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#ever-thankful that poetry is one of my hobbies 🙏🙏 how would i write my rhyme-loving bard otherwise?
m1d-45 · 1 year
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Heheehee would love to see venti post-imposter au like that one u did for zhongli...I love guilt >:)))) and thank u, u r amazing!!!!
unnamed poem, unnamed bard
a/n: wrote a whole poem for this. hope you enjoy <3
-> warnings: reader is dead. reader is a literal corpse and is described and referred to as such. major spoilers for mondstat archon quest, the most microscopic spoilers for liyue archon quest.
-> lowercase intended!
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie
< masterlist >
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‘the creator is the highest god across every nation.’
seven sets of eyes stared at the body in front of them, at the arrow shot through it’s throat. several other wounds crossed the body, but none were as lethal as the first.
‘they have created everything, from the clouds-‘
angry gray rippled across the sky, thunder crackling in the distance. the storm had been brewing all day, and now the reason why was clear.
‘-to the air-‘
wind howled and cried, whipping through hair and pulling at clothes. one of the ties around venti’s braids had been ripped away, the hair beginning to unravel in the gale. still, even as nahida clutched at focalor’s cloak to stay standing—poor girl, she’d been trying to convince her—the clothes on the corpse were still.
‘-to the earth beneath our feet.’
blood seeped into the ground below, shimmering even in the dim light filtering through the clouds. the brick pattern below had shining blue for grout, blood tracing a spiderweb out.
‘they are only to be adored with the highest of veneration.’
thin hands shook around the handle of a bow, painted nails digging into the grip. barbatos’ eyes are wide, teal, unblinking gaze staring at the body as if it would magically come back to life. as if it would reach, pull out the arrow, as if it would sit up and chide him for behaving so rashly. it doesn’t.
‘after all…’
amber eyes search for purple, then red, black gloves tightening around the geo lord’s weapon. he was not without sin, having also participated in the chase—none were truly pure, none truly deserved any form of forgiveness except for maybe nahida.
‘it is they to which we owe our lives.’
seven chests heaved with a variety of emotions—adrenaline, contrition, horror—but an eighth was oddly regular. blank, lifeless eyes, matching the color of the ones on the corpse, curved with a smile. well done! they cheered, silent pride shining in the dim light.
‘they are stronger than steel.’
“who are you?”
the gritted voice of the pyro archon shattered the fragile silence.
“me?”
‘brighter than the sun.’
the false god put a hand to their chest, the fake shock on their face not hiding their glee. “well, i’m your god, aren’t i?”
‘with their iron-strong will,’
six hands tightened on weapons. one set let go of cloth, small stature still brimming with anger.
‘eons long work begun.’
new blood stained the dirt, red instead of divine blue. the fake’s body jerked, elemental reactions dancing across their skin as their body fell to the floor. superconduct burned out their eyes, overload locked up their lungs, quicken sped up the rate at which blood flowed from their veins. frozen pinned their still-twitching body to floor as they slowly died.
the gods almost wished that it had taken them longer to die. they certainly didn’t deserve a quick death.
‘they forged the valleys and plains.’
seven voices united by the covered body of their god, undivided by worldly squabbles. grudges and bitterness fell away, if only for now, seven heads bowed on seven sets of knees. even nahida, innocent as she was, had knelt alongside them here. seven prayers were lifted on seven tongues, some wavering, all weak. the scenery did little to distract when they knew they had slaughtered it’s maker.
‘mountains shaped, clouds retained.’
the burial was silent, only the sound of dirt against dirt breaking the solemn air. shimmering jade rose from the earth, obsidian lettering carving out their sin. seven were too weak to continue standing, seven sets of tears beginning to fall. seven asked for forgiveness.
‘as night turned to day turned to night again,’
none would receive it.
‘their last creation made, to their own world they ascend.’
grass and flowers were quick to grow over the unsettled dirt, risking quick uprooting for the chance to get closer. seven hearts burned. seven souls screamed.
drinks hit their tables with loud bangs. ‘who are you, bard?” a man called. ‘where have you heard such things?’
barbatos was the first to flee, unable to bear feeling their aura so long after their death. his wide wings flapped erratically, all of his usual grace lost as tears blurred his vision. the cuffs of his shirt clung to his skin, droplets of blue already staining to matter how hard he tried to scrub it out. it refused to even smudge.
he tucked his wings in and dove, barely even trying to slow his fall once he got closer to the ground, not feeling the pain in his feet. he stumbled once, twice, then collapsed at the foot of his own anemo statue.
the boy laughed, the teal on his nails matching the mirth in his eyes.
barbatos’ chest heaved, the air he commands abandoning him in his time of need. the peaceful breeze of windrise couldn’t hide the uneven beats of his heart, the cool stone behind him not soothing the burn on his face. he could see them, the golden chains of his crimes, already encircling his arms. the fingers that pulled the string stiffened with shining rings, too tight to be comfortable, his opposite palm already beginning to glow. some scrap of his consciousness mourned how it would affect his ability to play, to drink, to move, the unforgiving chains binding his actions.
the larger majority mourned his god.
‘you can call me venti.’
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