43rd PAWW’s story

Here’s the second part from this story. It’s not related to the theme, but I prefer to publish this rather than nothing.

Dying didn’t feel particularly painful to Cullen. A life filled with battles and blue addiction made him used to the daily hurt, and being stabbed to death wasn’t nearly as painful as his body craving for lyrium during sleepless nights. He almost felt relieved instead, to meet such end for all his actions. Magic hadn’t killed him, it was the very Order he swore to serve for more than fifteen years. Lies, how many lies had spilled from his lips even as he allowed torture, rape and murder in the name of the Maker? How many of these acts had he himself committed? The blood was everywhere, it even invaded his dreams, and now it was spilling from his torn body. Perhaps he could ask for forgiveness to Andraste or to the Maker Himself, beg for the punishment he deserved.

Only the Maker wasn’t waiting for him as he stepped into the Afterlife. No one was waiting for him.

He woke up in silence, his body no longer hurting. This world was dark, despite the torches lighting the corridor he awoke in. He didn’t know how long he walked, time was frozen here, until he stepped into a well-lit room. Statues greeted him, and he took a moment to observe them. The persons immortalised in various situations were beautiful, ethereal. Signs designed each of them as god of fertility, goddess of justice, and so on.

“Come forward, Cullen Rutherford,” a voice ordered him further in the room. It was a man, a gorgeous one at that, seated on a black throne. He was wearing an outfit with too many buckles, his fingers heavy with rings.

“Are you the Maker?” He inquired as he stopped in front of the steps leading to the godly throne.

“I am Dorian, the Lord of the Underworld, and you are in my realm.”

He bowed to that Lord, not as intimidated as he thought he’d be. “I deserve punishment for what I did,” he announced without waiting, because he knew it was true. He was ready to take any punishment the God of the Dead judged fitting.

He was again surprised by the outcome.

“You want me to be your right hand?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“Indeed. The Underworld is a vast place, and there’s only so much one god can do to manage it. I’ve been looking for someone to help me for a while, and you seem suited for the task. You were the right hand of the Knight-Commander of the Templars in Kirkwall, were you not?”

“I was.” The Lord of the Underworld was offering him to become his assistant instead of suffering for eternity in the Abysses, and he dared to protest? “All right.”

“It’s settled then. I have a few other judgments to do, but one of my servants will show you to your room.”

As he was led out of the room, he very distinctively heard a woman scream in pain, one whose judgement didn’t go as well as his. His room was richly decorated, more so than everything he possessed previously. He was used to sending the little money he earned to his family, the Order giving him a shelter and the necessary already to live by.

After the servant went away, he took a moment to observe the paintings depicting multiple scenes he didn’t recognize, featuring those same gods and goddesses he knew little to nothing about. Despite being dead, he felt exhausted, and he crawled into that comfortable-looking bed to fall into a dreamless sleep.

At least the Maker truly existed, even if he was a womanizer, and Andraste was a prophet, but they weren’t married. Cullen met them once, Dorian greeting them with a warmth he rarely showed to other godly visitors except for Felix, the messenger of the gods. The latter would often visit and they would talk for long lengths of time in his private quarters. During those moments Cullen was free to do as he pleased, and he tried to refrain jealousy from taking over.

Those feelings were unjustified, however. Never did the duo give him the feeling that they were anything more than close friends. It only was the way they acted together, they’d known each other for a very long time and there was a chemistry between them that Cullen could only dream to possess with the Lord he was serving.

Dorian was always friendly with Cullen, even after he judged the darkest souls, with his continual flirtations and natural charms, but he kept a distance as well, one Cullen yearned to break. He seemed like he was waiting for Cullen to leave, or to act a certain way to hurt him, which was the opposite of the ex-Templar’s desire.

Something happened to the god to be this way, and he wondered if he’d ever discover the reason.

At least they were almost always together. He was to basically accompany him all the time and to take some work off his hands, to let him focus on the most important matters.

It was odd to meet acquaintances and friends he knew during his life, but after a while, he supposed they was no one left alive and they were all somewhere in the depths of the afterlife. The work itself, otherwise, was simple for the most part, but there was just so many dead who had particular requests on a daily basis, adjustments to make to their eternal resting place, and Dorian was busy most of the time judging newcomers, so it was up to Cullen to accommodate them. To be honest, he made a bit of a mess at first, not knowing he could ask the Lord’s servants for help, a group of low-level spirits that never left the Underworld. Luckily he was a quick learner, and he realized something was off with him after a while working for Dorian.

“I feel different,” he told Dorian after he assisted his judgments of the night. “I can do things, magic, that I never was able to in my life. I froze someone’s arm only with a thought.”

“Your mage blood is coming out now that you don’t have your Templar abilities to suppress them. I have to admit, I might have given you a little magical push as well…” Dorian wiggled his well-manicured fingers. They were heading for the Abyss, to take care of a dispute between two ill-mannered souls.

“What do you mean?”

“I wouldn’t make you my right hand and just let you be a dead normal human now, would I? You have blossoming magic at your will, and now I’ll help you get used to it.” And he did. At first, it was quite simple spells; wisps giving the faintest glow, butterflies as dark as the night the Underworld was continuously swimming in, levitating small objects. Then Dorian taught him how to manipulate the dead to force them to obey him, if needed. The mana was almost saturating the place, allowing him to cast spells almost infinitely without ever feeling drained, which was an useful but dangerous feat if not used the proper way. Cullen could do what he feared all his life, manipulating and creating things out of thin air, but his new abilities exhilarated him instead of scaring him.

“Are you hating yourself because of it?” Dorian inquired, noticing his expression as they were practicing.

“I don’t. Magic is just a part of what I am now. It doesn’t change who I am.”

“If only everyone could think like you,” the Lord stated pensively, and Cullen felt his neck warm up. It wasn’t even a compliment, why was he flustered… or was it?

“Mentalities change.”

“Perish the thought.” Dorian said with amusement and regarded him with a warm look, one he didn’t even use for Felix. Cullen’s blush deepened. They were in one of the gardens, odd flowers glowing in the darkness and smelling of nostalgic souvenirs. Cullen liked to come here to admire them when he had too many thoughts and wanted to ease his mind. It didn’t come as a surprise that it was one of Dorian’s favorite spots as well, with discarded books on the coffee table nearby a small fountain crafted in black marble.

“So I gather you’re accommodating well?” The god asked, extending an arm so an iridescent bird could perch itself on his slender fingers. So delicate and gentle in this instant, yet they’d brought harsh justice without tremors mere moments ago.

“Quite. My quarters are beautiful, the place has its charms, and the company-“ He stopped, biting his lip to prevent what he was about to say.

“What about the company?” Dorian insisted, pale eyes focused on him. He stroked the bird one last time and let him fly away.

“The company is worth everything.”

Dorian rose in a fluid movement, making Cullen almost fall into the fountain. He stepped forward to be in front of him, his smile brightening his eyes in a way that the sun never could.

“Cullen…” He pressed his palm against his cheek, the metal of his rings almost too hot to the touch except for his icy claw ring. The god was breathtaking from this close, smooth olive skin and oiled moustache enhancing a very attractive mouth. How Cullen had brought the attention of such beautiful creature on himself, he had no clue, but he wasn’t about to complain.

His lips were as soft as they looked, he idly thought as they met his. The kiss was nothing soft, Dorian taking and conquering him, owning him as he owned everything in the Underworld, and Cullen gave himself to the god without regret.

The PAWW Project