Carven of Omens

"Clothus are immune to dying." The Ender scrunched in sitting in this circle. He waited to be had by the master again, it seems a true name was exchanged and so the enslavement runs deep then the normal circumstances a clothus does expirence death would go through.

"The souls were sent to a random clothus realm. Of course they didn't die, there is no system of death that works on thier souls." She hissed, "Are you just lazy an Ender or lack ambitious projects?" The Ender blinks at how she was speaking his language but doesn't skirt in some paradox or swearing cruse words. Although she spoke like a teacher reprimanding a student. He had nothing to say in the mutttled shock he been put through by her. He stood steps backwards carefully and then hung his mask at the wall, a decorative piece among the many. She settles back to daze in a daydream. Turly was she abandoned here by a partner that forgotten her and exchanged back soul parts. She isn't going to really see undertakers and the system she knew ever again. Her hope of an abnormal shrine in some corpse filled realms in a dead universe of collapsed systems. That hope that it flag as something a undertaker should reverse. Well... she stays on this shrine as the unwanted gift for the lord of omens. As he seems to not wish it. Or maybe he does know but isn't able to take it in the broken universe.

Somethings are for others things to do, to change the material of realms is not her purpose and so she has no power to fix the dead universe before her. She could attempt to dig those many graves but her hands were spent broken on the stone that was almost impossible to carve. Attempting to find what rules of universe are still at work or not is to dangerous. That group of clothus was proof that she was away from protected multiverse boarders now. The books that had sigil connection is gone now, she can not access them without that slaved bookworm here. It doesn't seem that she going to convince the Ender enslaved to sit here will do anything. The spirit of the tomes are at rest or are moping souls around this realm of thrown away threads and cut offs that many gods weeded from thier gardens. This realm was as disappointing as she felt of herself. Disappointed in her inactiveness. She really was like in the realm before. Without the legs to walk. She is without any limbs to move at all.

"You!" The clothus pulls the Ender through a gateway. Now again she is alone in the cavern. The gate was seeping away, loosing connection from where it opened and where it formed from. She narrows at her sight at the seam that stays, she waited on watching the seam. To no avail nothing was happening. She doesn't even have the chain she can cling in hope of being found with thar elder. Nothing in her history can be changed now. That last fewer bits she has is memories and names. Thoughts in constant touch of those memories.

"Nothing will ever cut this..." She been so distracted by the seam that someone next group of spirit people walked into here. To such horror they found that some desperate soul managed to carve such amazing art into such stone. The group was just enough set of clothus. Turly discarded out from the multiverse. She feels the distance length further from her names and memories. Who she was once was being ruined by the inactive work of time breaking and reversing here.

"You know... Those pages belong to a very special collection of books. But here these are spralled over the floor like discarded waste." This clothus was shimmery red in darkness, walked around circle. Able to not set off the traps for being a clothus and not touching the sheets to be tested by the tome. Hovering at trying to look upon the languages and understand the purpose of these sections. They lower to peer real closer over, leaned with the back turned to her at the shelf. She tilts and gives a soft gently nudge, they weren't fooled at all. Quick at moving away back to the safety of the group.

"Some sly minx tried to push me into there." The glimmer glows red in the emotion and glares a sculpted carved eyes.

"This is a shrine with offerings untouched. How are such pieces left untouched?" Green Clothus takes a pouch and sprayers the content around. What lands upon the pages began to burn. The corpses here became lightly noticed now, "There much be a guard over the shrine." They stop spray as the flame set alight bright like before, a brazier that dies without air to fuel it longer. The pool of ink was solid set again and then faded in reversing time.

"This use to be the carven of backwards time. Now... It seems to be a shrine to a hidden fountain of fortunes. The wax seal that keeps the many connected realms from fraying at the seams. It is correct to say... there must be a being whom can speak some sort of language here. A guardian watching over the tome pages."

"The inner universe got rid of it all. What be wrong of us to well take what was thrown away." Red brushing hands.

"This isn't thrown away." Grey in strips of blue, "No one puts things delicate and precious like this manner. Not when thrown away. This is a set up for someone or something. Look how the carving eyes gaze at the circle." They peer in how right the grey blue is. Even the painted cats stare as if looking at them from inside the circle.

