In His Name

Chapter 2 - Ocyrin

Rosco kept a close eye out as they passed through the thick of the slums. Wary of every gaze glued to the pair as they walk. If someone attempted to rob them, he was certainly not up to the task of defending the strange man. Hayden was a big enough guy on his own, but Rosco knew firsthand that didn't necessarily mean he could hold his own if it came down to it. Rosco isn't weak by any means, but neither is he particularly good in a fight. He'd spent most of his childhood recovering from the numerous beating he'd received and still somehow managed never to pick up on how to avoid a punch, or land one.

He kept to well populated streets, (not that witnesses would stop anyone from mugging them in this part of town) and hoped Hayden's size would scare off potential thieves.

As if completely unare of the danger, Hayden did nothing to blend in or lay low, striding through the mud as if he owned the place. Every step sure and confident.

"Rosco."

Rosco blinked, more than a little impressed the man remembered his name,

"Is all of the city this destitute?"

"No sir," he answers after a brief ruffle of irritation, it wasn't nice to hear your home referred to as 'destitute' even if it was true, "Most of the city was abandoned after the destruction of the old temple, but the few better off families that stayed relocated closer to the waterfront. We'll be out of this area soon, just uh, stick close."

Hayden nodded but made no effort to move closer, eyes lingering on the worst of the obvious suffering.

The sick and starving lined the streets, most of the time Rosco didn't even notice it anymore. The coughing men, covered in boils laying abandoned on mats outside the dilapidated houses. Children little more than skin and bone clutching to the thread bare skirts of mothers with dead eyes. The air smelled of sickness and tasted stale and stagnant, even when it wasn't.

The promise of spring had actually brought a lot of relief to the area. The weather was warmer and there was more food to go around. During the worst of the winter, it was common to find bodies frozen into the mud. Bodies that no one would claim or bother to bury, one simply avoided the dead as they walked.

It hurt to look at, the suffering was easier to ignore when no one pointed it out. Rosco bit his lip shoving his hands further down into his pockets, reminding himself to give Lolly a kiss on the cheek when he got back.

The further they got from the slums the more chipper Rosco became. He didn't go into the nicer parts of the city often and the excitement was getting to him, putting more of a bounce into every step. Eyes scanning the open shop fronts, smiling widely at the lamp lighter working his way down the now paved roads, breathing in the rich smells wafting over from the eateries or a sharp whiff of a passing lady's perfume. As they grew closer to the lake the air took on a taste of water, a heavy scent of wet plant matter lingering on his tongue.

While the slums had been quiet save for the cries of children or beggars, the streets here were full of conversations and noise. Horse hooves clacked against stone as they pulled along creaking wagons and carriages. Shop keepers stood at their doorways calling out to potential customers. Laughter and music spilled from the windows of establishments meant for entertainment, melding into the melody of the streets.

Rosco's ever present curiosity tried to pull him in a myriad of different directions, wanting to know everything he didn't, be a part of every moment he wasn't, but the steady footsteps of the man following him kept him on task. Working their way to the large temple on the cliff near the lake.

Ocyrin's temple is an open-air structure. The main area covered by a roof, held aloft by rows of carved marble pillars. Between each pillar, the heavy curtains had been tied back, allowing the light from the oil lamps hanging inside to spill out onto the ground around the building, giving the whole structure a glow in the night. Underneath the roof, a marble statue of Ocyrin was surrounded by gifts from his followers, flowers, baskets of food, jewelry, coins, little woven dolls made by children, broken fishing nets and rods. Furthest away from the city, facing the lake, a great brazier smoldered amber light, tended to by priests hovering nearby. The air is thick with the smell of fish and the incents offered by the gathered worshipers. The place has a feeling of reverence and horrible excessive waste.

Almost everything about the temple makes Rosco's blood boil.

The god, who didn't eat, demanded food to be left out to spoil, while people just a few streets away died from hunger. Piles of gold and jewels filled the coffers of fat priests who did almost nothing but lay about all day. Families went without because they felt the need to lay their wealth here in front of a statue for a god that never seemed to give them anything in return.

Rosco does his best to keep his face impassive, even if he puts little faith in gods, it is still foolish to show open distain in their temples. He threw a look over his shoulder, expecting to find awe and reverence on Hayden's face as they crested the hill and the temple came into full view, but instead the man looks positively irate.

His almost white gray eyes had turned dark, nearly black like a pit of tar. His jaw set tight, tension visible in the lines on his neck, hands repeatedly balling into fists and then flexing open. This temple clearly did not impress him as much as Rosco had expected it to.

He bit at his lip, if Hayden wasn't happy his chances of getting paid went down significantly. Noblemen often flaked out on their agreements if they were not happy with the outcome, whether or not it had anything to do with the work that had been done.

Suddenly Hayden brushes past his shoulder marching forward, through the temple past the statue, the worshipers, the priests and the brazier all the way to the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. Surprised, and painfully curious, Rosco kept pace, glancing back and forth between the stranger and the temple left in the dust behind him.

"Ocyrin!" The man shouts at the lake, anger showing the in bulging vain at his temple, "I demand you present yourself to me!"

Rosco's jaw hits the dirt. This man is crazy! First, he was stomping all over cursed grounds, and now he is making demands of gods, at their own temples! He slides back, ready to run when droplets of water begin rapidly collecting beside Hayden, taking the form of a man.

Hayden crosses his arms, leaning back on his heels waiting for the god to finish taking form, almost bored in his stance.

Already forgetting his desire to get away from here, Rosco glances back at the temple full of followers unaware their god was literally forming in front of him.

The marble carving was a good likeness to the god, taller than Rosco, but not Hayden. Flowy, wiry muscles that boasted strength but no bulk. Long dripping hair, adorned with under water plants, hung freely down his back, pooling at his feet. His skin nearly glows, a soft translucent blue and the waves seemed to crash and receded beneath it.

The moment he fully came together, the god glances around in anger, "who dares-" his booming words fall off, catching sight of the man before him. Ocyrin's eyes go wide, and his lips pressed closed, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat.