Roleplay

[center]------------------ [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] Oh. Oh, Shadowbinder. Quite literally. Deimos couldn't help but be drawn to the statue with a feeling of gravity quietly drowning out the unease that inhabited the pit of his stomach. It was... She was beautiful. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen depictions of the Shadowbinder before, of course, but this one was just... Perfect. If it had suddenly come to life, he wouldn't have been surprised. He cast around, and echoed Behrad's words without really meaning to: "Who... Who made these?" Deimos' gaze snapped back to the amorphous form of his deity. A shiver rattled down his spine as he wondered at the thing. He should... He should be doing something... He should make an offering. Producing his mead, he spilled a measure at the Shadowbinder's feet, muttering the words of prayer he'd practised since he was very young. [/columns] ------------------[/center]

[center][font=courier new]13. [b]DEIMOS[/b] pours one out for [b]THE SHADOWBINDER[/b].[/center] ----- [columns][center][color=transparent].............................[/color] [font=Courier New][size=5][b][color=B6A915]EDEN[/b] [img]https://i.imgur.com/YHkaKZj.png[/img] [b][color="6A0013"]PARISA[/b][/color] [img]https://i.imgur.com/0JrmOG6.png[/img] [nextcol] [sub]Parisa sneers at Deimos, but otherwise does not move to berate him. Despite the smooth, glassy composition of the floor, the spilled mead disappears into it, and the eyes of the Shadowbinder glow ominously. A moment passes as if the goddess herself could hear his words or at the very least sense his intent. The ground rumbles and the floor moves as if composed of fluid stone, forming into a brazier placed at the very center of the chamber. Like everything else there, it's ornate, and decorative dragon heads with their mouths open in a ferocious growl decorate its edges. Another moment passes, and there's a sickening gurgling noise as one of the mouths spills the mead back onto the floor, splashing the edges of Deimos' coat tails. The disciple of the Plaguebringer cackles then, clearly amused by this display. "[color=6A0013][i]The chamber rejects your offering, child, think before you act.[/i][/color]" It seems that the intention was recognized, but the 'sacrifice' was not accepted overall.

[center]------------------ [columns][img]https://i.imgur.com/jvDAo3N.png[/img][nextcol][color=transparent]...[/color][nextcol] Deimos shot back in fright as the chamber moved like a living thing, although admittedly he couldn't help but creep closer to watch what was happening. No mortal hands could have made this - it was too... Too much. Unfortunately, Deimos' position meant he got splashed with rejected mead. That made him jump too, and he couldn't help but sneer slightly at Parisa as she laughed at him. His face relaxed quickly though - he supposed it was sort of funny... "... I see." So, Droolmama didn't drink huh. Noted.[/columns] ------------------[/center]

[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=51316250][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/513163/51316250.png[/img][/url][/center]----- [font=times new roman]The curiosity Talle had been feeling as she beheld the chamber and its magnificent statues faded abruptly as the brazier shuddered up from the floor, spitting Deimos' well-intentioned offering back upon him. It seemed almost cruel; the young dractare probably didn't possess anything better to offer. She spared a quick glance over at the statue of the Stormcatcher, wondering if the severe crease to his brow had deepened as the brazier rose. She shook herself, but could not shed the feeling of discomfort that had settled deep within her bones. The carved dragon heads stared at her, their snarls pointed and fierce. [b]"Must we all make some sort of sacrifice, now?"[/b] she muttered in a somewhat surly manner, only to realize that the room had gone quite quiet following the brazier's emergence; her words had made themselves abundantly clear to all the gathered dractare. She froze, realizing the sharp tone in which she had spoken. This was not the sort of place where one could speak carelessly, it seemed. She hoped she hadn't just made a grave mistake. -----