"we are loosing our way out of here!" So quick they rush at scrambling through the portal they came. No scrap left behind, no soul. She lays more into the mixture of objects, sitting among these few souled objects that can be spared the horror outside. She can't even bring herself to bundle tighter, decomposition of this body was set. She was mummified by the conditions of this cavern stale nature. Locked as just some soul among the objects.

The crying muffled sob at the entry into the carven awaken her so suddenly. It seems there was air movement in a place so stale and still. A bird drags a broken wing, weakly making the journey through into this cavern. This was the soul that she heard crying. If she can feed and let it rest here, it was selfless enough to proven to herself that she still held kindness. Bird went from sorrow to shock. Fluffed at the treasury it found. Shiny objects and even food. It walks across pages, a name was printed. It crosses the other side, no a trap falls. It hops to a goblet of endless water, a mythical object that contains a planet amount of water. It has its fill and ate berries off a plate, the blessing of nature's healing. It then picked about the cloth that made her, and curls into sleep. Her own shadow was able to gently reset the birds wings back to joint. Once it felt right, rubbed in dips of other things from the many god artifacts. She could have used all this on herself but she did not. A show of devotion to the Lord of omens, to not use the offerings for her benefit. Helping a helpless bird, a bird is an omen. A message carrier or even a being that carriers souls between many worlds. Even from dreams to reality. She has no fear that this might not even be a bird, she dealt with being the pet of god eaters for many years. Her experience then has unchanged.

"Craven?" The bird awakens in shuffling out of her tendrils. Even a broken wing rubs eyes thoughtless a moment. A little bird altered to a man, walked across the papers. Still the same name, "Your alive. Thank the many faces." Green cloak man hugged this Craven. Craven is the clothus of grey and blue clothing. So young. His a newborn clothus, a soul with a past that sinned worse then hell can punish. All clothus are universe law breakers in thier history, its why they don't recycle in the soul system correctly.

"I shall give thanks to the god of omens and whomever carved this strange place." He looked back, "Just maybe..." The youth left his elders side again, walks the same path across the papers and back right to the bundle of cloth, "I shall borrow this." He began to pull away and fell the corpse that was, "I see... I am so sorry." Putting the head back. He doesn't flinch at the sight of dead. Then again, clothus don't have a concept for dead. To him, he just removed clothes off a stranger without permission.

"She's not able to use the body. She was a living being from another world. They die. They cant move or speak. Their souls wonder or are trapped." The green guy is a sort of expert in other world cultures in a clothus way. Its what he worked out or was told by others. He also can tell she was a lady by her bones, he seen human remains before to tell that difference.

"She must have done all this." Looking at all these objects and her carvings. He reached at touched the broken bits of stone himself, "She spent her time to make this lovely mural. I feel bad that she's all alone." He moved her remains to pile them more comfortably, or at least this was how clothus that turned to bone would say was comfortable. Craven is indeed the spirit shape of a bird. Ironic. Clothus can be scorned animal spirits that break laws to have their krama. Human souls had not been recorded as clothus before. Only god eater souls have turned human and clothus. So is Craven a fledgling crimson souls? Not just a Clothus.

"We can make her your servant. This sort if contract is better for the less intelligent." That seems insulting in a way to say that all who been enslaved by clothus are unintelligent. Then again, this is teaching a youngling to make his frist contracts.

"I don't think someone that can write celtic alphabet in a stone that can't be broken is unintelligent." Craven points out, "But this was once a sort of intelligent lady that made this place a beautiful landmark." He hugs this bundle and bows to her bones, "I may not be able to hear you but I think you can hear me. I am Lord Grand Duke Craven of the Aces." He smiles and it was a cute and sort of familiar face. He had even stood and tilted look to his mentor in a odd bird angle. Staring down from his nose like he still has a big beak to see past. His mentor sighed in worry.

"They didn't need to know your name. You are meant to provide one and see if they accept it. or that they have a name to give you." Craven turns back in looking about the alter. He sees a dahlia flower from the stem up. The stone was burn black where the petals are. She clearly also sat hiding it before. He wipes the residue to a finger and wrote on her skull. There isn't many flowers known to clothus and only roses tend to be used for any ceremony.

