Visions of Vo'acha, the Shadow

SibattiSibatti Mamba dur NayaAmidst vibrant flora and trees
edited July 2022 in Roleplay Logs
Went to Dendara for some solo RP and got an unexpected answer. Mad props to whomever was feeling up for play that day, loved it.



Before an enormous, sunken stone idol.
You find the weather around you imperceptible. Ringed in flowering hummocks of earth and foliage, and half-rusted with red lichen, a huge stone idol lies half-buried in the mire here; a few stoic pines loom over it as though standing vigil for a fallen ally. The soft chirping of frogs and crickets form a shrill counterpoint to the whispering of the canopy above, and the occasional splash breaks the quiet peace as one of the watery flat's inhabitants claims a meal. The watery plain comes to an abrupt end against the sheer cliffs of the eastern mountains, though a few waterlogged vines make a brave attempt at scaling the impassive surface here and there. Shifting her weight from foot to foot in ill-contained tension, Miazi skulks about. Coiled about itself like an intricate spring, a serpent totem stands imposingly here.
You see exits leading northwest and west.

The Totem of Vo'acha:
Carved from a single upright spur of dark ironwood, this totem stands perhaps five feet in height, its surface inlaid with chips of jade to lend it a shimmering, scaled air. It depicts an enormous, coiled snake, its head upraised, glittering eyes staring blindly at the world and spindly, flickering tongue caught in the act of tasting the air. Strange designs in green pigment have been painted across the statue's lower reaches, confusing and twisting any gaze that settles on them.

You have emoted: Accompanied by several spirits of the wood, Sibatti approaches Miazi with respectful familiarity, giving the an-Kiar a silent nod before approaching the totem half-buried in the ground. She says nothing, and does nothing for a long while, peering at the representation of Vo'acha as if scanning for some forgotten or missed detail.

<< Took a very long time, but then.... >>

You are rewarded with a long bout of silence in your observation of the ironwood totem. From the faint, shimmering surface of the jade chips reflecting light to the rich soil wrought with foliage at its base, the totem affords you only the same familiarity it always has. Seconds become minutes soon lost to the shifting shadows of the waning sun.

You have emoted: It is not in Sibatti's nature to kneel in reverence of anything, but she does lower herself closer to the ground - first, to knees, and then to sit back on her legs. The quarterstaff is set aside to free her hands, to better feel the soft and sunken morass of this flooded portion of the valley. Her eyes flit skywards in observance of the passing moon, silent, watchful, and waiting.

You think:
No minutes are wasted that are spent earnestly watching.

You think:
We must not wait any longer, Shadow. We must do this, or die.

Almost as if to encapsulate your point, a tiny centipede lying in wait near the base of the totem soon becomes the meal of a well-hidden spider leaping from beneath the foliage. Merciless in its seizure, you can readily see the agonizing moments drain the life away from the centipede as it gradually succumbs to the spider's venomous bite.

You have emoted: The small-scale battle for life and death is observed impassively, as Sibatti draws out an obsidian knife etched in runes from its concealed place on her person. She unstrings the shell fetish from her nearby quarterstaff, dropping it into a simple wooden bowl which is then set down before the totem. Taking up the knife, she slices through the green 'petals' of a succulent cacti, smearing some of its oozing confines over the bottom of the bowl as the slice is placed.

<< bunch of spam of me dropping things on the ground and posing them >>
A wooden bowl has been placed in tribute next to the coiled serpent totem. Scattered near the foot of the totem is a shell fetish. Its petals sliced open, a green succulent peeks out of a wooden bowl here. The purple blossoms of a stalk of gladiolus have been scattered around the base of a coiled serpent totem.

In a hushed manner, you say, "It is our duty to cleanse that which is most foul."

Setting each offering into or near the bowl, you say, "For strength. For remembrance - that the shadows first were ours."

You have emoted: Her offerings placed, Sibatti next brings the knife to her opposite hand, raising both high above her head as she makes a decisive strike cleanly across her palm. The force and trajectory of the blood splatter finds random homes over her offering, the floodplain, and even the totem itself.

In quiet, paced chanting, you say, "Your supplicant dons your visage, Vo'acha. By the river where the water rises, may your gaze trap those who wander alone."

You say, "We will shed the prison of our dusty flesh, and you will take it from us. Our skin is meaningless - I walk the path of bones, knowing your eyes will not be far behind."

You think:
They will drown in the wild river, and the river will renew and cleanse them forever more.

Softer than the pattering of blood striking the surface of your offering, you hear it: a faint oscillating cadence in the air, the ground, the very shadows that perforate the region. The sound is all around you and nowhere at once.

Words slowly form in its writhing tempo to fill your mind:

You have emoted: Gradually, slowly, Sibatti lowers her raised limbs back to rest at her sides, both of her natural eyes closing to leave only her third open, glowing and fey and vibrant. A pinch of black and white powder is ritualistically laid on her tongue and left to melt.

You cover your tongue with the pinch of powder, and your vision begins to dim as the substance takes hold: You slit your prey's belly, spilling blood like ink to blot out the sky. You choke to death on it, and your blood feeds the world.

The oscillating cadence rattles through your core as the powder melts within your mouth. Bland. Poignant. Heavy. Words form in your mind clearer now:
"Strike. Kill. Consume."

You have emoted: Sibatti is as outwardly still as her surroundings and the totem itself, no movement sans the intake and outtake of deep, meditative breath. Her thirdeye moves erratically, seeing something in nothing, and seemingly reacting to no external stimuli of note.

You think:
They are not prepared to scream forever. But they might.

Spoken like prayer, you say, "Strike. Kill. Consume."

You think:
They will struggle - for they surely do not know bliss awaits them.

You think:
[ A layer deeper, spoken by unconscious thought: "Eat the soul, eat the mind, leave the flesh to burn." ].

With each passing moment that you feel the powder melt within your mouth, the deeper the encroaching darkness in your vision becomes until only the volatile lilt of the rhythm remains.
"Strike. Kill. Consume."

You have emoted: Sibatti's eyes open, her body practically jolting as if stirred from deep slumber. "His fangs will purge the world," she announces, to no one in particular. At her declaration, the spirits lingering patiently nearby move to join her at her side, and with no further ado given to sanctity and ritual, she takes to her sylvan steed with clear motivation and drive.

<< left Dendara, back home >>

Even as you depart and set about your journey through the land, the sensation lasts until the first rays of dawn pierce the horizon, melting away the pitiless, impenetrable void. Though you may not readily feel the unfettered pulse of the rhythm coursing through your being every moment - it's there. Relentless and fierce, there to be seized by the bold.
"Strike. Kill. Consume." And with the coming sunrise, "Rebirth."
RihrinValorieEakuTeaniXaspherIesid

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