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[Aurelia Bretane]

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“To where?” Arahim's demeanour was quiet, and calm, and bore little if any of the confusion which seemed to have plagued him of late. He was, as always, respectful in both word and action.

“The Shrine o' Sacrifice.” Aurelia began. “Take an item that means a great deal t' ye. Leave it there, t' be washed in th' blood o' sacrifice. An' meditate, 'pon not only what ye leave behind, but also what it means t' go forward without it. Sacrifice is just so. But it's for our own betterment that we leave these things behind.”

Arahim nodded and spoke softly. “Aye Countess.”

Aurelia stood and took a leather pack from a crate in the corner of the room. “Inside is a suit o' dress armour, an' my livery. A crimson cloak bearin' th' red cross on a field o' ivory. A sash o' crimson as well. Will ye wear this as ye carry out th' quest?”

He nodded again as he took the pack from her. “I will, Countess.” Arahim looked up from the pack, to Aurelia. “Is there anything more?”

“One last thing, Arahim. 'Pon completion o' yer meditation, I would request ye search th' area around th' Shrine o' Sacrifice and find a suitable stone that ye can carry. Bring it back t' me. When we rebuild th' theatre, the garden will become a tribute to th' virtues. This will be our cornerstone, as we move forward. I'll ask no more o' ye for now.”

“I will do as you've asked.” Arahim bowed his head to her slightly.

“Thank ye, Arahim. I expected nothin' less.”

He smiled and lowered his voice slightly in reply. “Then you honour me, Countess. Till soon.” And with that, he bowed and departed the hall.

The Countess watched him go, smiling to herself as he shut the door behind him.

“A small first step. But oh, th' journey is great....”

[Arahim]

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"Take with ye, if ye like, one t'attend ye."

"With respect, Countess, what you ask is a solitary thing."


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Temerity picked his way gingerly through the deeps of the pathless forest. The going was slow, the ground slick. Roots and rocks were unearthed from the sudden downpour where the earth had sloughed away.

Water sprayed in great halos as he shook out his long mane in obvious, undisguised annoyance. Snorting heavily at the absurdity of being out on such a day, the coal black beast, nonetheless, plodded on. Casting reproachful looks back at his rider, and well fed up with the inconsistency of their outings of late.

These woods did very little in the way of shelter from the rain. It fell in steady, windblown sheets, and beat a hollow, metallic sounding staccato across Arahim's new suit of armor.

Freezing rivulets seemed to discover every space at ever joint, running through unchecked until his underclothes were soaked through and clung sodden to his chilled, naked skin beneath.

Thoughts of drowning within ones own gear swept through his foremost thoughts, forcing him, first, to lift his visor, then to remove his helmet entirely as the vision seized a firmer hold.

It was not the finest, or noblest way to begin, but the Shrine was not far now. And in spite of the unexpected storm, in spite of the penetrating Summer grey that draped his surroundings, Arahim was possessed of a calm clarity, and good spirits.

[Arahim]

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Arahim wound Temerity's reins around a low hanging branch several feet away from the Shrine in a spot that seemed as heavily sheltered as he was like to find here. He smoothed the tempermental horse's flanks and spoke low soothing words, regretting again not stabling the steed in Minoc and simply setting out on foot. The animal's testy snorts, and agitated, stamping hooves serving to further fuel his guilt, especially with the knowledge that he could not rush through this part of the trip.

"Sssh...just awhile longer."

The rain had not abated by any measure. A distant rumble from the east promised more to come, and an eventful night for those not tucked warmly in their homes - for those not called upon to see to matters that cared little for unforseen circumstance.

"Speak your intentions aloud, and hear Fate laugh," had been a favorite saying in Cove.

Arahim had met with the veracity of the phrase many times over in his life.

Still, there was a terrible beauty in the growing storm. A welcomed chaos that only nature could spin from nothing and present it in such array, with such inconstant regularity, that folk accepted even the damage inflicted by the elements as merely the way of things.

There was symbol in that the Shrine he now stood before was walled on three sides only, and offered only what it was: A monument to the idea of the giving over of oneself. Respite from the many other concerns of the world would not be found here.

Stepping onto the slicked stones, Arahim lowered his gaze to the blood pooling at his feet before clasping his hands together at his waist, and closing his eyes.

Wet through, cold to his very bones, he stilled his breathing to shallow draughts...held, then slowly released. Emphasizing every pointed, conscious pull of life with a whispered mantra.

Picturing everyone, and everything he held in high importance.

Everyone, and everything he loved without question, or regret.

[Arahim]

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His hands were awash in blood, though none of it was his own.

The rain thinned the viscous, dripping pool and sent it running over the stones of the Shrine into the outlying grass where it fed a chromatic sea of flowers. Every fitted stone, and aged crack soaked in the red runoff. A scene that anywhere else, to any other eyes, would seem a gory tableau born of the stuff of nightmare.

Here, it was ritual.

Kneeling, Arahim set the thick silver chain at the foot of the ankh where the blood was thickest. The carved pendant was face up, so far untouched but for the reflected flashes of lightning giving the bright metal a liquid look that held many colors. Dipping his fingers into the crimson flow, he arranged the chain reverently into a perfect circle as if on display.

As if a gift laid aside for someone else to find.

Heavy with memories, ones settling over it even now, a unique piece lost, but not cast aside heedless of such an act.

Not unloved, or forgotten.

The thought brought Arahim a smile as honest as he had ever known. And that he could not rightly envisage the sort of person to take up his necklace as their own, nor what meaning they would bestow upon it, made him glad. The unknowable, the complete, and endless possibility was wonderful.

[Arahim]

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Re: A Simple Sacrifice
« Reply #4 Today at 11:58am »

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" 'Pon completion o' yer meditation, I would request ye search th' area around th' Shrine o' Sacrifice and find a suitable stone that ye can carry. Bring it back t' me."


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It was several paces behind the Shrine on a shallow slope where the grass had never taken hold. Low scattered bushes clung doggedly to the ground. Growing at a slight angle, their roots shown prominently above the forest's floor where too many seasons of rainfall had eaten away at the soil.

The leaves were brown and brambled. Unearthed as they were, setting too high, they seemed alive atop a tangle of tentacles.

Between two such specimens, Arahim found his stone mostly buried in a blanket of mud, but not wholly.

It was white-grey flecked through with traces of pearl in varying sizes and concentration.

Rough textured, rounded by time and pressure. Hammered into being by the elements, it was as it was meant to be.

Innocuous, but not unbeautiful.

Arahim discarded his gauntlets as unwieldy after his first attempts to claim it had been stymied. It was sunk deeper than he had expected, and the earth would not yield up its treasures for little work, so he set to doubling his efforts.

He dug at the edges with his bare hands and fingernails, scooping furrows of mud away from his prize. Inch by inch uncovering the depths of its nest until working underneath it, losing his extremities to the greyish slop, the stone came loose with a wet, sucking sound.

For long, he stood holding the rock allowing the storm to wash it clean. He turned it this way and that under Summer's wild gaze, and made sure he took only what was asked of him away from here.

Less even, as the pommel of his sword worked like the falling of a workman's hammer and chipped away a small, sharp sliver that he left behind.