Morigan seized his movements. His eyesight was a blur of glory and red, the world painted in crimson from the rush of violence and glorifying violence. His posture for a moment was inhumanly still, as if waiting like a wooden contraption for the next press of levers that he might move once more, but there was no sign of enemies before him that could prompt such a thing. Where were they? Had they run? Most likely. The small siege of Tutar had retreated, clearly overwhelmed by their human opponents forces. It all made sense now, but the violence had ended too soon. His muscles ached, and a dry taste was on his tongue that was similar to thirst.<br/><br/>Reality slowly set in, and with an efforted movement his blade was brought to lean against his shoulder, the free gauntlet of his left hand being raised as he tested his current grip and muscles of his fingers. The tightening of his flesh with repetitive crushing of his fist was a good sign, for it meant he was not cramped from his blade-work. His sword was heavy, and no amount of human strength could properly relieve the eventual soreness of mortal flesh. Next came the sensory of pain, from which he felt satisfied, as well as intrigued. A few cuts from the clashing blades of the Tutar had passed his armor and grazed into his skin. Minor, but a sign that his enemy had the luck to kill him if he was not careful. Morigan turned at this, moving back to the gathering line of various soldiers while his sights once again became focused.<br/><br/>His squire was well, though he had stayed out of battle. Instinctively, he sat himself upon the earth beside him, hearing the lad's words before they were even spoken due to their repetitive nature.<br/><br/>"My Lord~! I will call over the medicinal practitioner immediately!" He exclaimed before running off, and in response Morigan began to loosen the armored layers off of his left arm, letting them fall to the ground piece by piece before doing the same to the sectioned chain-mail, designed specifically for the purpose of being able to be taken off one by one. He did not remove his helmet, as if it were a part of his very face and being. It was unnecessary, and plainly a bother when he was to put it back on immediately after. He did not care for the metal marks on his face, or the gathered sweat. It was all part of the process.<br/><br/>Eventually, his squire returned with what he presumed to be the medical soldier of the squad, the man leaning over to examine the cuts upon his heavily muscled and bleeding arm before he brought out his kit and began to prepare his tools. Morigan's eyes remained trained forward, the thirst still present on his tongue as he waited and observed the aftermath of the battle and how everyone reacted to it, observed the Prince Krinwulf and his particular way of sending off the dead.<br/><br/>Tedious, and misplaced. His emotions were better suited for battle, the Knight thought, but such was only the opinion of himself. He wondered how much death he could muster before he finally gave up, Morigan himself having never bothered to grieve. A greater war was coming, and there would be countless more of his precious and year-acquainted kin to honor. Too many for one man's heart to hold, should he continue to decide to keep one.<br/><br/>_____________________________________________________________________________________________________<br/><br/>Staring forward and into the sunrise, one stood alone upon a balcony of marble and stone. The familiar silver armor glittered away delicately, the shimmering reflection of the light painting the walls with a serene visage similar to that of the waves of water within the seas of Soluunar down below, but the face and physical visage of the owner was starkly different and less glamorous in the light of the sun, the horned helmet of Akryanus held firmly within the clawed gauntlets down below.<br/><br/>The Goddess's hair had become a deathly and lifeless gray, her skin paling away into something porcelain and near the strength in vitality of a corpse. Her eyes were lowered, a much more icy beauty becoming her as the normally serene expression of the female had become stone and as emotionless as the rest of her presentation. Her eyes closed as she brought the helmet upwards, placing it over her head as she once more became that which the world of mortals and her eternal kin knew her for, the valiant and shining God of the Stars, beloved son-in-spirit of Rune, God of the Sky, and perhaps more accurately, eternally loyal Knight of Rolyn for those more aware. She did not mind this visage, thought days did go by that she wished she had been given the truth of her armored and more known persona. There was nothing that she could live by that was feminine during her long life, and thus had found it redundant to even think of herself as anything otherwise. Not even Phyrexus could bring a maidenly part of her forever into part, for even under the sun she was of a man's stance. With a turn of her body, her clanking grieves took her away and into the shade of the building, preferring to move down along the stairs than otherwise.<br/><br/>Akryanus had been known for her varying forms of flight. Though in the night she was able to float upon the heavens, slowly move at the speed of a running man before pushing herself into a flash of speed and coating power to rival that of a falling star, she was reduced to only such destructive forces of flight during the day than the grace of moonlight in darkness. To take shortcuts could result in the crushing of earth when shown by the sun, and though this was greatly weakened compared to the burning craters and obliterating force of twilight, she would not be reckless. She had Demigods and Rolyn with expectations of her otherwise... And those that once would allow her to be reckless alongside them had outgrown the young Elder God by a few millennium.<br/><br/>When she did not sleep during the day, she did rounds about the gardens and stood at attention. It was not expected of her to be a sentinel up above, such a duty given to Demigods than any Elder God or Goddess. Nevertheless, certain habits had remained from her time before, particularly from when she was under the more constant guidance of Rolyn. She had remembered her dog-like attendance to him with a slight smile upon her face, the desire to see his appreciation of her loyalty something that she still thrived off of like a fish in water. It was the same desire that a child had for a parent, desperately seeking praise whenever they could receive it. Akryanus was much more refined in this methodology, but any whom closely observed the pair could easily draw the comparison.<br/><br/>A few Gods and Goddesses would pass on by, always met by the low bow of her head in response. Occasionally some of the females, be they Elder or Demigod, would stop to chit-chat and flaunt their beauty, no doubt convinced of her male gender as much as the rest of the world was. Akryanus was not rude, and thus would address them as she did anyone else and treat them with chivalrous respect and attention. This did not help with their clear infatuation of her, but it preserved her good image of knightly behavior, despite still being the mystery and black sheep of those that were far older than her and more at attention of her past. Her honor was second in importance to her loyalty to Rolyn, and she would not allow it to falter at the slight from whatever words and whispers were spread that concerned her.<br/><br/>The thoughts of her Demigods once again came into mind as they always did, her eyes staring up at the sky as she waited for the sun to move across and finally leave her presence. She was always a bit restless under its brightness, and thanked that her armor was reflective enough that it saved her from the majority of its light. The only restlessness that was greater than that which the sun gave her was the feeling she had in the Circle God of Light's presence, whose very being was like the sun walking upon the earth itself. Though the other Gods flocked to him, she couldn't bring herself to hang around too long, consistently shying away and trying to get a breather from his extinguishing radiance.<br/><br/>Eventually, it seemed that the thought of her Demigods came to address reality, for Helfin had joined her side and stood quietly with her. He was never talkative, but like she with Rolyn, her Knights seemed to thrive off of being around he and occasionally receiving praise. She wondered if her sire would come to join her when he was less busy, perhaps offer some sound advice to the darkly covered Knight of hers. He was much wiser than her after all, and there was much more experience under his belt than she could ever experience.<br/><br/>Time literally could only tell, and she continued her daily rounds without loneliness.