Eat Your Heart Out: A Proselyte's Rite

Twisted orchard.
Small particles of dust fly through the air, caught up in a moderate gale. The gently sloping forest is covered in grey-white trunks of apple trees. Rich green leaves adorn the anaemic branches, and small buds forming show that the trees are still very much part of the cycle of life. The forest floor is littered with rocks and dead branches, a white, uneven surface that is difficult to move across. Sprays of chervil cover the forest floor. A marjoram bush flourishes here, spreading its delicate scent. Lovely coltsfoot carpets the forest floor. A sedge of galingale is firmly planted in the forest floor. A hemlock sapling clings tenaciously to the ground here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. A vicious, spotted grey crow flies here with wings spread.

Takhre tilts their head and listens intently to Esei.

As the onlookers gather before the ritual site, Esei takes from their robes a large decanter of black glass. They move in a clockwise circle, casting river water onto the rich loam. While they do, they begin to speak.

Esei Shee-Slaugh whispers, "As you may know, the Rite of Awakening is a ritual of passage and promotion within the Auguries. It is the point at which a proselyte's Visions have reached a tipping point, manifesting their Othersight."

After several minutes pass, during which they continue to cast the circle, darkness begins to fall over the Glomdoring as dusk slowly approaches. Esei eventually stops, recapping the decanter, turning to face the congregation. "Proselyte Takhre stands before us now, their Visions witnessed and culminated. Now, we ask for the blessings of the Hallowed to rest upon them, to usher them forward on their path." The decanter disappears from whence it came.

Extending a hand towards the space next to them, Esei Shee-Slaugh whispers, "Proselyte, join me in the circle."

Ilistala, an enormous leopard stares implacably at Takhre.

Takhre sets their cudgel aside, sticking it in the soft loam so that it stays upright. They glance up at the harsh rain, blinking slowly, before stepping to their designated space within the circle.

Takhre ceases to wield a mystic cudgel in their left hand.

Their shroud rippling with the movement, Esei's hands reach upward towards the darkening sky, their face tilting back. "Mother Night, Matron of Darkness," they call out, voice soft even now. "We beseech Your blessing, as another seeks to glimpse beyond Your Shadowveil, and learn the secrets hidden by shadow. Guide them on this shrouded path."

Esei lowers their head and arms, twisting their hand with the motion. "Brother Crow, Wyrd-Given-Wings, another seeks to join Your Murder." A crow sweeps overhead, cackling loudly, before roosting in a nearby tree with many of its fellows. "Turn Your eye upon them, and guard them on this shrouded path."

"Shadowbeat, the melody that lives within us all, another seeks Your guidance, through Your Umbral Elegy, Your Carrion Requiem, Your Haunting Nocturne," Esei states solemnly, clearly, eyes intent on Takhre as they speak. "Black Idols, within and without the Wyrd, another hopes to learn Your wisdoms. Teach them perfection on this shrouded path."

As shadows swirl at the edge of the clearing, Esei Shee-Slaugh says, "Dark Spirits, another Augur seeks Your perseverance, so that they may better serve their tah'vrai, in both life and death. Teach them perseverance on this shrouded path."

Takhre watches the canopy intently, hanging on to your every word as they wait in silence.

The rain lifts, relieving the area for just a moment. A mist, which had been slowly rising during the beginning of the ritual, darkens ominously, parting around the circle like water. A cacophony of caws ring out from the nearby crows, and for a moment, the beat of the distant Drums hangs heavy in the air.

Without preamble, the mist disappears. Something catches your eye, something red and glinting in the orchard beyond the circle, though not far.

A heart sprouts from a tree branch like one of the many rotted apples, but this is evidently fresh. Steam rises off of it, as though taken directly from a feverish body.

Takhre's gaze snaps to the heart, their eyes glittering with interest.

It gleams bright with fresh blood, mouth-wateringly enticing...

...and you are so hungry.

Esei steps back, considering Takhre with an empty expression and a cocked head, merely considering what they will do.

Takhre looks to Esei, blinking slowly as they set their jaw. They then look down to the circle, and do not move quite yet, looking to the Haruspex as if to gain any insight. When none is offered, they remain where they are.

In a melodic quaver, Proselyte Takhre Inseira, of the Kept Promise says, "... am I to leave the circle? Or am I to resist the Blood Thirst?"

Takhre murmurs softly to themself.

h u n g r y !

