A Sacrifice

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by SideburnedBuddha, Feb 23, 2013.

  1. Saundonel dusted the sand off of his boots. This would be the last time they would ever be used. Today, Saundonel, the oldest and wisest of his kin, would die. Not by the hand of an enemy, or by the justice of his fellows. Nor by the effects of some vile humor or the old age that had made his bones but pieces of driftwood and his thoughts scattered among the fine grains of sand. No, Saundonel has decided to kill himself off, for the sake of his fellows. His kin no longer needed him, he thought. The times no longer called for bearded magicians who where haunted by phantoms of their own creation. These good times called for rosy-cheeked, headstrong little warriors who did not think enough to second-guess themselves. If the blue creature demands an offering, it might as well be the least useful of the bunch.

    This is what they want.

    The demon demands a sacrifice.

    One step. Two. Three. The Blue Demon wrapped around his feet and then retreated, only to come back again with more vengeance. Five. Six. Seven. It only got easier to give in with each step. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. There's no use in counting anymore. Just let him consume you, let him pull you down into the depths of his stomach.

    The demon demands a sacrifice.

    Have him digest you and suck every last bone, every last muscle and blood cell. Every last thought will belong to his digestion. Every last thought? Every last thought. Last thought ever. Last thought ever. Last thought ever! Last. Thought. Ever.

    What? Who has pulled Saundonel out of his grip?
     
  2. "Saundonel," Epita whispered, clutching her cold, thin and pale hand around his shoulder. She knew just how to get in between his bones, to awaken him the way a rose pricks a careless finger. She felt his shoulder tense, he was aware of her presence.

    "Don't," She continued, her usually strong and clear voice wavering in his ear. "This is the wrong choice!" She yelled, the strong breeze beginning to drown out her words—her screech was barely audible under the blanket of wind.

    She glanced down at the roaring sea below them, a dark and frightening beast that threatened to swallow her childhood friend. The salty mist stung her bright green eyes; she convinced herself that this was why she was crying. Lies can comfort one in a way truth would never be able to; she learned that at a young age.

    "I-I'll miss you," Her voice broke, and she collapsed in the sand at his feet, allowing the water to lap at her ragged cloak. She hung her head, attempting to conceal her tears behind a curtain of messy tresses. She couldn't let Saudonel see her in this state.

    They both knew that strong Elves never cry.
     
  3. "Thank you" Saundonel said later that evening as he rested his down on his mat. "I would have missed you as well". Saundonel had also learned about the great feats lying could attain in his youth. He actually could not stand to see her, her sweet face had somehow escaped the trappings of old age. The old man could not stand it, for she was a year his senior and yet she still looked as she did before she had her first child. What was her secret?

    "Now if you would not mind... I could use some time alone to... sort this out". Epita left his lonely chamber, but could not help but notice something was off about her long time companion. His once grass-green eyes had turn to a brooding blue, his voice had lowered almost two octaves in pitch. She worried about him, but she had more important matters to attend to. Epita would have to explain all of this to her husband, the high king of Geeandon.
     
  4. Epita could not shake the lost look that bore a striking resemblance to her eldest son, the paling eyes and sunken face, the result of a youth misspent. She shook her head and wandered off down the corridor, earning looks of curiosity from the lower class. She greeted them all with the same smile and slight bow that she gave to any, for she feared being thought of as arrogant.

    After the long and thought-filled trek to the main castle, where she, her father and the rest of the royal family spent their downtime, Epita sorted through a box of old things, searching for one thing in particular- ah! Here it is.

    "What's that, little sapling?" her husband, Affador asked from the mahogany framed doorway, a jar of nectar casually resting in his hand.
    "An old memory book from my childhood," Epita replied, using her elegant fingers to brush off unwanted dust and dirt, revealing a drawing of her and Nel. It was done in charcoal, and Epita still thought it was rather realistic. If only she'd continued her dabbling in art.
    "I recognize you, and that Saudonel," he chuckled, crouching next to her to get a better view of the picture.
    "Yeah," She said wistfully, bracing herself for her husbands next question.
    "What was with the Sacrificing ritual he attempted? It's unsettling that the entire Geenadon kingdom is speaking of it. What kind of king am I?" He muttered, fumbling with his leather and leaf wedding ring.
    "A great one." Epita whispered, kissing his forehead. "As for Nel, quite honestly I think there's something... peculiar 'bout him."
    "Like what?" Affador inquired, gazing into Epita's bright green eyes.
    "When we were children, he always was hearing voices. In the middle of the woods, he'd whisper 'I swear that tree just asked me to crouch down,' I thought he was crazy at first, but, I don't know, sweet pine cone. His whole tone, mood, being shifted with every 'word' an inanimate object uttered. I know we elves are beings of magic, but this is so different..."
    She trailed off and shoved the book back in the box, which she slid under the bed with a finality.

    "Sweet dreams my pine cone," She muttered, kissing him once again on the forehead and climbing under the maple leaf woven blankets.
     
  5. The next morning, Calina knocked meekly on Epita's door and then entered with her breakfast as always. Epita was still in bed, which was unusual for the lady. Calina tentitively placed a tray of berries and dandelion wine on the birch table near the foot of the beautiful maple covered bed. Calina had always secretly envied this marvellous hand crafted blanket, but she never said anything. She was so grateful that Epita had even offered here a job when she needed one that she did everything in her power to please her.

    Tucking a stray lock of her wavy red hair behind one pointed ear, Calina whispered: "You're highness?"