A Plea

[Dakirennis 959]

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

Fire...

 

 

Dak'ir stood before the shrine that night upon Khel'igne. Pillars of red scorched brick towering above him as he makes his way to it's center. At his feet a man in black robes knelt in somber silence, his hands chained to the ground. The Primarch gazed down at him, they both knew what was to come. This was one of the two nameless cultists that the mali'ker had captured for this ceremony. Behind Dak'ir, Jayce Ba'Ikana and Alakagh Uuthlini, took up their positions at the drums and at the edge of the shrine's light, Phaedrus'Yar stood in stoic silence to oversee the calling. His son Arveldir watched from the shore along with a few others who’d been invited, no others were permitted to join for fear of what may happen if the Spirits were angered by this display.

 

Dak'ir nodded to his retainers to signal the beginning of the ritual. The drums began to hum as their rhythm quickened before spiraling out of control, seeming to be no rhyme or reason in their performance. The two began to whoop and howl as the ritual began. Dak'ir raised his staff high above his head with one hand, it's feathers whipping in the wind as he began to stamp his feet against the ground. His armour clattered loudly before his voice bellowed to the great volcano.

 

"Skathach! Great Wolf of Fire! Whose flames warm our homes and cook our meals! Whose fury razes cities and turns forests to ash! Hear my plea!"

 

Dak'ir's free hand reaches to his side, plucking a small clay jug from his belt and begins to pour it's contents over the black robbed offering. A sweet, pungent smell stems from the man now as he is drenched in fragrant oils.

 

"I offer this soul to you! So that your ire may be quelled and the lands of Ker'nor grow cold once more... Let your geysers of flame return to the ground below, end Khel'igne's violent spew of ash and fire! I beseech you, Great Spirit of Fire!"

 

With that, Dak'ir approached one of the shrines braziers and plucked a torch from it, tossing it before the sacrifice. Almost instantly, the fire jumped from the torch and danced along the streams of oil. The flames rose higher as they converged upon the man like fingers of a great hand. They wrapped around him and before long he was all aglow in the brilliant light, twisting and contorting in pain before falling still.

 

Earth...

 

 

Dak'ir now stood within the loam shrine, surrounded on all sides by soil and crude totems of clay. Here the other cultist knelt, bound by old roots in a shallow pit, she sobbed to herself and murmured to whatever dark being she called master. Dak'ir pursed his lips and waited her to finish. He knew she had to strength to call upon the void, he'd made sure of it.

Once she had fallen silent again, Dak'ir nodded to his men and they took up positions at their drums. The ones at this shrine were much larger though. The pair began to play once more, though this time in unison. In a constant, but slow beat, they racked the enormous drums. The ground beneath their feet felt as though it were going to split open. Dak'ir approached the ebon clad woman, his posture wide and chest bare. His staff replaced by a ceremonial spear. Elaborate carvings of mountains and fields sprawled across it. A long, jagged piece of slate jutted from the spear's point, bound to the shaft by roots and plant fibers. He inhaled sharply before bellowing once more...

 

"Bregthar! Great Wurm of the Earth! Whose soil provides for our crops, whose cavernous depths we once called home! Hear my plea!”

 

Dak’ir reaches to his side and pulls a handful of soil from a pouch, sprinkling it over the woman’s head. He then raises the spear over his head, aiming for the center of her chest.

 

“I offer this life to you! So that you may harden the great rivers of molten rock that spread across my people’s home! Let the ground take the ash into it’s depths so that it may provide and nourish them! I beseech you, great Spirit of Earth!”

 

And with that, Dak’ir drove the spear into the woman’s chest. She did not move in any attempt to flee. Her body convulsed as she spat a fountain blood from her mouth. She collapsed onto her back in the small pit, the spear’s shaft aiming skyward. Dak’ir knelt down, shoveling dirt over her body with his hands till she was no longer visible. Only the spear to mark her grave.

 

Dak’ir’s crimson eyes now turned to the great volcano. His heart raced in his chest with anticipation of what the coming days would bring his people. Were the spirits pleased with this offering? Was it enough? Did they even care enough to hear the pleas of a single spirit worshipping mali’ker? Time would tell. But regardless, the final step had been made in taking their home back.

 

 

 

Spoiler

If your name wasn't mentioned in the post or I've not personally messaged you on skype saying your character would have been allowed at the ceremony, please do not post. This was not a publicly known event and was only limited to a few people.

 

[Supah 334]

Arveldir stands tall and proud as he watches, standing with one arm folded behind him and the other out, his wife's hooked through his. The mali'ker seemingly glows with pride for his people, "Aspects and Ancestors alike guide us through this journey of rebuilding this dead land that we once called home."

[Brokenhelix 145]

After moving to the drum at the fire shrine, Jayce stands, looking to the sky. After receiving the signal from Dak'ir he began to pound on the drum, rhythmically at first but becoming erratic and pattern-less. Looking up to see the robed figure burn, a grimace would cross his visage. Soon after, moving to the other drum and receiving the signal again, he beat the drum in a slow, consistent pattern. Looking up to see his leader plunge the spear into the cultist's chest, he watched stoically, murmuring a few words... "Ancestors and Spirits be benevolent.."

Spoiler

first I bang the drum, then i bang ur mum

 

[Readicti 902]

Yaehahn stands close to Arveldir with her eyes glancing between her husband, father, and the events going on in front of her. "Let our family grow strong once more." She murmurs to herself. "And... Aspect bless." The aging elf would then close her eyes, shutting out the sight in front of her as she gives a silent player to the proper Aspects.

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Artimec stood before the shrine of a benevolent emerald lady, his head bowed. He could be seen in front of it daily, but today he had a new prayer:

"We shall stand by the mali'ker. Cerridwen will breath new life into their shores, I am sure of it. Aspects guide them."

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.