'Musta Ruusu' Human Finnish for black rose. That's what he wrote along her forehead. Sadly she can on take such a name or change his fate. The dust returns to the wall and the room looked unchanged. He can tell that she didn't accept it. He puts on her cloak but left her bones and mask behind. He still manages to take a piece of her with him. She can be happy enough with that. Off they left. Mentor being glad she was smart to not be tied to a child or that she refused to harm him. The two spoke at length of how Craven had a broken wing when he entered and now it was healed. That he felt welcomed and safe in a stale creepy place.

The seam along the floor from where that Ender cut through since his enslavement. Worms away a strange team of air tanked strangers. Time warps on mysterious ways here. She had not even blinked with Craven gone.

'Carven of omens.' Sign language she has a hard time following their conversation. She does understand there is complaints about the stench outside. Some went to investigate and came back vomiting. The landscape of corpses sure stinks. A magic caster made the tome pages lift and form back into a leather bound book. A sort of restoration that reverses itself eventually. The ink dripping off the pages echo in the shadow pond within the ritual circle.

It is to her surprise that a cloak of bundled feathers walked into the ring and kneels in the correct standards of the Lord of omens. She doesn't really want to bring her hope up. That prayer was so well timed that the celtic print glows and all the traps were disarmed. They step over to the shelving of artifacts, hand appeasing the items on display. Waves of the team trying to have his attention, he tilts awkwardly at not seeing the mask lift itself from off the bones. The blank mask inspected the man close as he was trying to read thier gestures. She sees he had that ring but it wasn't without the soul stone in the setting. A empty metal ring. He is much different from before. Clearly time passed over them both a few lifetimes again. She lowers back to mimicking objects, let's this omen follower to collect his rewards. He figured out the riddle that time bound this area. Now he has to take those objects.

He seems not sure of thier fuss and looks back at the things he was putting along the belt. The skull he brushed softly cross her forehead, like he brushed away hair out of her eyes. He flicker notice of the mask and moved it too. Showing the Dahlias hung upside-down. His eyes does flicker at recognition, he had even looked again at the mask. It accord to him to put things down a moment and pat about a back pocket, taking out a worn loved picture. It really was as details were on this drawing. For that, he knew certainly whom was this mask. Lowering be eye to eye. Prayer and pleading forgiveness. He was swimming of so many thoughts. He just sort of just felt what he sort of had to do. Which was to sacrifice this picture to the pond ritual circle. This act of giving up a page with a name scored to it remade the bindings of the tome stronger. The whole group pulled away if shock. Then fear. The dust of many fallen corpses pouring into the pool and the dust from outside the carven too.

"Are you insane!" Someone shouted with the mouth peice off a moment. Their voice echos and travelled. The feed of air from them was more then enough to keep a blaze long enough to heat and harden correctly, the book now has metal bindings too. The light cast shadow, and that a mask crumbles and flakes into the surface. The carvings of the walls pulled off and printed over. The content of letters words and images splayed in. Pages moved like that of constant beating heart.

"A grimore... Such objects are hard to make." The one that made this comment was nudged in the arm, "This book... or rather this soul is special to Mat." The slide of looks by others not sure if it is wise to trust some sad soul in a creepy cavern in a realm of endless corpses. They failed to realize the grimore is the realm of corpses.

"Elder... it would happen to be the god eater that owns that crazy pub." Inquiry made.

"No this isn't Twilight. This soul was however one of the five warriors that ended the dream collapsed war." The young looking elder cross arms, "I do believe this is someone who doesn't fear my insanity. Had some sort of history with tomes and god eaters." They do remember her. So it wasn't much time passing at all.

"She was right, we needed her to return home." Matthew was tossing her bones to the floating book and now sort of everything he can provide. He throw the last sort if cursed object needed for the book to alter form, into a doorway used gy undertakers. He was brave to trust her judgement to walk fearlessly through. Everyone in shock chased the crazy bride man.

The sigil around here was off, gods here were cursed. The souls then made gods enact miracles were turned damned, thus the god folk hosts are not able to preform normally to thier duty. The breaking illusion of what gods as a open secert to Matthew. This version of him has entered a three way contract with spirit, god host and human host. She wasn't able to make any change to such arrangement in soul bind. In fact, Matthew isn't soul bound to omens then he was the other times. This was likely why she was able to make a grimore pact to him. A one sided contract that he can use her knowledge freely, and that she is bound to him. She really did just enslave herself to him, in spite of turning down his young clothus Craven of him.

