V3 Incline 7: Nin

"So... Why are you the only one who looks like a child?" I ask as Undwote's sulking seems to come to an end.

"Because I am the -only- one who seems to follow the rules!" he nearly growls, throwing a hand up in the air.

"But if everyone else can get away with it, why do you not?" I point out as I idly spin some kind of globe as we pass by it. The landmasses on it seem familiar, but I am not sure why. I have never seen a map like this yet the feeling of deja-vu persists.

"It doesn't matter, they shouldn't be like that." he tuts stiffly.

"Even the God of Law, though, was an adult when we saw him." I say and he comes to a stop. Stepping back from the frowning god, he sighs and shakes his head as a hand contemplates the pipe.

"The hassle during dinner isn't worth it." he grumbles and I nod ever so slightly, deciding to leave it at that.

"So, what is this floor?" I ask Undwote as I stop by a door coloured a deep, brown-afflicted red. Lined with gold and other shinies, a single, glowing sign rests above the doorframe. The language is unreadable, but, it looks fairly simple. Each letter is fairly straight and linear by the looks of it as if a simple, two-dimensional building could be made with them.

"Bedrooms." the God of Death answers as he stops and tests the lock on one of them. A dark door with a smaller, square one settled in its lower half. Cold mists barely escape through the gaps under it like smoke in a house fire. I frown a little thinking back to what can sometimes be an all too common sight in the run-down areas of the Ground.

"Can... Am I allowed to look inside a god's bedroom?" I put out there to move my thoughts about, and, just in case the answer might actually be yes. I have no idea what to expect, maybe it will be fun and strange, or mostly the latter. Who knows indeed.

"Not unless you are invited into them. Father made sure no one can enter another room without permission, except Him. But you shouldn't be surprised by that sort of thing." Undwote answers as he lets go of the door handle, satisfied by its unyielding, untampered stiffness.

"Invited how? I have to hear them say it, they have to physically bring me into the room?"

"Anything that gets you into the room with their earnest permission is what flies."

"So I could knock on your door and if you say 'come in' then that would be fine?"

"Yep, and that is exactly what I will be doing now." he tells me as we approach a door that looks like it is made of pottery. Bronze decorated and painted over with grim, black, humanoid imagery. A slab of stone is riveted on the upper centre of it, filled with swirling, glowing images. A name starts to form, one that I can read.

Waionr, God of Honour, of the Battle-Fallen Dead and War...

Raising his right hand, Undwote knocks on the door and I start to feel tense. The door remains idle and unmoving and he knocks again, harder this time. The God of Death glances at his watchless wrist and a noise suddenly bangs from the other side. A burning roar of some kind, a gun?

"Yes?" a solemnly quiet and respectful voice asks from beyond the door. Undwote straightens out and cups his mouth.

"Waionr, it's Undwote, I have someone here that I need you to see." the small god explains as he looks at me with a slight nervous tick.

A long delay arrives and the sound of stuff being moved fills our ears.

"You may come in." Waionr answers and Undwote eagerly pushes down on the door handle, opening it up. Covering my eyes as light suddenly bears down on us, I follow after my guide and the sound of my boots on wood vanishes. Revealing my vision as the door closes behind us, my jaw opens slightly. This isn't a room, it's an entire countryside!

Rolling hills of green grass and red, black-dot-cored flowers, topped by thick, slabs of upright rock. Flags of so many varieties flutter and catch the winds, a rainbow of heraldry. Carefully marked spots of rectangular, cornered earth and a breeze carrying thick clouds of ash. On some roads and paths further down, cloaked and armoured individuals tend to the endless graves.

Is that what Vapooliar was meant to be before what happened did, these are Valkinvar?

Finding Undwote again, I quietly chase after as I fail to keep my focus on him. Grand mausoleums and obelisks decorated with gilded names to the right of me, to the left of me and in front of me. Strange pillars on wheels and machines converted into tombs. Out on the vast expanse of water in the distance are draped ships with some even burning in perpetuity.

In groups of eleven, always eleven.

Going over another hill with Undwote, we find the owner of this place, a deeply tanned, bronze-armoured giant. Bright as the sun I got the slightest hints of when I met Ihtuntar, I have never seen such an immaculate polish before. Maybe it is not regular bronze, perhaps it is like the divine metal thunder-gold? Some kind of war-bronze...?

The God of War removes his helmet, decorated with a wreath of what seems to be scrolls, revealing his clean-shaven head. A pair of golden, consistently sorrowful eyes look towards us. Turning slightly, he reveals the rest of his ornate, muscle-shaped armour. Finely crafted faces cover the fine worked bronze and their many expressions make me uncomfortable.

But, compared to the great, double-headed battleaxe he is holding, these feelings are nothing. This strange attraction has spawned within me, a sense of dread towards its divinely forged edge of shining, copper-coloured metal. Like the slab on the door, glowing letters move about the mass of metal. And my name soon appears in full.

Nin Urtuan.

"You have brought a soul to me?" Waionr asks, confused by my presence as he picks up the hefty weapon. Bringing its pommel to the ground, I shake as its power rumbles all the way up to my heart and mind. I cannot look away from my name as it glows powerfully on the axe... As the tales say, once your name is spelt out...

"To get him off of your axe, Father is preventing me from processing him and I don't want an accident to happen." the God of Death answers sternly as the divine soldier ponderously juggles his helmet. I step back slightly as Waionr's weapon, Cenotaph, leans closer.

"Soul, have you ever sworn a warrior's oath?" the God of War asks with an unchanging, simple expression. Undwote glares and steps up, offended by the idea that I am stolen.

"No, he hasn't..." he answers as his whistle is held threateningly close to his lips.

"Soul. Have you ever sworn a warrior's oath?" Waionr repeats as he keeps his eyes on me.

"No..." I say as I slowly shake my head, picking up the pace until I am doing it vigorously.

"Then give me your hand." Waionr asks and I quickly do as I am told, handing over my right palm and gulping. The God of War lowers his mighty weapon with one, steady hand. Its weight passes onto me even with the divinely strong grip holding it aloft and I tremble as I feel it cut deep. Slowly, the blade slices through my soul-flesh and it rises away right after, my name fizzling out of existence.

Staring down at the cut in my palm, I flex it and take in how the deep wound is as well as how it is not hurting...

"It is done, I can no longer put you to rest." Waionr says to me directly, though, it is probably more so meant for Undwote's ears. Watching the god carefully, he turns around and gets back to whatever it is he was doing in his... Room.

"And that is that, time to go visit Motrtha and Aahtha." Undwote goes as he drags me back to the lonely door atop a hill.

"I never got to say thank you..." I mutter.

"For what, taking your name off his axe?" Undwote scoffs quietly, missing the point of politeness. I glance once again at some of the figures tending to the graves. If I ever get a chance, maybe I should speak to Waionr about Vapooliar? It seems unfair of her to not be able to get what she has tried so hard to get over one small thing...

"Hm..." I let out.

"Come on, let's not dawdle." Undwote chirps as he drags me the rest of the way through the door. Closing it with a loud, resounding thud as I find my footing on the ship's decking. I look around and blink, the transition being so taxing on my mind.

"Yeah..." I go as I stare down at my right hand as a glowing line plays the role of a scar for the moment. Inspecting it closer, thousands upon thousands of bright, pale strings make themselves clear to me. Joining up together, an actual scar forms on my palm. From the corner below my index to the diagonally opposing one on the other side.

Flexing my hand some more, I remain looking at the god-given mark.