punnish: (idle punderings)
Kavi. ([personal profile] punnish) wrote2017-03-28 07:29 pm

sweet tangerine,

By the time the atmosphere of merriment from the festival--not to mention the drink--fades from his mind, Kittos is kneeling in front of the altar, wrists bound behind his back.

His cheeks are burning with rage and shame (which probably just looks like an attractive blush). He should have known the way the townspeople treated him was too good to be true. Of course they chose the useless bard, the orphan no one will miss, as an expendable sacrifice. He shouldn't have expected any better.

(The truth doesn't occur to him: they simply thought he was the most handsome virgin youth available.)

"If you're going to try to kill me," he says to the altar, "get on with it! I'm ready to fight!"

He says this even though he's obviously not ready to fight: on his knees, hands bound, dressed in nothing but breezy pale silks and some jewelry.
fungusamongus: (010)

[personal profile] fungusamongus 2017-03-29 03:06 am (UTC)(link)
[For a few moments the larger room meant for offerings is silent. The lack of response may give him the impression that there is in fact no goddess, and that years of sacrificing women to a false deity were in vain. After all it has been years since the people of the island had felt threatened enough to appeal to their goddess.

Once, very long ago, a girl had returned to the town trying to tell the people sacrifices weren't necessary, but she was stoned for slighting the goddess by returning. It was only when that woman returned to the temple to face her fate that the townspeople relented.

Before the young man has a chance to rise from his knees the torches that provide dim light to the altar room flicker as a breeze whips around the room. A strange occurance for a space that has no opened windows or immediate exits to the outside. In front of him, and the altar, a large marble statue depicts the goddess with a longsword boasting a thin blade. Again the room goes quiet. Eerie could be used to describe the air, but something about it holds... warmth.

Finally, cutting into the silence, a voice sounds:]
You don't look in any condition to fight.