He was covered in blood. A brighter purple than had ever run through his veins, beautiful and rich.
The sea monster laid out on the beach wound around it, bigger than a house, a ship, bigger than any memory of its kind could properly hold grasp on.Â
He painted a prayer across its scales in its own blood, Be built a fire along its width with entire trees. His kismesis helped him, in preparing, in painting, in felling trees and hauling the beast onto the sand, in killing it. Velius was there at every step.
But the prayer was Wicked’s as he knelt in the sand, illuminated in the flickering and guttering light of the fire.Â
The gods, never shy around him appeared, larger than life, to consume the beast cleanly with holy fire, and leave its bleached bones sprawled across the coastline.
He needed their aid, which he didn’t often call upon, not god to god, but supplicant to god.Â
He was going to fight a horror terror, and he needed their strength behind him. To boost his magic, to steady his hand, to aid his courage and fortitude in the face of this creature, and shield his mind from it.
Their answer came, they would aid him, and they were well pleased with his sacrifice- but there was little personal sacrifice in this beast laid before them. It represented his time, his efforts, meat he would never taste, but it wasn’t important to him.
He produced a knife and took his long braid in one hand, wrapping it around a few times to pull it tight, then took the blade to his hair up near his scalp.Â
He was strong enough to cut his braid away cleanly, and it lay limp in his hands as he offered his pride to the fires.
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> You have been ignoring your phone, ignoring your dash, ignoring everything but the mourning trolls and the service for your deceased court. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave you with much room to escape the thoughts swirling through your pan. > You had made sure you were allowed to pray, and so at some point you begin. You recite scripture older than anyone in this room, you praise messiahs both, you beg for Lilac's soul to find mercy in whatever ways the messiahs see fit. You had been praying for a while, or at least it seemed to be, trying to recall scripture and verse rather than think of all the things that Lilac's death so keenly reminds you of. > As you pray, a sense of Presence grows, until a sorrowful mask with glowing purple eyes is in front of your face, a shadowy form stands in front of you, larger than you and adorned in robes so similar to Kankri's own, but with every color of the spectrum clear to see. Your breath catches, but you make yourself finish the verse out of respect, and Tragedy is so kind as to let you do it. And then he leans forward and gives you a kiss, and you take the comfort where you can find it. > When he withdraws, he offers you rhyming words of comfort in hushed tones, tells you that your prayers have been heard. Gamzee will have mercy this night, and you will see him again. Your eyes go wide, and you fight past a knot in your throat to try to ask, to try to beg for more answers. But he is gone, with a caress of smoke. > Finally, you turn to Kankri, expression incredulous, as you finally force out words. "... I didn't fall asleep, did I?" Did he see him? Or did you manage to disrespect Lilac at his own vigil?
> You took your family out hunting with you; Red, Gamzee, and Wiz, had been excited to help you even yesternight, and they were just as excited this past night.Â
> They met you by the gate to the grounds, and you left the familiar palace behind as a group.
> Wiz had the materials for the pyre in their Rolodex or whatever they called it, Gamzee was wobbly, and Red was limping a bit. It was cold, the weak grass crunchy beneath your boots, but you were all determined.
> You hunted for hours before you found the perfect prey; it scared you with its sudden appearance!
> A ram, as tall as you on all four hooves, with six gnarling horns, huge jutting teeth, and four yellow eyes. It’s huge and frightening and you all four charged it.
> It screamed, and tried to bolt, but you and Wiz were on that.Â
> It went down rather easily, all things considered, and you and Red carried it back to where you were building the pyre.
> Snow was swept away, and Gamzee sheared the beast rather expertly. You praised him, and he cited his time in care of such similar animals, proud and purring and ears erect.
> All four of you built the pyre, and you hefted the ram upon it. You thanked nature and the Messiahs for guiding this beast to you for this purpose, and then split its belly.
> Olive poured onto the sticks, and Gamzee was given the honor or lightiing the pyre while you prayed over it.
> No sooner was it lit that the atmosphere grew heavy upon you, and you raised your voice in praise as the pyre all but exploded upward.Â
> They appeared, huge and beautiful and glowing with color, the arrangements and garb of your priesthood, their faces masks of their kind; Tragedy and Comedy both were before you.
