇ. Iᴛ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ʟᴏɴɢ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀsɪᴛᴇs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪɴʏ sʟɪᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴇ. Uɢɪɴ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴍᴏɴɢsᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛs ᴡʜᴏ ɪɴʜᴀʙɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇᴀ, ᴜɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴇɴsᴇ ʜɪs ɪɴᴄʀᴇᴅɪʙʟᴇ ᴘʀᴇsᴇɴᴄᴇ; ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀʀ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ.

A ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪғᴜʟ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢs ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ʜɪs ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʀᴜsʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ɴᴏ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴀ sᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴄʟᴀᴡs, ᴇxᴄʟᴀɪᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴏᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪsᴛᴇɴ. “Tʜᴇ Gᴏᴅᴅᴇss ɪs ʜᴇʀᴇ! Sʜᴇ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ!”

Uɢɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Uɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴛɪʟᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪs ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ sǫᴜɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ʀᴀɴ — ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ — sᴛʀᴀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪᴍ. Hᴇ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋs ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs. Tʜᴇ ᴜɴɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ᴅᴜɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ sᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʟ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴏᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ʜɪs ᴇʏᴇs ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴘᴇɴ. Uɢɪɴ ᴀssᴜᴍᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ sᴏᴜʟ ᴡᴀs ᴊᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪs Gᴏᴅᴅᴇss’ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ. Hᴏᴡ ᴅɪsᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀʀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʜɪs Gᴏᴅᴅᴇss ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ sᴇɴsɪɴɢ.

Uɢɪɴ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀs ᴅᴇsᴘᴏɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ — ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴇʟᴇsᴛɪᴀʟs ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ʜɪs sʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴇ ᴏʙsᴇssᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs, sᴏ ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ᴏғ ʜɪs ᴇxɪsᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ. Hᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ.

Hᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏs' ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ. Iɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜɪs ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ Eᴀʀᴛʜ, Uɢɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Uɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴜʀʟᴇᴅ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀɴᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ. Hᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴇᴛ; ʜᴇ sᴛɪʟʟ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜʏ ʜɪs ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴏɴ ʟᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ. Hᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ғɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ. Mᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ǫᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ. Dᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ sʟᴇᴇᴘ, Eᴀʀᴛʜᴇɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛs ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʟᴏɴɢ; ɪᴛ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴘʟᴇɴᴛʏ ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪɴ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜs sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.

Oɴʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴅɪᴅ Uɢɪɴ ʀɪsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪs ғᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ.

Hᴇ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ — ʜᴇ sᴇᴇᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ sᴏᴍᴇ sᴏʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ. Uɢɪɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ ɪғ ʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴ sʟᴇᴘᴛ. Hᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇʟᴇsᴛɪᴀʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ᴄᴇᴀsᴇᴅ ʜɪs ᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs, Uɢɪɴ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ʜᴇ sᴇɴsᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ. Tʜɪs ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴇxᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ʟᴏᴜᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ sᴀᴛ ɪɴ sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ғᴇᴡ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs.

“Yᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Gᴏᴅᴅᴇss.” Tʜᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ғɪɴᴀʟʟʏ sᴘᴏᴋᴇ ᴀʟᴏᴜᴅ. Hᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ sᴇᴇᴍ ᴜᴘsᴇᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴄᴛ, ᴏɴʟʏ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ɪɴᴛʀɪɢᴜᴇᴅ.

“Fᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ.” Uɢɪɴ’s ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄ ᴛᴏɴᴇ; ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ɴᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ɴᴏʀ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ… Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ. Eᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴛɪʟʟ ɪɴᴠɪsɪʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴏғ ғʟᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ɢʀᴀss ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇɴsᴇ ғᴏʀᴇsᴛ, ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ. “Wʜᴀᴛ ɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ?” Uɢɪɴ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ, ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ғʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛs ᴍɪɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ʙᴇɪɴɢ sᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴀʟᴏᴜᴅ.

Hᴇ ɪɴʜᴀʟᴇᴅ sᴏғᴛʟʏ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ. “Cᴜʀᴀʀᴇ.” Hɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴡᴀɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ. “Wʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?” Tʜᴇ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ɴᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴡᴀʏ, ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴍᴇʀᴇʟʏ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs. Uɢɪɴ sᴍɪʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sʜʀᴏᴜᴅ ᴛᴏ ғᴀʟʟ. Bʀɪʟʟɪᴀɴᴛ ʙʟᴜᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇs ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ sᴛᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡɪᴅᴇ ᴇʏᴇs ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ғᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʙᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀᴅ.

“I ᴀᴍ Uɢɪɴ. Fᴀᴛᴇ ʟᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ʏᴏᴜɴɢ Cᴜʀᴀʀᴇ. Yᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʙᴇsᴛᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀғᴜʟ ɢɪғᴛ — I ᴄᴀɴ ғᴇᴇʟ ɪᴛ. Yᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ —.”

“Uɢɪɴ,” Cᴜʀᴀʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴅɪsʀᴇsᴘᴇᴄᴛ. Iɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’s ᴀ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴜʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ. “I ᴄᴀɴ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ. Wʜɪʟᴇ I’ᴍ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ɪᴛ ɪsɴ’ᴛ ᴀɴ ɪssᴜᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ…”

“Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪsʜ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴘʟᴏʀᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʜᴀs ᴛᴏ ᴏғғᴇʀ.” Uɢɪɴ ғɪɴɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ sᴍɪʟᴇ.

Cᴜʀᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴅᴅᴇᴅ. “Mʏ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ ᴄᴀʟʟs ᴍᴇ. Tʜᴇ Gᴏᴅᴅᴇss ᴄᴀʟʟs ᴍᴇ. I ᴄᴀɴ ɴᴏᴛ sᴛᴀʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ.” Eᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴛʜᴇɴ. Iᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ɪɴᴛᴜɪᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪs ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ; ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴘʀᴀʏᴇʀ.

“Sʜᴇ ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ, ᴄʜɪʟᴅ. Yᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ɢᴏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsɴ’ᴛ ғʀᴇᴛ: I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ sʜʀᴏᴜᴅᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴғʟᴜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴀɴ.”

… ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅ. Uɢɪɴ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ʜɪs ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴠɪsᴄᴇᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴏғғ ᴏɴ ʜɪs ᴏᴡɴ ᴘɪʟɢʀɪᴍᴀɢᴇ. Tʜᴇ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴀs ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴀғᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀsɪᴛᴇs.