Furry-Within

The sun had gone down and the sacred moon had begun to rise. It shined silver rays of light through the trees of the forest, making the metal on the huge wooden doors out front of the temple glitter and shine. Within the temple candles lit the way where the moon could not reach through the windows. The scent of the stone, the wax and the ancient books that lined the back walls was thick. But not so thick as the blood held within the basin like Altar past the large stone podium. At the Podium Mikkaddo stood, the Congregation had arrived, and the Sacrament to Menthaal had been given, the goblets were placed and the rest of the Clergy were ready. As he read his sermon, which he had written several days prior, he thought back on the nights before. Translating ancient text from tomes older than time itself or so they seemed.

He spoke on the value of courage, the worth of anyone being not simply their actions in social events, but their willingness to act even when their life or the lives of others are at stake. He spoke of his time as a warrior, during the great civil war that broke the nation of Asrath, the war that, as the legends told, so truthfully "Tore the earth itself apart" and flooded their lands, leaving only a selection of islands, with a central island where the palace stood. The island he stood on now, in this forest, was one of the largest, but also one of the least populated. Having been mostly forest even before The Calamaity, it had never been overly populated. But the Temple had stood for generations. And he spoke of this as well, how the building itself in a way fought back Orion and the armies. How when even the land under their feet was cracking and dying, the temples stood strong.

He spoke of the many warriors who willingly gave their lives to protect the temples and the lands from the armies and from the Calamity of Orion. The congregation, as always was in agreement. Those who lived today were almost entirely either veterans, or survivors of the war. They knew the nightmare that had been released, when Orion had been killed, and his magickal trinkets took over his body. His addiction became him. His body risen, became a rotting monster the likes of which no one had seen before.

When his sermon ended, he rose his arms, his congregation rising at his action, and he walked to the back, taking the goblets from the clergymen and women and filled them with the blood of the congregation, and handed them each to the clergy again, the congregation stepped in lines to drink from the Communal Blood, and Mikkaddo himself took a final Goblet, filled it, and drank from it as well, all feeling the power and warmth of the blood as it ran through them. This powerful feeling, of life flowing into you from someone else, it was overwhelming at times. Soon after, the congregation slowly dwindled and left, talking to each other, joking and laughing about their evening's plans, the Clergy remaining to clean up and soon departing as well, leaving only Mikkaddo staring out into the empty temple wearing his robe attached at his waist. He smiled, knowing he would not see a fully empty temple for too much longer.

She had been sitting at the back of the temple listening as the male at the podium spoke, without any of the Congregation knowing of her presence. Her kind was frowned upon by many, hunted and reviled, and yet she had found sanctuary in the least likely of place. She lived beneath the temple in one of the many rooms, surrounded by shadows and candle light. Smiling slowly when she caught a whiff of the blood in the goblets she licked her fangs as her eyes flashed red.

Listening as the congregation slowly dwindled down and filed out she waited til only he remained. Stepping from the shadows she slowly made her way over to him, head held high. She wore a blood red outfit made of sheer silk scarves and her white headfur was was halfup and hung down passed her backside, a collar around her throat and thin little chains around her wrists and ankles.

Going down on her knee in front of the male she bowed her head and spoke in her husky yet lilting tone. "Good evening, MiLord. How may I serve you?" She wet her lips and smiled wickedly, fangs quite evident.

He closed the huge tome on the podium. He'd known she was there all along, he was chuckling softly at the thought of how her face must have looked when the goblets were being spread, and how she must feel being so close to the Altar which held the basin of blood only a few feet from them. He leaned forward, the leather of his robe clinging to his waist moving forward slightly with him as he moved a hand to her cheek. "You can bleed for me . . . come, let is retire below . . . and I will give you the pain we both crave"

Afterward he guided her to rise and lead her down through a door at the back, following through the halls and past the many doors lit by torches to a dark door at the end. Past the door was a set of stairs down to a red light room from a fire pit at it's center. As they walked down, the red light shone off the many metallic items on the walls, and as well it shined on the large bed at one end, and a bar at the other, a pair of large stone pillars on either side of the fire pit with chains on them. "Now . . . the question rises in me . . . what shall we do with you" he says leading her down the stairs, and once down paces around her. "mmm . . . I may need a moment for my inspiration to catch me . . . unless there's something in my . . . collection, that you would like" he said with a rather wide smile, the light on his fangs shining in such a way they seemed bloody.