Promise of Suffering

[Angatdan]

Approval begin to taint the hatred which flowed along her ethereal limb. He had neither argued nor flinched. Immediate obedience nearly pleased her, and she withdrew her essence from him to allow his body a reprieve.

She furled in further as his slaves approached, curling her tendrils up and away from those who would soon serve as a meal for her appetite. She cared nothing for these mortals, and only just enough not to crave the deaths of her priests and warrior. Loyalty was lost to her, but connection was not; all three men had made offerings to her. The warrior was left to his devices and wreak havoc as he saw fit; the priest's connection had gone dead and blank, and she was not of a state or mind to track him down; and this man...

Bits of her moved to examine the bodies he'd offered once more, bursting cells as she followed the lines of damage and decay within the corpses. All done so properly. Again, a vague pleasure began to swell within her memories; she felt almost tender.

Another tendril seeped forth to gently wisp about his face, cupping his chin through the veils. It was not a true grip, only the barest hint of one; a fog which attempted to stroke the skin upon his face. In another creature it could have been a lover's caress.

You have done well. Continue.

The touch ceased as she drew up and away, sinking herself into the surrounding foliage. Some plants withered; some seemed to liven further; and some merely trembled. The memory which settled within determined the fate of every leaf.

She would lie dormant but present until the sacrifices began.

[Phaloth Arnitel]

Some of his fellows were startled at his proclamation and they whispered urgently amongst each other. They may have been jealous, may have been awestruck, may have been exalted by the Phaloth's contact with the Goddess---he couldn't tell, because he could see their mouths moving but hear none of the words. The voice of the Goddess still pulsed within his skullpan with the steady, bass-like cadence of a slowing heart.

(You who have wished to embody my presence upon this plane,)

Steady hands guided Phaloth to his feet. The Bodycrafter passively shrugged their touch away from his person. He didn't notice their surprised expressions or their more audible reactions. All he could focus on was the sound of Her voice now. His mouth was wet and his skin prickled all over. Phaloth could still feel the crushing grip of her embrace, pinned down and held fast to behold Angatdan in all of her majesty. The pain was faint now; in fact, he drew strength from it. Tanned hands clenched into a color-drained fists, welled-up tightly underneath the sleeve of his robes.

(to serve as my bond,)

Images flashed through his mind; these were desires his Goddess wanted him to meet. A collage of ritual was splayed out before his mind's eye---men, women, and children huddled around a stone precipice. On the precipice was some pitiful soul, strapped down by strong leather and gagged at the mouth. Soon, an ornately dressed man---dressed exactly in the same raiment as he---approached the bound victim and carved the ritualistic markings upon his flesh with a silver dagger. Then, a flash of metal and the sound of cutting meat and the man's heart was taken right out of his chest, impossibly beating its last few beats and dripping with red-black heart's blood.

Yes, of course! An altar, he realized, she would need an altar.

must prove yourself. Give your slaves unto me.

But first, these cretins had to go. And within a matter of minutes, they were all easily subdued and duly sacrificed.