["Sing the War Hymns", a Creative Writing 101 piece centered on Cheverion.]

[singthewarhymns]

There are some who would say we are dead. That we are gone, that we no longer watch over the realms of mortals and we no longer have the power to lend ourselves to the faithful. The problem is that there is no faith. The mortals, they do not fear us, they do not question us, they do not ask us, and they do not look for us. We cannot help those who do not help themselves, and we cannot enter the hearts of those who shut us out.

 

That is not to say there is an absolute void of those who follow the old ways. There are healers that will call upon Andrial in their times of need, those who curse their enemies with the name of Kasmira, and then those who still ask my fledgling Halkyone for protection in their journeys. But the mortals still say we have abandoned them.

 

Divine will is not power absolute, even if this is concept the lower beings have trouble understanding. To use it against the express wishes of a realm’s inhabitants is treason against existence itself. Many a time I would have wished to strike fear again in to the hearts of man, to show them we are not dead, and that we are still all mighty, but I cannot. You mortals, if you truly wanted us back, you have only to call us.

 

Our influence grows rusted and stagnant. Our names, our wills, are only invoked in extremes of emotions. The fear of death, the anger of vengeance, the sorrowful defiance of loss. These things cannot be denied, as I feel them more acutely than any other of my kind. The voices of the masses scream their latent desires and on the wind they come to me.

 

I am Cheverion, one of the Circle of Nine. I am the goddess of War, of Vengeance, of the thrill of battle, and of the emotions in the raw. The birds are my symbols, my messengers, my children of many forms. I was born in to this world screaming and fighting and when the universe gives its last shuddering sigh and ends that is how I shall leave it. There is no one who may defeat me. I am the result of the First Conflict, and I will be the instigator of the last. Even my children, the true ones of my blood given to me by the Celestial Guardian Alexios, know and are born of these truths.

 

The first was Halkyone. Of all, he looks the fiercest, as more of a bird of prey than a man. Alas, he inherited more of his father’s kind and level heart, and he will not join me on our field of battle; His purpose it to protect. Ironic, as he comes from the force meant to destroy.

 

My dear Chandra is the second. She is bright and radiant like the moon, although she is no daughter of Lanaos. She is a guardian as well, helping her father keep balance between as that is celestial and all that is corporeal. She takes almost nothing from me but my love.

 

Andraste was the third. She is my Herald of Victory. On her wings are the winds of Chance and Fate, and with her voice she sings The Hymns of War. The people ask of her favor so they might succeed, whether their war is with the forces that seek to end life or with the demons that lurk within all souls.

 

Caelum is the last. He is the cloven child of the Earth, rocking the worlds with his fury. Continents shift for him. Volcanoes overflow at his whim. Mountains rise and crumble as he sees fit. Ah, but he is tempered where I can never be, lest he level everything that has been created.

 

Here I am drawn from my musings by my favored servant, a small gargoyle creature born of Haldis and his breathing of life in to stone. He is far from home here, in the air-elemental plane of Avaria, yet he is dutiful and does not complain. At least, he does not complain of his environment, as he finds other trifling matters to dwell upon.

 

“Mistress Cheverion!” he cries, a flight on little wings that beat the air into violent currents. “Mistress Cheverion, oh!”

 

“Speak, Du’anlore.” I have not the time for his idle fancy, even if however he means well. The Deep Ones are moving, spreading their shades of evil across many realms. The mortals may deny our existence, but it does not stop time from turning nor keep darkness from falling.

 

He lands on an ornate platform carved out of the side of a towering pillar, one of many similar ones designed for just that purpose. He shifts from one clawed toed foot to the other, wringing his paws together and being all around unforthcoming with his important information.

 

“Du’anlore.” I repeat his name with a knife’s edge to it. Patience is not a virtue the holy Goddess gave to me.

 

“You sent me to find the honored kin Halyone, that you did Mistress! But I looked and I looked and I could not find him! The birds have said they do not know where he has went, they cannot find him anywhere either!”  

 

I am not surprised. Halyone is a dreamer, and he has too much of his father in him. He has probably wandered off in to some section of the towering forests that is unfrequented by those who live here, the harpies and the djinn and the mighty rocs. “He is around. Keep searching Du’anlore, he will turn up.” I turn to leave my open air palace, for I have things to discuss with Alexios. 