Takhre grimaces, a hand going to their stomach as they swallow sharply.

Takhre steps to the heart, finally leaving the circle. They reach out to the flesh and pluck it gently from the branch, turning it over in their hands. After a moments hesitation, they bite into it, blood dribbling down their chin. They chew quietly, and swallow.

A deep sense of satisfaction rolls through you, like the very Wyrd crooning in your veins. But... This heart is so large, and there is so very much to eat.

That hunger has not subsided.

Takhre considers the heart curiously and takes another bite like one would an apple, their teeth slicing through the flesh with ease. They walk back to the circle, and consider the dirt beneath them. They continue to carefully tear strips of flesh from the heart piece by piece, until about half of the heart is left. Then, they kneel and begin to dig with their free hand.

Takhre finishes digging a hole in the loam, and cradles the remaining portion of the heart with both hands. With sudden viciousness, they pierce their talons into the heart and pull, flaying the flesh into more strips. They tenderly lay the flesh in the soil, and stand before looking expectantly to the forest. "I have had my fill. The Glomdoring may use the rest," they say, wiping the blood from their lips with the back of their hand.

Esei beckons Takhre back into the circle. "Very well, Proselyte. I am sure the Wyrd will make good use of it." They extend a hand. "Your item and your corpse, then?"

Takhre hands over both the corpse of a shadow hawk and the shadow of crow with clear reverence, bowing their head.

Esei turns their hand, claws glinting in the low sunlight as they shred through the corpse. Feathers scatter in a soft rain, and there is the sickening crack of bone as they rip open the rib cage. Next, with one hand stained in dark blood, they gently, reverently, place it within the viscera within.

As the shadow melts into the gore, Esei plucks a flight feather from the hawk's wing. They dab the feather with the darkened ichor, then turns to Takhre. "Proselyte. Bear your chest, and soul, to the Hallowed."

Takhre's lips pull into a thin line, pulling off the stole that is wrapped around their arms and shoulders. They nod to Esei, setting their shoulders back and standing straight.

Quietly, Proselyte Takhre Inseira, of the Kept Promise says, "I am ready to serve, as all that I am, and all that I will be."

Esei pauses, reaching out to wipe a bit of blood from the corner of Takhre's mouth. It is an idle, unthinking kind of motion, as though done countless times before.

Takhre waits, their body tense with unease.

Picking up the feather, Esei resumes. They begin by marking Takhre's brow in a smooth, unbroken arch, the feather tickling along skin as it moves. The next trails along the edges of either collarbone, sweeping down each bicep towards the elbow. The third marks the heart, flames of black-red in the center of Takhre's chest. Finally, they return to Takhre's face, marking a spot beneath each eye.

Lowering corpse and feather both now to the loam at their feet, Esei Shee-Slaugh whispers, "Proselyte. Speak aloud the words of the Covenant."

Takhre stays entirely still, watching Esei's movements with curious anticipation. Their wings hang behind them like a cloak, and upon the instruction, the begin to recite their oath. "As I take my first steps along my shadowed path within the Covenant, I swear by my soul and by these very words. As I brush against the Shadowveil, I shall act always with an openness of mind and a keen sense of wisdom; may my ears never be deaf nor my eyes ever blind to the whispers and the portents of the Hallowed Ones." They look up to the darkened canopy, as if beseeching Night and Crow themselves, "May Night's Kiss eternally rest upon my brow, Crow's Eye ever gaze upon me, the thrum of the Shadowbeat always fill my mind, the Black Idols offer their wisdoms unto me, and the Dark Spirits drive me perpetually forth. May I be found forever worthy to commune for the Wyrd, lest my being fade to naught and my voice become naught but silence in the echoes of the Darkrealm." Looking back to the loam and the pile of flesh, the trill intones, "To this oath do I commit, by the blood of my life; for nothing matters but the Glomdoring."

Esei Shee-Slaugh whispers, "And glory be to the Glomdoring, indeed."

Takhre caresses the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree gently.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard chirps happily.

Clasping their hands before them, bowing their head, Esei Shee-Slaugh whispers, "And we thank the Hallowed for Their watchful gaze over this Proselyte and their Rite, and the Glomdoring for standing as witness."

Takhre bows deeply with their hands at their sides, looking to the shadowed forest beyond the circle.

In a melodic quaver, Reader Takhre Inseira, of the Kept Promise whispers, "Thank you, Wyrden Haruspex."