Post by Angrybirds on Oct 15, 2013 16:11:15 GMT -8
The massive vaulted ceiling of the Tarkan throne room was alive, a battleground for writhing shadows. On the floor below, a wooden pyre cast an erie orange light on the surroundings and filled the room with acrid smoke. The chamber was packed full of Tarkans––courtiers and lords alike––squeezed between the thick pillars that lined its circumference. The center had been reserved for the fire and the chanting blood priests who danced around it.
Gran Beyvik Etzan V'klor was seated atop the Tarkan throne. His every muscle was tense, his eyes stung, his jaw was clenched, his throat was dry, his fingers gripped the jagged armrests of his throne. Black blood trickled down the insides of his palms. They had been there for seven hours.
Etzan was no longer able to think, reduced to a state of dulled awareness, just waiting for the next…
Sirga screamed again. It was an ear shattering wail of pain that reverberated loudly within the chamber.
Instantly, every Tarkan bellowed, joining their voices to hers. She was lost in the cacophony that ensued. When it subsided, no other noise could be heard than the crackle of the brazier and the mutterings of the priests. Etzan's throat burned.
Nobody moved.
Finally, footsteps were heard echoing through the hall. A priest veiled in shadow stepped up to the burning pyre and faced Etzan. He held something in his arms.
"It is male," the priest proclaimed.
Gran Beyvik Etzan V'klor was seated atop the Tarkan throne. His every muscle was tense, his eyes stung, his jaw was clenched, his throat was dry, his fingers gripped the jagged armrests of his throne. Black blood trickled down the insides of his palms. They had been there for seven hours.
Etzan was no longer able to think, reduced to a state of dulled awareness, just waiting for the next…
Sirga screamed again. It was an ear shattering wail of pain that reverberated loudly within the chamber.
Instantly, every Tarkan bellowed, joining their voices to hers. She was lost in the cacophony that ensued. When it subsided, no other noise could be heard than the crackle of the brazier and the mutterings of the priests. Etzan's throat burned.
Nobody moved.
Finally, footsteps were heard echoing through the hall. A priest veiled in shadow stepped up to the burning pyre and faced Etzan. He held something in his arms.
"It is male," the priest proclaimed.