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Soli Deo Gloria
The Icyene and the Mole
She approached the tunnels, an odd-smelling burlap bag in hand, a being humanoid but taller and more graceful than most of humankind, graced with cyan-blues like a bright spring sky, fair, almost chilled skin and the framing of two grand, white and turquoise blue wings. Peridot-green, glistening eyes expectantly gazed into the frozen and chilled landscape. Outgoing as she was, she knew the one she wanted to meet with would only meet with others on his own volition. She happened to be one of the few he met with on a regular basis.
It was only a moment of waiting before the otherwise hidden tunnel complex revealed itself, and she stepped inside, the interior of the confluence substantially warmer than the chilling air, the entrance closing when she was securely inside. She navigated the ordinarily confusing halls with a sphere of light in hand and a familiarity with the complex. The creator of the confluence didn’t need a light source, she knew, as his blindsight was perhaps more keen than the most sighted of eyes, Or, rather, it was keen in the ways that really mattered, cutting past the illusions of the seen to discern the spirits of things. At least, that’s what she always assumed.
The dawning of the Sixth Age had brought much chaos, certainly, but it hadn’t prevented the two from being able to meet on a semi-regular basis, whether it was here, in his lair in the frozen north, a chance meeting in one of Gielinor’s many cities and caverns, or even on the battlefields of the gods, where not even the tumult of the Age could confuse who the other was. It’d always been this way, even since the first time they met, sometimes crossing blades but never truly being enemies, never drawing the blood of the other, despite being totally opposite to any observant outsider. Rather than driving the two of them apart, perhaps that was what had brought them together in the mysterious graces of Fate.
She was nearing the central atrium now, she knew, the corners of her mouth curling involuntarily upward in anticipation. She ran her fingers through sky-blue hair streaked with white, held back by a headband and turquoise-gemmed tiara. Perhaps she became a little self-conscious; then she lowered her hand. It didn’t matter how her hair looked, technically he wouldn’t even see it anyway. She laughed to herself a little, the lilt of the laugher carrying down the empty yet pleasant corridors.
Now she had arrived, there in a chamber dug out of the permafrost and lined with stones, containing some basic yet well-carved stone furniture. There he waited, sitting there in a reserved way, two points of jet-black hair hung over a blindfold, the rest tied back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, the edges of his face framed with paradoxically well-kempt and gruff black mutton chops. His garb suggested almost a dark nobility about him, some kind of black leather coat lined with a small amount of gold trim over a simple white undershirt. Though hard to discern his expression without seeing any eyes or eyebrows, it was clear that the Icyene’s presence elicited a slight smile from him, one change in his features revealing a certain softness in an otherwise intimidating and beastlike man.
“Hi, Mole.” Zorial said, in a calm and slightly sing-songy voice, curtsying. “I brought you a present.”
She said, smiling, presenting the sack to him. His nostrils seemed to widen and she could have sworn she saw his ears twitch a little, as if her offering of friendship had suddenly turned one of Runescape’s most feared criminals into a harmless and eager house pet.
“Ooooo!” He said, undoing the knot to find some well-carved flesh from a slain beast inside. He devoured one hunk of it right there, unconcerned for appearances yet mindful of his guest’s sensibilities.
“Hehe….there have been a glut of Dark Beasts underneath Priffidnas to quell lately.” She said, slightly amused. “I thought of you, naturally.” She said, folding her hands and letting her mind wander for a moment with thoughts of the gleaming crystal spires of the newly grown Elven city as her friend made quick work of her gift, tidying himself on a corner of the sack when he was done.
“C’mere you.” He said in a playful fashion, standing up and approaching her, the two interlocking arms (and wings) into a friendly embrace immediately, Zorial letting out a soft squeal and Mole an odd catlike purr as each drank in the presence of the other, lingering for a moment before separating, an obvious smile gracing both faces as the two sat down together on a stone bench, the whole complex feeling spiritually warmer than it had just a moment ago.
“It’s good to see you again,” the Icyene said, collecting her thoughts in an effort to make some small talk. “Despite everything that’s happened...when I’m here, it feels like nothing has changed.”
Mole’s arm slid under her wings and over her shoulder, feathers tickling his sleeve as the two were brought an inch or two closer.
“For all I know...the world we know could be destroyed tomorrow in five different ways…” She said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice.
The facade of everyday life in the Sixth Age, like a sheet of thin glass over boiling waters, was liable to be shattered at any moment, even now, the glass heating and cracking and eventually giving way to chaos again. Oh, she had hope that it could be brought to a peaceful resolution, reasonable hope, even, in her own plans and the plans of others, but that didn’t stop fear from creeping in and tormenting her with ‘what-ifs’.
“Act in the present to shape the future, Zori.” Mole simply listened, and offered his counsel, his responses always seeming to be more simple and to the point, unconcerned with intricacy and detail. The gruff voice was perhaps a welcome respite from the cloud of uncertainty that surrounded each day.
“It seems impossible sometimes, though.” She responded, almost in a clinical way, as she addressed the mess of anxieties within her head. “It feels like every problem that gets solved, a worse one comes to replace it. Lucien dies and we have the Dragonkin and Sliske in his place. Bandos falls yet now we have Tuska with her sights on Gielinor. And now there’s the threat of the Great Revision, and the Elder Halls…”
She stopped herself and took a moment to breathe deeply, calming her spirit somewhat and relaxing muscles she hadn’t realized were tense.
“We are Slayers, Zori. Tuska is just another beast that demands our attention.” Perhaps he was a little brusque in the way that he spoke, but he knew very well that sometimes the only way to calm the Icyene’s tumultuous spirit was a well-pointed voice of reason.
“Right.” Zorial said, eyebrows creasing slightly, reassuring herself. “Sometimes it can be so easy to see everything that’s gone wrong that I forget what’s gone right…” She said, perhaps just to herself, chuckling a little. “We’re the Guardians of the World, are we not? And Zaros can take care of the Elder Gods.” She said, her voice lifting and regaining its usual ring as she reminded herself of these things.
“That’s right, Zori.” He said, a softer tone this time. playing with a strand of her sky-blue hair with his free hand. She smiled a little, her confidence regained.
“And when she DOES come, we’ll make her sorry, won’t we?” Zorial said, laughing in an oddly childlike way.
“That’s right, too.” He said, again, ruffling the hair on top of her head.
“...You’ll probably want a ‘piece’ of her though, won’t you…” Zorial said, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Mole replied sarcastically, with a growl of the stomach, looking away from her slightly.
“You’re so predictable.” She said, ruffling his hair back. “You’ll have to be pretty quick, she’ll probably turn to stone like all the other gods that have died so far.”
“Predictable, yes…” He said, seemingly a bit more reserved for no discernable reason.
“Mmmm? Is something up, Moley?” The Icyene asked, innocently curious.
“Hmm? Oh, I suppose my mind wandered to moments wherein I thought things were predictable, and I paid for it.”
He replied, on point as ever, leaving a few lingering questions in Zorial’s mind, but he was always like this, a man of many mysteries she couldn’t fathom. She left the matter alone. What mattered to her, she supposed, was that he was here, and they were spending time together. There would be time to wonder about his hidden life another day, when the land of Gielinor was safe.
“I’ll bet that doesn’t happen too often.” She said, inching a little closer until they were snuggling.
“I try to make it so.” Mole said and pulled her into a hug.
“I’ll bet you do.” Zorial replied, another soft squeal escaping her lips as she slowly let her eyes close. Maybe destiny would summon her once again to fight, but for now, she would enjoy the eye of the storm in a familiar place of comfort.