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Post by Èdan on Dec 8, 2022 16:28:50 GMT -6
The weight of the stone temple looming before him seems almost inconsequential to the weight on his mind, impressive though it (remains) to be. It has been some time since the last event, and yet the shadows of it have never really properly dissipated, nor has the scar on the arm grown any less strong.
A minor sacrifice for a much greater boon.. A calculation that worked well for the purposes that he had needed it. By all account he should have been quite happy of the outcome, all things considered - The arcane key has served him in many a situation, turning a tide or making the subtle easier to manage. Much of what needed to be done in guile and skill prior could be managed with a quick snap of a finger (A convenience he would still not choose to rely on, in the interest of keeping one's talents sharp, but one he can appreciate the ease of).
And yet the knight's eyes regard the temple steps with deep severity.
. 1 .
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Post by Èdan on Dec 8, 2022 16:30:00 GMT -6
The stair is much as he remembers - long-winding, rough-hewn, overgrown - the aura of general unease in much the same manner, and neither of which something to cause too great an inconvenience. No, the unease on his mind is more towards the top of the structure, where a great stone table remains waiting for its next victim, yet another petitioner to the gods. It made sense to vie for the favour of Order at the time (It had been all he'd known for most of his life, after all). But whichever gods or spirits oversaw the process appeared to give the man far more than he bargained for (And many of which still continued to linger in the recesses of minds), something the great tomes and books on magic rather conveniently saw fit to leave out.
There are moments, fleeting though they may be, where the voice seems to whisper again.. But he knows them for the memories they are now, and nothing more.
. 2 .
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Post by Èdan on Dec 8, 2022 16:31:06 GMT -6
With a deft motion, the knight spins the glaive other-side-up and jabs the blade into the packed dirt, lodging it in place - The watchers of the ritual seemed little interested in him as a person, and likely took little care for what he carried on him, but it paid to avoid disrespect in a place that held such control over whichever outcome came next. With steady steps, the knight begins the climb the stair.
The bloody carvings and grotesque scenery of the accompanying pillars is strangely welcoming. If nothing else he can appreciate the honesty of the structure, for it doesn't try to pretend to be anything but what it is. This place is not meant for pleasantry, for civility, and least of all half-measures. He has an objective in mind, and it needs doing, regardless of the manner it gets done.
(And yet, even against this backdrop of acceptance and calm, the mind still lingers on words and visions, of things no-one should know, yet what continues to haunt in subtle ways).
. 3 .
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Post by Èdan on Dec 8, 2022 16:32:31 GMT -6
The climb is easier the second time around, largely because the anticipation has long since past - He knows what comes next, and has made sure to weight every alternative and measure against another. The calculation still works out. Which isn't to say he doesn't reach the top with a certain degree of tiredness, on account of the armour, but much like last time its not the type of place for just any one person to visit (And servants can be pawns to many a different lord, tasked to give of themselves how they will). The knight regards the priests with a steely look, but bows respectfully. "Good day," the slow, gradual northern intonation, "I have come to give the gods another offering." He's long since come to realize the honorific 'my lords' would indeed fall on deaf ears.
Reaching to his belt, he brings out a pouch and upends the contents onto the great stone table between them, but where the crystals shone in bright hues of blues and purples, these ones seem to nearly swallow the light they do catch.
. 4 .
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Post by Èdan on Dec 8, 2022 16:35:25 GMT -6
These are different sort of times, and in anticipation of what might yet come, they would need a different sort of crystal (For survival is less about choosing the right side than knowing the best chances exist between both). Carefully he arranges them upon the stone surface, leaving the sphere in the middle. A latch releases the faceplate, same as before, and the berry is placed in the mouth, ready to be bitten down upon. The glove comes off and the sleeve is rolled up on the self-same dark arm, where already one thin line runs down from where the hungry dagger had cut through last. When he places the dagger against the skin, there's a moment of adrenaline as the cold of the metal is felt (And unbidden there's memories of the same sensation, from a much different time and place).
But the knight frowns, shakes the head, and pushes into the skin, slicing a cut just deep enough to bleed. As he hovers the bleeding arm over each of the stones, the jaw finally bites down on the berry, and the summer sweetness floods through the body.
There's a sense of expectation, that perhaps the dark stones would make for a void dream - a simple nothingness - just before the world collapses in on itself, and so does the knight.
. 5 .
(added)
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Post by NPC on Jan 13, 2023 23:01:07 GMT -6
Node creation: success! Cooldown period ends on December 8, 2023
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