> Comedy took blood from the pyre and painted a smile onto Gamzee’s face, and you fell to your knees as she came to you and kissed you, just briefly, just lightly, so chaste and pure, and tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, leaving your paint untouched.Â
> You breathed the smoke of the meatless bones, the flesh consumed and the bones blackened for a long time before you dared to speak again, the names of your gods on your lips and in your heart.
Why is it that everyone gets so weird about people like gods and celebrities? It's so annoying. Lusting after those with power both mentally and physically. Status. Ability. Acknowledgement.
I can't even. There are SO MANY THINGS wrong with this. What, a couple of people say "bleed and chant for me, we'll appear... or not!" and you're just like... "yeah, take me fam, I am READY to see some gods, omfg." ANYONE could teleport into your home, ANYONE can be invisible! I could PRANK you harder than this!
All of these people talk in the chat about their "superpowers" and it's whatever, you aren't inviting anyone else to prove themselves. People teleport into and out of your life and you don't act weird about them. But oh. Someone says "yeah we're gods" and suddenly you've got goop for brains? Goo goo eyes? Starlight and venom in your soul?
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Juryrigg: It was inevitable, really. Rigger has been studying this religion since before it was necessary for him to be a part of it, even if it was all from a distance, and he is one of the older trolls around. He's also an official ringleader, even if he isn't a high priest. It makes sense that younger trolls would want him around to supervise a ritual that they don't get to perform extraordinarily often anymore. Â
But honestly, the most inevitable part would be that he was requested to come as an advisor because he has a strict 'no pyrotechnics without Authority Figures around' policy, and it just so happens that many of his mirthfuls in particular have an eye for showmanship. Even if the messiahs don't show up (he has his doubts, even after that Spectacular show), they want to make something fun and colorful happen. Even still, he is fully engrossed in making sure everything is as accurate and traditional as can be managed, at the relatively young troll's request.
This all happens a few hours before sunrise is due to show up, and with them in their own big tent, as the trolls try to recreate as much of Ringleader's show as possible. Because the scientific method is Important. Even still, there are only half a dozen trolls in the big tent, and a relatively small offering of a two headed doe. One of the more vocal mirthfuls, one keen on becoming a preacher one of these nights, begins to preach, getting a little more nervous as they get to the Important Part. He praises the messiahs as he sets a big old bowl of blood on the altar and lights the pyre under the animal, those around him waiting with baited breath. Aside from Rigger, who watches the whole arrangement with his typical slightly detached interest. He watched Everything set up, and the pyrotechnics are waiting for After the big moment comes and goes. There is very little likelihood of the reaction he saw on the camera happening.
Messiahs: They knew they were being called, they could feel it in the fiber of their beings, and they did not disappoint the trolls waiting for them. Anima and Animus, mirth an wrath, comedy and tragedy spun themselves from shadow and light. The fire leapt up as He took the offering down to clean bones, and She moved through the crowd, touching her children, correcting their paint.
When she got to Rigger, this blind troll with the face of the faithful, invisible fingers closed his eye and lips brushed against his
Juryrigg: The gasps run through the small crowd and Rigger's attention level abruptly elevates, watching the fire that was Normal moments ago flare up high. Surely it is a trick of the light that the bones no longer have flesh, right? ... No, he has seen enough offerings over the sweeps to know that is Not how it works. and it definitely isn't a trick of the light, how warm brown spreads across faces in patterns new and old. Disbelief crosses his own painted features, amazement, as he races to come up with an explanation.
And then his eyes are closed, his lips brushed by a presence, and surety spreads through him. There is no other decent explanation, not when the replication has brought some sort of being purely focused on the prayers and faces of the mirthfuls... The words come from deity touched lips, soft and incredulous. "Messiahs bless.." Something he's often abstained from saying, for the sake of respect, but something he feels confident enough saying now.
Messiahs: She was pleased and her delighted laughter rang out, as the blind troll finally Saw. She touched his cheek, this was hers, now. Her voice rang out with n rhyming couplets welcoming him to the family, and then she was away to kiss the young preacher and away with her other half
Juryrigg: His eyes open again, at the sound of the rhyming voice, and he is met with the face of literally a messiah. The sound of whoops and pleased exclamations ring through the tent, as well as praises to the deities that appeared to say hello, and pyrotechnics get let off to shower the purposefully fireproofed tent with colors.
And Juryrigg 'Rigger' Zahhak is left to just stare in awe at the burning bones, blood drying on his face from the touch of the god he didn't believe in ten minutes before.