"Neat. We are returned to sigil in my care." The young elder elbows his little brother. It seems that Daniel and James have settled their pain and have become a working team to work within a joint universe. Wait, so maybe this was why the souls of gods are damned. It was them that spilt the universe before into three and it too the chaos of war... the work of two broke soul brothers.

The last made it through that doorway and it sealed shut for now on. The grimore in the space of Sigil alters to a more fitting law bound shape. This is the centre of this universe, soul shape has outward appearances. Its why God eaters can walk among God's here without either of them knowing the other. True to what has happened to her, she wasn't human but instead a clothus herself. A fitting punishment for a living person to broken the law to not travel to the other side physically. If she was to enter a living realm, she will be imprisoned into the grimore shape and in the care of Matthew. There was no better logic that the sinner himself for carrying her over would have to keep doing so.

As a newborn clothus, she finds herself as s fledgling bird in cloth materials and beaded eyes. She can not fly. Her small cuteness had her scooped and pet by Matthew. He had even laughed about it too.

"You took after me." He shows her to the mask that flexed itself to see her, "Look my Lord. She's how my first life was." So that is literally the soul of his god. She slowly looked to the approaching god host that sighed at relief his follower and his influence came back unharmed from the made journey the twin Enders said to take. The host then sort of stares at her too, sort of freaked out.

"You literally brought back the tome of broken souls." He leans on Matthew, "was this wise? It now means his more cursed than before. There no reversing this."

"She's protective of us. I would more worry about her not eating the Enders." The mask ponders.

"What did he say?" The host having to ask Matthew.

"She protective of us and she would rather eat those two over there." Matthew roughly translated, "How does that work? Is she higher the power or something?" He wonders the mask sighed at that being to long to explain. The god host shrugs as it isn't his knowledge to know. Matthew peers at how everyone had something successful in this journey off boundaries and it seems the weird flex of improper time was over. What she thought was the inside of a universe was the reverse. Her human lifetimes were just flexs of time and space that wasn't forming correctly and bent out of shape. It's the strips that the gods of time, space and fate weave into the quilt of called a universe. Makes her wonder what are undertakers really? were they even real beings? They had to been but only in the fleeting existence of broken time to manage some symbolically order in chaos. without them, there isn't time or space outside the boundary. Weird.

"Ok... so now we all have the things we need to fix that tear." The twin Enders were the same age and clearly are born the same father. The melding of putting the universe back wasn't perfect but worked enough. She sees that they bounded each other in that chain she had before. That chain was worse then before, hurting them both and thier ability to work well. It was like the positive would hurt the other. She sort of finally felt why the last chain turned to dust. The enslaved Ender had reslove of seeing things though. The chain was the counter of that. She flutters at wanting to go at them two and Matthew does sort of want to see what she was up to. Weak little legs walk then hop. He flinched to catch her but she was in that chain. The twins frozen up at fear that she doing that. Glaring at her for being on their burden.

"I think you don't need this. You only need the happiness that it was before." She claims at wings spread. She sees no one understands her. She did speak bird. Damed bird at that, "Seriously?" She huffed and stomps a foot, "You two don't need this. This is gone." She peaked it with her beak and now it creaks. The chain rust spreads, breaking down to dust. It falls and she was on Matthew that is glad she isn't hurt at all.

"She's crazy." The Lord omens mask laughs a little to that notion.

"Well she did drag her dying self across into the realm of undertakers. Well... I helped her do that but she is crazy." Matthew sitting up and off the floor. attempting to dust off. But this rust stains and can't be touched by living. She waved that the mask of omens do that for him. Gladly the mask did and was now suddenly visible to everyone for it. Sort of stood puzzled by the strange fear by everyone.

"Damned can look terrifying once visible to the living." She states.

"Well you could have at least warned that." The mask of omens points out.

"Wow. Your amazing." Leave it to Matthew to not be terrified by in glamoured awe to see the Lord this way. Host of the god too, nods.

"The darker side of omens. I like it." He pulls the damned cloak around himself and the mask over face. Equally she snickers at the twins that are also visible due to the dust. The mask broken in creaks were mirror reflection. Even in a menacing manner of glaring at her, she was accepting of what they represented. The means to end things if absolutely wished for. A choose that needed to be noted but never used. She seems unable to stop chirping about it in happy chicken tones. The sort of thing that was the only sound made for miles.