Saephis
Virtuous
The individual was laid out on the ground, pale skin lashed to steel posts which were buried several feet deep and went several more past the surface. Leather strips strained under the still fevered attempts to free himself. Eyes bloodshot from the strain of sleep deprivation and a near-constant screaming over the past forty eight hours in attempts to gather attention about their captivity.
Unfortunately, the person tied to the ground was where the sun no longer shone.
In the middle of this barren field, wheat once grew here. Once when the sun dared show itself before unknown forces drove it away and welcomed the now-constant cloud cover. Three individuals were here. Two moved. Two breathed. One did neither. Blood was splayed out in intricate writing across the dirt.
The Betrayer's blood covered the southern region of the area, symbols alluding to crimes against the blood. More crimson designs splayed out on the dirt, depicting crimes that were in the process of coming to fruition. And the beginning of etchings depicting atrocities yet to be done, and yet oddly cut off.
The Recovered's blood shone on the ground to the east, blood drawn pictographs showing history of a lost people. Arches and loops meant to show the return to the whole, and webs of deep red reaching out towards its future beyond the horizon.
The Pure's blood showing a rich legacy of their people to the north. Feathered edges displaying proudly the strength that it possess on the soil. And bold drawings building the foundation for tomorrow.
The blood of the Destroyer covered the west, fracturing the ground's once clean surface of mistakes made a-purpose. Intended actions against the present and future alike drawn out, but cut short just like the source of the blood's life. Its second life. Its third life. A life cut short by mistakes made by its own hand, underestimations brought forth by its own pride.
In the center were two bodies. The one lashed to the ground, writhing still though no longer screaming, wore the tattered rags of blue that still showed poor upkeep and a likely violent abduction. The second lie still. Not a breath passing its neither nose nor lips. The two showed night and day, beautiful silence and calm against furious destruction of its own being.
Fuel splayed out a large pattern past the bodies and past the blood, a spider's web arcing forth from the center. A spider's web set ablaze in the night.
The third individual stepped carefully between the precisely laid out patterns and glyphs. The sword wreathed in pure white light, though muted, inside its sheath at the back. The second sword, created from bone and essence, growing whenever one of significant strength that knew not what it was capable of grabbed the wrong location.
"The sacrifice has been brought. A life for a life. One essence destroyed too soon, one essence to be ended to right this wrong."
The standing individual closed their eyes, reaching forward while gripping the free sword with both hands. Ripples of reality itself emanating forth from both the weapon and the grips handling it, careful steps brought the free form to the circle drawn with a protractor specifically meant for such an action: Ritual.
A crack of lightning and a sickening crack of bone as the eyes snapped open. Now standing between the two bodies and having the spirit-forged remains of the weapon that once was wielded by a since-banished Lich held in each hand.
"Be gone, Ka'imman. Your line ends here and now, sacrificed for a worthy Anazatae."
One shard was thrust into the human's chest, the second jammed into the still form of the midnight-skinned woman. The dream ends abruptly with a scream emanating from both bodies on the ground.
Unfortunately, the person tied to the ground was where the sun no longer shone.
In the middle of this barren field, wheat once grew here. Once when the sun dared show itself before unknown forces drove it away and welcomed the now-constant cloud cover. Three individuals were here. Two moved. Two breathed. One did neither. Blood was splayed out in intricate writing across the dirt.
The Betrayer's blood covered the southern region of the area, symbols alluding to crimes against the blood. More crimson designs splayed out on the dirt, depicting crimes that were in the process of coming to fruition. And the beginning of etchings depicting atrocities yet to be done, and yet oddly cut off.
The Recovered's blood shone on the ground to the east, blood drawn pictographs showing history of a lost people. Arches and loops meant to show the return to the whole, and webs of deep red reaching out towards its future beyond the horizon.
The Pure's blood showing a rich legacy of their people to the north. Feathered edges displaying proudly the strength that it possess on the soil. And bold drawings building the foundation for tomorrow.
The blood of the Destroyer covered the west, fracturing the ground's once clean surface of mistakes made a-purpose. Intended actions against the present and future alike drawn out, but cut short just like the source of the blood's life. Its second life. Its third life. A life cut short by mistakes made by its own hand, underestimations brought forth by its own pride.
In the center were two bodies. The one lashed to the ground, writhing still though no longer screaming, wore the tattered rags of blue that still showed poor upkeep and a likely violent abduction. The second lie still. Not a breath passing its neither nose nor lips. The two showed night and day, beautiful silence and calm against furious destruction of its own being.
Fuel splayed out a large pattern past the bodies and past the blood, a spider's web arcing forth from the center. A spider's web set ablaze in the night.
The third individual stepped carefully between the precisely laid out patterns and glyphs. The sword wreathed in pure white light, though muted, inside its sheath at the back. The second sword, created from bone and essence, growing whenever one of significant strength that knew not what it was capable of grabbed the wrong location.
"The sacrifice has been brought. A life for a life. One essence destroyed too soon, one essence to be ended to right this wrong."
The standing individual closed their eyes, reaching forward while gripping the free sword with both hands. Ripples of reality itself emanating forth from both the weapon and the grips handling it, careful steps brought the free form to the circle drawn with a protractor specifically meant for such an action: Ritual.
A crack of lightning and a sickening crack of bone as the eyes snapped open. Now standing between the two bodies and having the spirit-forged remains of the weapon that once was wielded by a since-banished Lich held in each hand.
"Be gone, Ka'imman. Your line ends here and now, sacrificed for a worthy Anazatae."
One shard was thrust into the human's chest, the second jammed into the still form of the midnight-skinned woman. The dream ends abruptly with a scream emanating from both bodies on the ground.