 

“No, no mistress!” he takes wing again, tousled black hair flying about erratically with his darting movements in the air. “The Valkeria say that he is not here! Not in Avaria!”

 

I’m not certain what makes me angrier, the sheer ridiculousness of the statement or the fact that he went to the Valkeria before conferring with me first.

 

“Du’anlore, what in the nine Hells is wrong with you?” To travel between the realms one needs to have an enormous amount of power at their disposal. It is not that Halyone does not have this power, it is the fact of the mater that I would have felt it should he have moved between them.

 

“Mistress, he is gone! I also asked all I could for help, and then the Valkeria told me that he was not here!”

 

He is not lying, he would not dare too. The Valkeria as well; never would they deny me the truth. They are bound to this world, so intertwined that to send them from this existence one would have to tear the very fabric of Avaria to pieces. 

 

++++

 

Columns fell, arches crumbled, and stoneworks where crushed beneath the weight of my rage. Things that have stood for centuries now collapsed as I brought myself to bear on them. Nothing could stand before me. Not even the great trees in our wide forests could stay tall and proud when my grief cut through them. Those who made their homes in the wide boughs cried out as they fled and I howled with them.

 

My child had been stolen from me. Mine. From out from under my nose, in my very own domain, where I am law. I was angry with Halkyone, for falling in to such a trap. I was angry with myself, for being so careless to think this world was safe because I was here. I was angry with the perpetrator, for they had no right to think they could violate my family.

 

This is my realm. Here we are of wind, we are volatile and chaotic, and we wait for no one. No one will stop me if I chose to bring my world crashing down around me. I cannot help it. It is in my nature to destroy.

 

I only stop when the latest oak I fell nearly falls on Alexios. It is not that he would have been severely harmed if it had, as what could wood do to a divine body, but it is the principle of the matter. He comes to me four-hoofed, gracefully dancing out of the path of falling branches with speed and dexterity that none of your mortal equines could ever hope to achieve. He looks at me, observes the decimated forest, and tosses his head with a snort.

 

“Andraste said it was bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

 

“This is nothing. They will grow back.” I growl. I will not show weakness, this is my domain and I will do as I wish. If I want to destroy it, then I shall. He knows I’m thinking this. The sly horse always seems to know just what I’m about and it is absolutely infuriating.

 

Alexios leaps over the huge trunks that litter the ground, getting closer to me and more two-hoofed as he does. Standing before me as mostly a man, he returns to addressing me.

 

“The granite and sandstone in the palace won’t grow back. That’ll take a little more to fix up though; was it really necessary to tear it half apart?”

 

“Yes.” I hiss, the word acid on my tongue. But I realize my folly as I say it. As much as the destruction I have caused has sated my bloodlust for the moment, it has done nothing to solve the problem at hand, and the impossible concept of failure or defeat has come creeping in.

 

Alexios sighs softly and shakes his head, but he does not berate me further. He is angry as well, but the difference between us is that he can control it. I cannot. I simply exist as I am, I have no inhibitions or restraint, and I cannot hide whatever I may feel. Alexios may be able to temper his anger, to hide it, but I can feel it as clear as this cloudless sky, and it is a cold and serrated edge.

 

It is not just my child who has been taken. It is his child as well. Our firstborn. Our perfect combination. He is gone, and the two of us, a pair of Grand Battle Masters, where helpless as newborn fledglings in preventing it from happening. What cosmic guardians or generals of war are we when we cannot keep track of one daydreaming child?

 

He is talking again, yet I am not quite listening. In my mind I already know what needs to be done. The drums of battle are ringing in the feathers of my ears before they have even begun to beat. I will find my child. I will bring him home, to where he belongs. And those who stand in my warpath will be cut down.

 

I am Cheverion, of the Circle of Nine. I am the goddess of War, of Vengeance, of the thrill of battle, and of the emotions in the raw. I am a grieving mother, but I am no helpless female who will be overcome by despair. Those who have underestimated my resolve and the depth of my rage will not have a chance to do so again.

 

I have been wronged, and I will take my vengeance.