Sange and Yasha

Secrets

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  [ ♫ ]
  
  Still something of a WIP. Please mind the mess.
  
  Sange and Yasha
  
  A peculiar duo: the liontaur hierophant and his dark-elf bodyguard.
  
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• Correspondence

  [ Below: Excerpts from the correspondence between His Eminence Lucius Vitus Augustus (esteemed hierophant of the First Temple of Trivantis) and his mysterious associate "H". ]
  
  
  

  I. "dies Mercurii, 5 of Iunius, 1943 a.u.c."

  dies Mercurii, 5 of Iunius, 1943 a.u.c.
  To Lucius Vitus Augustus:
  
  My dear friend,
  
  Last night's dream was a vision. In the coming weeks, I will receive a letter from you, requesting my help with a "plan" so damnably foolish that every minute I spend in anticipation whitens another hair. Rather than suffer in silence, I've decided to reach out to you first in the vain hope that you might be dissuaded. Make no mistake: the path you're about to undertake is one of PAIN, FUTILITY, and INSANITY. Insert pithy comment of your choice regarding the likelihood of your stupid furry arse ever heeding my warnings, but one can dream.
  
  You know nothing good can come of this. Smarter cats than you have tried, and failed, to destroy the blade. You'd probably have a better chance of burying the damn thing, but it will find a way to the surface. LEAVE IT ALONE, OR IT WILL RUIN YOU. If I've learned anything from all these years of useless fucking visions that I can't do anything about, it's that you can't change fate.
  
  Don't Fuck with Fate, alright?
  
  H.

  
  

  II. "dies Solis, 16 of Iunius, 1943 a.u.c."

  dies Solis, 16 of Iunius, 1943 a.u.c.
  
  "H", My Most Vulgar, Neurotic, and Needlessly Mysterious Friend:
  
  Suffering in silence isn't your forte, if our voluminous correspondence is any indication. While I appreciate your loutish candor, I'm beginning to see why so many of your attempts to change the course of destiny have failed, given that I hadn't even thought of contacting you -- much less requesting your help -- until I received your letter. (Prophecies are so often self-fulfilling.) Having received your warning, however, I have to commend you on a brilliant idea: I'd never considered burying the blade, but it seems like a reasonable way to dispose of something so apparently indestructible.
  
  While I appreciate your well-intentioned invective, I cannot sit idly by while this accursed weapon claims more lives, in increasingly cruel ways. There was another incident just last week -- a high-profile one, at that. The headlines were imaginative, if predictably sensationalist; my favourite has to be "Love and Death in the Diamond Bayou."
  
  Call me a fool if you will (and I'm certain you will), but I cannot allow this to continue. In my arrogance, I had always considered the blade worthy of study, despite its tendency to make godless even the most pious creatures. I know now that isn't the case. Help me dispose of it, before it takes more innocents. I am perhaps the only one with the willpower to resist it, and you are the only one I trust to help me.
  
  Your friend,
  Augustus.

  
  

  III. "dies Martis, 19 of December, 1945 a.u.c."

  dies Martis, 19 of December, 1945 a.u.c.
  To Lucius Vitus Augustus:
  
  My dear lovable pissant,
  
  Finally, a damned breakthrough. Dug up some kind of journal with a bizarre, bloody glyph inscribed on the cover, and the text is in a language I've never seen before -- but it looks similar to the words engraved on the blade. Perhaps your people can take a look?
  
  A warning (not that you ever heed those): reading the words makes your eyes itch. The miner who'd discovered the book was clawing his bloody by the time we found him.
  
  H.

  
  

  IV. "dies Veneris, 5 of Quinctilis, 1946 a.u.c."

  dies Veneris, 5 of Quinctilis, 1946 a.u.c.
  
  "H", you Vulgar, Brilliant Gem,
  
  I can barely contain my excitement. There are centuries' worth of secrets in this logbook and I've only begun to understand any of it. That blade -- the accursed thing -- did you know it was not forged alone, but as a counterpart to another artifact? The entries speak of a bond that transcends destiny, a bond between Sange and Yasha; I'd wager those are the names for the blade and its other half. It appears that they both seek living entities to whom they can bind themselves; and whoever possesses these artifacts are drawn to each other, the very laws of nature bending to enable their union. Fortunately for the continued integrity of my vows, there's nothing to suggest that the attraction is romantic -- if anything, it's a meeting of two servants in service of their God.
  
  Will update you as I learn more. Working frantically at the moment to determine what this other artifact might be, as well as its nature.
  
  Your friend in gratitude,
  Augustus.

  
  

  V. "dies Solis, 2 of Maius, 1949 a.u.c."

  dies Solis, 2 of Maius, 1949 a.u.c.
  
  "H",
  
  It has been a month since your last correspondence. Given that you have been diligent about responding to my letters thus far, I fear that -- [illegible]. I warned you to be careful on your expedition. Finding Yasha is not nearly as important as having you alive and well in this world. I've dispatched all the bodies I have at my disposal to your dig site: if you're reading this, DO NOT LOSE HOPE. I'm coming to help.
  
  The bitterest irony is that while you were risking your life on this search, Yasha came to me of her own accord. You will not believe the creature who wields her -- she is one of the displaced Adush. Our kind have never been kind to each other, but never have I met such an INFURIATING– [illegible]. But even more frightening is the way she wears the gauntlets as if they were an extension of her own will; the way she introduced herself as "Yasha", as if she had no other name -- did you know, I've found myself forgetful, lately, of who I am? I know my name -- Lucius Vitus Augustus -- and my title -- Esteemed Hierophant of the First Temple of Trivantis. Yet I feel an inexplicable detachment from these earthly epithets. These accursed artifacts are powerful indeed, if they compel us to alter the very essence our identity.
  
  I pray that you are well.
  
  Your friend,
  [several repetitions of the word "Sange", crossed out and blotted with ink.]
  Augustus

  
  

  VI. "dies Solis, 15 of Ianuarius, 1950 a.u.c.."

  
  dies Solis, 15 of Ianuarius, 1950 a.u.c.
  
  To: Lucius Vitus Augustus,
  
  Your Eminence, please accept my deepest condolences. We could not locate your friend. We have rescued most of the other miners from the excavation site, some injured, but none identified as "H". The other miners have never heard of you or this mysterious "H", and without any other identifying details, I am afraid we may never learn of their fate. There is a possibility that they were among those closest to the collapse, and are now with their Gods. My hope is that your friend made it out somehow, but we must be prepared to accept the worst.
  
  Are you sure you know nothing else about this person? Even another alias would help, if only to give you some much-needed closure.

  
  

  VII. "---"

  
  
  A crumpled letter addressed to Augustus, partially ripped but mostly legible.
  
  My friend,
  
  I apologize if this is the last you hear from me. I've Seen something big. Life-changing, even, for me and my people. I hope you will forgive me: this might be my only chance to do right by them. Remember that at last, when the lamps go dark, there is only one destination. One day, we will go there together.
  
  H.

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