[columns] [center][font=gabriola][color=FEE366][size=6]Seraphina[/size][/color][/font] [img]https://flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/406438/40643781p.png[/img][/center] [nextcol] ----- Seraphina had remained quiet ever since they entered the cairn, her previous boldness disappearing into a practically palpable sense of trepidation. This whole place... it was unlike anything she had ever seen before, to say the least. It was ethereal, nothing like the gritty desert that she had grown up in, the sneers and taunts at the mere mention of the Lightweaver's name. She had always thought there were no gods, at least not any worth her breath in prayers, and yet... How could she explain away the things she was witnessing just now? The visions were one thing. She could convince herself she was just dreaming, after all. But this... this was sheer insanity. She felt a shudder run through her, and she couldn't help wishing for the sun right now, bright and comforting compared to the eerie glow of the crystals. She slowly stumbled to the back of the group, as quietly as she could manage, not wanting any eyes on her. She hated the way the statue of the Lightweaver almost seemed to stare at her, as if she knew that Seraphina had spent her lifetime mocking the name of a god. It was just in her head, surely, but it didn't change the fact that she wanted [i]out[/i]. ----- [/columns]

Mazon walked over to the alcove holding the statue of the Earthbreaker. She couldn't deny that something more than mere mortals had carved it. She tightened her grip on Eiko, not wanting the Floracat to touch one of these creations and get injured.

"Sacrifice, hm?" she mused, thinking about her late mentor. The Pearlcatcher didn't think she had anything she could give up that meant as much to her as he had. Did that mean she would never receive a boon from the gods?

[columns][font=times new roman]Autiot regarded the chamber, and the disciples, with a neutral iciness. He found himself mentally balking at the imperials' tones, and their words. The gods were long, long dead; a childhood grown up in the Sulking Frost had been plenty of evidence that even if the Icewarden still lived, he was no more powerful than any other drake. But he wanted to believe his dreams, his visions, were rooted in truth. So he followed without complaint and listened intently as they entered the chamber, not moving as he scanned the statues. As the brazier molded up from the ground, Autiot walked to the statue of the Icewarden and stared up at it. Autiot struggled to find words to say, so instead he took a seat in front of the statue and crossed his legs. He'd prayed twice times in his life, once when he was small and his parents wouldn't stop fighting, once when his sister went missing, and he didn't want to do it again. So instead he steadied his breathing and blocked out the sounds around him, and meditated.[/font][nextcol][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38902766][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/389028/38902766.png[/img][/url][/columns] -----

Vida closed her eyes and stepped forward, allowing the familiar voice to wash over her senses as she moved towards the statue. Its words were lost in the echoing noise, but the voice itself was unmistakable. If she concentrated, she could almost believe she was back in the world of her visions: that vast plain of water, as far as the eye could see, writhing and roiling and crashing down upon itself in sheets of churning froth...

The only sound had been that of the voice, its thundering cadence echoing through her mind—that, and the sobbing of her own heart in her ears, lending its steady pulse to that of the voice.

She hoped she was correct in her guess of what her sacrifice would have to be. She had so little else to give.

[b]Behrad[/b][emoji=plague rune size=1] "We're supposed to give a sacrifice?" Behrad asked with a frown, peering out from behind the statue. "I don't really have anything to give... I have a few coins? Or I could cut off a limb or two if neccessary, I guess." He shrugged, clearly deep in thought, trying to decipher what he could possibly sacrifice. He looked around the room, desperately searching for some idea of what he was supposed to be doing. He had never really prayed to a deity before, having been raised in a rather... unconventional setting so he was left standing awkwardly with his statue, searching for any guidance on what to do. "Hey, Plaguebringer, from what I've heard, you were pretty cool? I really appreciate your ability to make people sick." He tried, failing to hide his insecurity on the matter.

[columns][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/portraits/473969/47396863p.png[/img][nextcol] [nextcol]Standing fixated on the statue of the Arcanist, Psilocybe could feel his heart beating in his throat. He had not put much stock in gods in the past, but there was no denying that there was an old, powerful magic running through this place. He could feel it dancing through his blood, buzzing in his head, whispering in his ear, pulling at his robes. Ordinarily this much ambient magic would distract him, but something about [i]this[/i] magic filled him with an otherworldly sense of clarity. His eyes were drawn to the statue's outstretched hand. Was he reaching for something? Was he meant to be holding something? Perhaps casting a spell? He stared at the empty space as if expecting a pearl of light from the endless sky to materialize in the palm of the deity's hand. Unconsciously, his own hand went to his soul gem around his neck. When his nails touched it, he recoiled as if he'd been awakened from a dream. Psilocybe blinked hard and tore his eyes away from the Arcanist, peering at the other statues around the room. He noticed their empty hands, their knowing looks. [b]"They're all... [i]missing[/i] something,"[/b] he whispered, barely aware of his own words.