15th Day of Afefe in the Fourth Month of Wind's Sway
4380 A.G.G. (253 Years Ago)
The Great Citadel of Lumå'įl, Raröԋӕnga
The Eighth Territory of the Dæmönic Plains of Brŭmal
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It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren't transcribed as they were spoken. They've been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original dæmönic to common.
Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.
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Dåÿvįåd
The trio continued their trek silently through the sizable study. Papers and all manner of scroll lay scattered about haphazardly in piles against the walls; obviously often-used. Eventually, they found themselves in the kingly open air sitting room that the Unbroken had mentioned. It was completely exposed to the elements via a snow covered balcony; the only dividing line between inside and out being a "wall" comprised of old yet elegant open archways. At either end of the long room stood two more Unbroken; both larger in size than their escort had been, their horns blessed by Så'Ħdënåħ. "None can break that which has already been broken" the dæmönic writing on them stated.
Light from Brŭmal's low hanging evening sun poured into the space and caressed everything beautifully. The snow flared like diamonds in it. The single sun of this place lent itself to the one interesting characteristic of the frozen wasteland.
The cleanness of the light that bathed it. So much more breathtaking than on Mundus. Stunning.
It reminded Dåÿvįåd of home; of Ëmpÿrë.
Not that he hated the suns' light of the mortal world. It just wasn't his. Mundus' three suns; The God's Eye, as the mortals called the blue dwarf, The Eye of the Drågon, being the red giant, and The Goddess' Eye being yellow, whether due to the mixing of their colours or the way that light shatters when it all washed across the world's sky, created a light that was always oversaturated in a golden colour. It was even beautiful after a fashion when he thought about it; to see the world through golden filters. Everything looked a bit...heavenly there. Dįvįnë. More so than the actual Dįvįnë sometimes.
But here, in the Plains and in the Realms of Ëmpÿrë, the light was, for lack of a better word, clear. It reflected off of the snow with blinding brilliance and the purity of it could almost have been considered stunning.
The deeper you traveled into the domains however, the less spectacular it all became. And the less Dåÿvįåd cared for it. White snow eventually gave way to muddy brown slush and the light became dimmer. This was, after all, a place for the souls of those who'd passed from the world of Mundus who didn't have the Goddess' favor. Those who had sinned in ways that were unforgivable and they were damned to spend eternity with those Ǻngëls who'd fallen during the time of Original Sin by rebelling with and Så'Ħdënåħ so long ago.
On the lower plains, such as Suffering and The Wildernesses, where the cold was nearly unbearable and the light was low, it wasn't uncommon to see the souls of the tortured masses frozen to near death. But, since they were eternally deprived of the reprieve of a death beyond death, they were simply left in a state between everlasting life and eternal demise. Never ending pain and torment. No amount of fire with no degree of heat could keep the chill from cutting through to your bones there. Hasty structures always collapsed under the weight of the never-ending snowfall. And the depressing temperatures prevented anyone from being able to construct any type of permanent protection from the ever-persistent elements.
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