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Visions of Vo'acha, the Shadow
Sibatti
Mamba dur NayaAmidst vibrant flora and trees
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."
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."
6
Comments
Content warning: GORY.
<< Sib is standing at the Core with a few other people, when.... >>
Scanning the darkness of the land, twin reptilian eyes suddenly snatch up the ability to pull free your gaze. The scraping sound of something large and undulating echoes from the darkness as the glowing stare begins to move, eventually disappearing from sight.
Going to Dendara:
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. Coiled about itself like an intricate spring, a serpent totem stands imposingly here. 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. A crude charm is here, a mark of the Shadow, Vo'acha.Shifting her weight from foot to foot in ill-contained tension, Miazi skulks about
You see exits leading northwest and west.
Miazi stands as a singular, dark figure beside the cairn, black cloak pulled tight around her willowy form. Her voice carries along the wind, graven tone reaching your ears. "He has waited for you, Esrytesh Sibatti." The wind that whips at her words also play havoc with the cloak wrapped around her. "Eons has he searched, and now you are here."
You have emoted: As Sibatti drops from her entbeast, she spies the familiar site of previous offerings before the serpent's totem. A few things have been carried with her: aberrations oozing their last. One is handed off to her other, accompanying spirit - a long and sinuous eidolon of the deep woods.
An eidolon of the deep woods:
You have emoted: "Voice Miazi," Sibatti greets, her tone low. "His gaze found me."
An eidolon of the deep woods vanishes away the aberration offered to it, seemingly, its corrupted body lost within its own ghastly form.
Miazi turns her slow gaze towards the cairn, following your stare towards the various remnants of offerings passed. "How long have you courted him, Esrytesh?" She poses, lifting a predatory gaze that falls now onto you. "From the first blood offered in oath, or was it something else that caused you to align to his way?"
You have emoted: Sibatti's hands remain busy with the other aberration's remains, working swiftly so as not to keep its foul remains long within this sacred fragment of Dendara. A red string is drawn from her pouch and wound around its electrocuted 'head', before once again handing it off to the nearby eidolon, who dutifully takes it from her. Her hands now completely freed, her full focus now on Miazi, she answers the an-Kiar with, "My rebirth. The embrace of death, and the becoming of His Fang. My eyes shifted such."
The eerie, dry rasp of scales are first to answer as the Shadow moves, seemingly from all around.
Miazi answering sneer is punctuated by the harsh words that follow. "Any fool with a tongue can make such boastful claims; embrace death," she cries aloud over the new sound. Her voice seems to carry in this place, accompanied by that slow, continuous scraping. "So very few realize what that promise means, what the oath entails." Her chin juts forward, a challenge to you: "You think you have the strength to lead the Council forward in this time of blood and uncertainty? Will you purge away any weakness that remains, feeding upon in his name, in order to survive what comes?"
The darkness stirs around you, mass of flesh and scales that glint with the pervading touch of the moon. You realize that he is here already - lying in wait, surrounding you completely. As the Shadow's belly scrapes across the ground, you realize that his coil has begun to slowly encroach upon you.
You have emoted: Miazi's words bring a smile to Sibatti's dath-covered lips, the bloodflower petals inked upon them stretching and parting. She takes only as many steps as necessary to form a broader space in the sodden clearing, beckoning the eidolon closer as her smile parts even further to reveal her own fangs. Her eyes are shadowed behind her mask, but delight glimmers in them nonetheless. "His fangs will purge the world..." It is a phrase familiar to her, coming easy and dampened to a low roar by her particularly coarse and gravelly voice. "...Cleanse it of what makes it foul. The weak will not be permitted to thrive, my Shadow."
You say to an eidolon of the deep woods, "Purge."
