This particular day, of this particular month, always held something special for lovers. The gift of a rose, a ring, a bauble; the favor of a kiss, or the promise of matrimony. It's called by various names in various places, but for a worshipper of the Nihil, it holds a special meaning. Valentine's Day, Love Night-- whatever called by whoever enjoyed it, this was a night demanding a sacrifice to the dark gods.
The death knight trotted lightly down the stairs of the Red Dragon tonight. Dressed to go out, his cloak was settled upon his shoulders, his bracers were actually worn again, and his sword was thrust down into his belt loop. Sooner or later, he'd actually be able to afford a scabbard for it.. for now, though, the belt loop would have to suffice. Before he left, he grabbed a bottle of what appeared to be wine from the bar, and left a handful of coins in the till in payment, before he stalked out of the inn.
Quick and quiet, as a shadow he moved. Normally heavy cobbled boots were replaced tonight by soft-soled, padded ones. Not as useful on the battlefield, but they didn't announce your every step, everywhere you went. Pulling his cloak about him to hide the icon-etched warsword, his thin lips twitched as he approached a woman. His voice, soft and low, remained nontheless cold. He withdrew the bottle of wine from his cloak, offering it out to her.
"A fine night, my lady... would you be interested in sharing it with me?"
Many. many hours later, it is now almost dawn. Several miles outside of the city, Ayreg nods in satisfaction. In the center of a clearing, he raised an altar -- many of the symbols on his warsword were mirrored on this altar. It was dedicated to The Nihil. Upon the altar, laying upon her stomach, was what was left of the poor, destitute woman from the night before. She was naked, but it's not the nudity that attracts attention first. Down the length of her back, a careful incision was made, and the skin pulled apart. Folded back with the precision of a surgeon, the skin was pierced with hooks, and tied to the ground by small cords driven into the earth with nails. Another careful series of cuts were made, exposing the fluid-covered length of the woman's spinal cord to the air.
It was only her back. Her head thrashed as much as she pleased it to, unburdened save only for an ancient icon of the seemingly long-dead slavery circuit -- a locked gag with muzzle-like chinstrap. Her hair was shredded as well, laying in piles below her tear-stained face.
The full length of her back was spread open, the muscles gleaming with their blood and other fluids as the sun rose. Wind threw particles of dirt, and the remains of leaves into the wide-open wound. Jodiah had already left, though, the death knight's work completed.
She would die of hunger, of thirst, or of infection and rot. No animal would be kind enough to kill her, first -- around the altar, arranged in three perfect concentric circles, are the corpses of all manner of forest life. Squirrels and rabbits and all things considered cute and cuddly were closest to the altar, and furthest away in the circles were deer, bears, and displacers. The animals were skinned, and the fur coats burned in one of three seperate firepits built around the site, and already the near-constant buzzing of flies was heard in the air. The resulting smell of decaying muscle and sinew would most definatly assure that no animal of the wilds would wander in to pick the sacrificed woman apart before The Nihil was good and ready to take her.
Smiling, quite full of satisfaction, the bloodied death knight returns to the Red Dragon Inn, for a few hours rest before he reports back to the forge to continue work as a silversmith.
The death knight trotted lightly down the stairs of the Red Dragon tonight. Dressed to go out, his cloak was settled upon his shoulders, his bracers were actually worn again, and his sword was thrust down into his belt loop. Sooner or later, he'd actually be able to afford a scabbard for it.. for now, though, the belt loop would have to suffice. Before he left, he grabbed a bottle of what appeared to be wine from the bar, and left a handful of coins in the till in payment, before he stalked out of the inn.
Quick and quiet, as a shadow he moved. Normally heavy cobbled boots were replaced tonight by soft-soled, padded ones. Not as useful on the battlefield, but they didn't announce your every step, everywhere you went. Pulling his cloak about him to hide the icon-etched warsword, his thin lips twitched as he approached a woman. His voice, soft and low, remained nontheless cold. He withdrew the bottle of wine from his cloak, offering it out to her.
"A fine night, my lady... would you be interested in sharing it with me?"
Many. many hours later, it is now almost dawn. Several miles outside of the city, Ayreg nods in satisfaction. In the center of a clearing, he raised an altar -- many of the symbols on his warsword were mirrored on this altar. It was dedicated to The Nihil. Upon the altar, laying upon her stomach, was what was left of the poor, destitute woman from the night before. She was naked, but it's not the nudity that attracts attention first. Down the length of her back, a careful incision was made, and the skin pulled apart. Folded back with the precision of a surgeon, the skin was pierced with hooks, and tied to the ground by small cords driven into the earth with nails. Another careful series of cuts were made, exposing the fluid-covered length of the woman's spinal cord to the air.
It was only her back. Her head thrashed as much as she pleased it to, unburdened save only for an ancient icon of the seemingly long-dead slavery circuit -- a locked gag with muzzle-like chinstrap. Her hair was shredded as well, laying in piles below her tear-stained face.
The full length of her back was spread open, the muscles gleaming with their blood and other fluids as the sun rose. Wind threw particles of dirt, and the remains of leaves into the wide-open wound. Jodiah had already left, though, the death knight's work completed.
She would die of hunger, of thirst, or of infection and rot. No animal would be kind enough to kill her, first -- around the altar, arranged in three perfect concentric circles, are the corpses of all manner of forest life. Squirrels and rabbits and all things considered cute and cuddly were closest to the altar, and furthest away in the circles were deer, bears, and displacers. The animals were skinned, and the fur coats burned in one of three seperate firepits built around the site, and already the near-constant buzzing of flies was heard in the air. The resulting smell of decaying muscle and sinew would most definatly assure that no animal of the wilds would wander in to pick the sacrificed woman apart before The Nihil was good and ready to take her.
Smiling, quite full of satisfaction, the bloodied death knight returns to the Red Dragon Inn, for a few hours rest before he reports back to the forge to continue work as a silversmith.