Amid the dunes. (Mhojave desert) [desert] (v1241)
Falling snowflakes gleam in the lazy light of sunset, piling upon the ground. You are in the
seething heart of the Mhojave desert, surrounded on all sides by the great swells of sand that rise
and fall like a vast ocean of sand. Little else can you see about you, as the horizon is concealed
in all sides by this suffocating vista. The entire landscape is one of isolation and separation, the
great sky overhead and the vast ochre blanket of sand yearning to meet in this forlorn and forsaken
place. It is not devoid of life however, as here and there you are able to make out the trail of
some creature which has left its mark in the sand, a temporary and transient script left by those
who pass here. Though harsh and unrelenting there is an undeniable beauty about this scene which has
been utterly unconquered by man and in which all human dwelling is a grudge battle fought against
the elements and in which man may leave no permanent record of his existence there, save the
bleached bones which will remain behind as testament to his tenure. The desert is an eternal
reminder of the scale of human endeavour and the implacable face of nature. Towering over the dunes,
a malachite statue of a cruel, beautiful woman stands regally here. An ancient scroll of pale
emerald hues hovers here. A crocodile-headed golem of lapis and gold looms here, its stance both
regal and menacing. Rebra is here, hidden. She is riding on a war-painted orel. Iazamat is here. A
massive sandstorm threatens to choke out the life in this area.

Chakrasul's arrival is silent and almost completely shrouded by the night sky. You only notice Her
when the clouds and snow part enough to make the moon glimmer off of Her pale frame. Even so, She
stands on the edges of the area, Her verdant gaze flaring to life to cut morose, jade shadows over
Her angular features.

Rebra bows her head before Chakrasul, but not before her eyes flicker over the Goddess's features
admiringly. "Mother," she murmurs.

His attention drawn to the Immortal, Iazamat dips his head in respect of Chakrasul.

Rijetta has yet to notice Chakrasul - her eye is, instead, locked on the massive
statue, a look of admiration plastered on her face. It is when the silence falls on the others that
the woman finally turns, eye falling on the true object of her admiration. She kneels down on both
knees, letting herself sink into the sand a little, and bows her head. "Mother. I.. wanted to show
you the final product."

Rebra glances up and nods ever so slightly towards Ayuna, before she bows her head reverently before
Chakrasul once more.

"The gift is for Me, I will see its creation." Chakrasul replies smoothly, the low whisper of Her
voice tickling past your ears before it is carried away by the wind. Bare feet glides the small
Immortal forward and She passes all of you on Her journey to the statue. Looking up, the Goddess
drags Her gaze over the creation before She turns. Although the statue is nearly a perfect mirror of
the Divine before it, it still pales in comparison to Her. "Continue." She breathes intimately and
although Her voice evokes a stirring of malice and avarice, the dark, twisted smile that pulls on
Her mouth elicits something else - fear and a wide pit of despair that begins in the hollows of your
stomach. Slender hands fall in the small of Corruption's back and Her wings pull forward in a dark,
makeshift shield as Her chin tilts up.

Ayuna catches Rebra's eyes but for a moment before watching you approach the Dark Mother, holding
silence as a respect for the time being despite the sharpness in her eyes.

Iazamat has gone perfectly still, head remaining dipped, even has he follows Chakrasul's progress.
At the goddess' command of 'continue', his eyes flick to you, seemingly awaiting some sort of cue.

Rijetta bows her head in acquiescence, without further argument or back-talk. She's
already been punished for her tongue, today, after all. Without fanfare, she begins to disrobe - her
jacket, her shirt, her pants, her boots, without speaking a word, though she glances at Iazamat, as
if looking for some support or help beneath the two judgemental gazes of Esityi and Her statue. When
she finally speaks, she stands bare on the sands, olive skin littered with faded with scars,
embarassment flushing her cheeks. "My prayers..." she mutters, and finally begins, nodding to
Iazamat to start the process as she kneels once more. "Avarice drives me. Malice sharpens me.
Through Despair, let me be cleansed. I offer libations, Dark Mother: my blood."

At the mention of blood, Rebra's eyes flicker over to you, discreetly and respectfully, her head
still bowed in reverence.

Before Iazamat can begin, Chakrasul crouches down and anoints you with a gentle touch for each
whispered gift - you sternum for Avarice, shoulders for Malice and forehead for Despair. "May Might
carry you through this." She coos, almost endearingly, but the smile only splits Her face as it
widens to reveal fangs. In a fluid, perfect motion, She rises to Her full height again and steps
back.