An eidolon of the deep woods moves to follow the Azudim, bidden by her word, its ghostly drift sluggish and delayed. It has nothing to say, nor any real face to speak of, any resemblance perhaps existing for the comfort of mortal eyes. It sways into the clearing beside her, and where it halts it begins the process of slowly unkinking its sinuous body. Feathers shiver and scales scrape loudly as the sinuous spirit unfurls a bloom of its own in the form of purging itself of a hunt's worth of offerings absorbed within its being. The eidolon is squeezed of all its contents, vomiting out a waterfall of what it's processed - blood and blood alone, both dark and bright as it splatters into a messy puddle into already-sopping earth.
You think:
The blood that feeds the world.
Miazi's sneering visage slowly transforms as she listens, then watches, taking on the telltale signs of pure, unadulterated joy. As blood rains down in the darkness, her own eyes slide shut in an ecstasy that seems beyond her efforts alone. Her voice rises up, an echo of your own words: "His fangs will purge the world!"
The winding body of Vo'acha begins to pick up speed as he circles you, that ring of shadowed scales growing every closer. The earth slurps and squelches beneath the weight of him as he churns and twists, the sheer force of his movement throwing up thick droplets of blood anew. In the darkness of the night, the Shadow feasts.
You have emoted: The ground-shuddering movements of the Forestwalker has Sibatti opting to lower herself slowly to the ground, her heels already mired in the mess of her offering. Great stygian wings drape lovingly against the valley floor, black feathers dousing their tips in red. Her smile persists, growing only wider and more vicious, and she lays a palm flat to the ground if only it would bring her closer to the ecstasy of the feast. "No one lurks in the woods, when they surely know it means death," she whispers a quiet promise, like unlike prayer. "We will consume, or you will consume us."
And soon, every so slowly, the Shadow's ecstacy comes to a close. When finally his roiling stops, the head of the gargantuan Serpant lifts up to pierce you with his gaze, hood flaring wide. Crimson droplets streak along the entirety of him, painted in offering and revelry. Poised to strike, he stops as still as is his namesake, and considers you.
As his eyes fix you to the spot where you kneel, the rasping voice of something unfathomably larger than yourself explodes within the confines of your mind: STRIKE. KILL. CONSUME. DEVOUR WEAKNESS, FEED YOUR STRENGTH. FOR YOU ARE THE SHADOW THAT HUNTS WHAT WOULD DESTROY DENDARA.
You have emoted: A trembling energy is marked by the raspy whisper of Sibatti's outstretched wings as she holds her position, energy preserving. And then, she is pushing herself up off of the damp earth, standing upright in a posture befitting her monstrous confidence. Serpentine tail hissing through the air with her own, pent-up energies, she rumbles out her final tribute in discordant tones, like one sealing an oath: "WE WILL DO, OR DIE."
You think:
[ A thrill, ecstatic in communion, a heartbeat away from terror ].
And then Vo'acha strikes. His blow never lands, his great, hooded head seeming to move through you and onwards on his journey before being swallowed within the forests depths. You are struck by the realization that had your will been found wanting, you would no longer breathe.
"Go forth, Esrytesh Sibatti, and herald that which comes." Miazi calls aloud, still drenched head to toe in your offering. "The time of the Guardians has come anew, and they /hunger/ for their due."
You have emoted: The eidolon that had assisted Sibatti now comes in close, floating like an attendant as if spurred on by the an-Kiar's words. The Azudim's palm comes to rest in an enveloping spread across her chin, marking it similarly in a smear of crimson. "The hunger that knows no bounds. Their price will be paid, one way or another." She lifts up her deadwood quarterstaff in quiet tribute to Miazi, shrunken heads and fetishes dangling from bits of red string tied to it, and exits.
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. Coiled about itself like an intricate spring, a serpent totem stands imposingly here. 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. A crude charm is here, a mark of the Shadow, Vo'acha.Shifting her weight from foot to foot in ill-contained tension, Miazi skulks about. A thick misting of blood covers the entire area, with deep ruts of mud and crimson creating a writhing pattern around the great cairn.
You see exits leading northwest and west.