Vreha
mage | sacrifice, justification, and self-importance
Church bells toll, soft and mournful. It’s the same sweet sound no matter the lost life they bid farewell, whether wretched or wonderful, long-awaited or premature. Fate—death—cares not what it reaps. Vreha cares. Enough to do something about it. Through rite and ritual, life becomes a resource like any other: a thing to be taken, given, stored. She has made herself into its perfect vessel, brimming with a bounty to bestow on those deserving. Her small effort to tip the scales to a more agreeable balance. It has a cost, of course. Worth paying, she’d argue, but nonetheless better done in privacy. None but her need bear the weight of the pinning spear, the carving knife, the rich spill of life-giving blood. She honors every sacrifice—solemn, but satisfied in the knowledge that the value of that life shall not go to waste.