With Chakrasul's blesing, Iazamat bursts into motion, his arms flinging upward and outward, his
fingers crooked into claws - and just as he exploded into movement, so does the desert around you
explode violently skyward. Before the sands can settle, he circles his arms through the air,
directing them into a raw storm, the grains battering against those gathered weakly. Even as he
works, lapis stone begins to coat his body and the Idreth grows in size.

Rijetta shuts her eye against the sandstorm, already gritting her teeth in
preparation for the pain to come. Bare as she is before the might of the desert, she has no
protection - even her hounds keep a respectful distance, outside the range of the worst of the sand,
sadly watching their master. Beneath her breath, she echoes the benedictions: "Might will carry me
through this", even as her fingers start to dig into her thighs.

As the storm grows in size and strength, directed by Iazamat, he raises his voice in a resonant
overtone. Though subtle and almost indistinct at first, eventually his chant - a sound that verges
on a prayer sung - weaves itself through and above the sounds of the desert's fury, adulating both
the desert itself and the goddess present. As you speaks, he looks down at you and, without his
chant faltering, points his hands, palms up, at the woman - as he does so, the whirlwind
intensifies, shifting almost uncannily as it makes you its singular focus.

As the sands rage, the expression on Chakrasul's face remains impassive, save for the terrifyingly
twisted smile that is plastered on Her face. It doesn't reach Her eyes, though, which stare intently
at you in silent judgement. Or appraisal.

Iazamat remains expressionless, even as each grain of sand scores your form, ripping flesh from her
body in sore, jagged lines and misting your blood into the chaotic fury surrounding you. What feels
like an eternity, for both you and those viewing, passes, and the task still isn't finished.
However, something in the storm shifts once again, an almost predatory movement that fills the air
with tension; it's as if the desert has tasted the woman's blood and now wants for more, drawing
closer to you with each passing moment.

Rijetta squeezes her eye shut harder, already starting to hunch as the sand scrapes
at her flesh at first, then starts to rip it apart. She jerks each time a burst of wind-empowered
sand rips through some of her skin, coloring long red lines along her body, and she fights back the
urge to scream, for now. Though, as the process continues, she starts to groan, to grunt, and her
fingers aid in the process of skinning her alive as they rip lines into her thighs, further
destroyed by the swirling sands. The woman can hardly stop herself from throwing her head back and
screaming now, a high-pitched, blood-curdling sound of pain and torment. She claws at the sands on
the ground, now, forced onto all fours by the pain, revealing her mauled, shredded back to onlookers
as well.

Rebra takes a few steps towards you, leaning forward to wrap her arms almost tenderly about the
prone figure, who is bloodied and scoured by the sands. She lifts her gaze briefly to Chakrasul,
desire and admiration in her yellow, gleaming eyes, before she places her lips upon your flayed and
bloodied wounds, feeding with honed malice, with ravening avarice. Drops of blood flow from the
corners of her lips, falling and spreading like blossoms into the whirling sand at her feet, the
pale, glittering grains darkening into shadow. After a moment, she withdraws, wiping her mouth
delicately with the back of a gloved hand.

A crocodile-headed golem issues a rumbling, hissing laugh, a deep, unsettling thing with no clear
meaning or reason.

Chakrasul's attention shifts momentarily to Rebra and there is a slight dip of Her head in approval.
However, Her focus is quick to shift back to you and the air around the Divine thickens with a
haunting malice that pushes at your emotions. She waits patiently. For now.

Ceremoniously, and with a quick breath, Iazamat brings his hands together in a sharp clap, the stone
coating them issuing forth a cracking thunderclap that fills the area; it's an unspoken command, and
the hungering, driving sands descend upon you, enveloping and obscuring you from sight. The sands
writhe and slither menacingly as they devour your flesh, eating away at it with abandon, muffling
the Azudim's screams and stifling your movements. Though you struggles, her demise is obviously
inevitable, and the sands eventually slump from your form, revealing you for all to see.

As the sand closes in on you, you cannot help but scream for your Goddess as your skin, muscle and
blood is ripped from your bones. You have been flayed alive for Corruption.

Flayed alive by Iazamat's sandstorm, Rijetta has died screaming for Corruption.