[Location] The Temple of the Black Sun

[Verilian]

It was a rare day that the temple of the Black Sun was empty of people offering their prayers, but Goshawk found herself alone before the altar. The shard that was a drop of Rhysol's blood grown from deep within the lake seemed to radiate with power, though it remained motionless and silent. Goshawk had no way of knowing if her prayer had been heard by the god, though the shard was supposed to be a direct link to the Defiler. It wasn't as if it was going to grow a face and mouth and tell her thankyou, nor would Rhysol himself make an appearance that day. Goshawks voice resonated throughput the chamber, bouncing back to her as if to let her reexamine her own words, though as they faded the sounds of footsteps approached. Should Goshawk raise her eyes she would see a man dressed in black robes, the Black Sun emblem proudly displayed on his chest. The man ignored Goshawk as he approached the altar, knelt, and whispered a quick prayer before standing once more. Finally he took note of the woman in the room, turning his head slightly in her direction and offering her an approving nod. His eyes.. one of them was solid white, all color and definition lost by the will of Rhysol, but he seemed to look right into her soul in that brief instant that the two made contact. His head snapped forward, returning his gaze to the black shard, though he did speak to the woman. "It would seem the faithful are growing lax, to have only one woman offering prayer to our Defiler." His voice was calm, full, and even a bit charming, but it seemed to elicit an emotion unbidden in Goshawk's mind. Rhysol's followers were growing lax. She should not be the only one in the temple. Why weren't Ravok's citizens offering prayers of their own!? Goshawk almost wanted to run outside and shout at all the lazy ingrates to come inside and show their lord the proper respects before they went on with their days, but the man spoke again. "So taking that into consideration, I wonder what brings you here, when your peers all seem content to bask and give no thanks, except for when they wish to call for favors? What favor do you seek from our oh so generous lord, the Defiled?"

[Goshawk]

She paid very little attention to the man as he entered and knelt, approving as he paid his respects to the God, their own saviour. She would have said it gladdened her to see another faithful who remained in the cesspit Ravok seemed to have become, but she would not have understood her own feelings enough. If he had not been there, however, she would have reached to touch the hard stone to see if it were hot, or if it were cold.

As he addressed her, she turned her face to him. Black eyes glittered, like water in a dark cave. His eyes, mismatched, spoke of something only the privileged could earn. One was white, as Rhysol’s were in his likeness above them, and caused her to shiver in envy at sharing even that instance of Rhysol’s appearance. That eye pierced her where his normal eye couldn’t, and she felt a terrible thrill of excitement. What could he see with an eye like that of their God’s? But then, his face turned from her to the black shard, and he addressed it in a musical voice that provoked a surge of emotion from her.

She would have loved to rise and drag the masses in, one by one, to call them to prayer for the Defiler whom had charmed his way so lovingly into their lives. He was their reason for being, the solution to their pains and troubles, and only two knelt before the black crystal and paid him only a sliver of the respect he should have been shown. It was angering, to say the least, and as she thought to rise to do something about it, he addressed her again, and her dark eyes turned to examine the gleaming crystal as well.

“I don’t truly seek his favour for myself. I want to be a part of something better than what I am now. I want to fashion for myself a name in the world that honours the even greater name of our God and I wish to help him crush the small, meaningless little people who would have him gone from the world. I want to join the Black Sun and show him that I am worthy to live in his city and pray to him here.” She spoke deliberately, her own resolve pushing her to speak clearly and passionately. She wasn’t proud of herself, far from it, for she felt she could disappoint the man, but she wasn’t ready to allow her own weakness and the thought of being denied hold her back from what she wanted. Rhysol saved her, and she would become something for him to use even if it was the death of her.

She had to try and not face the man to see his reaction to her words, but instead found interesting the different ways the light could slant off the crystal. It could suck her in forever if she allowed it.

[Verilian]

The man smiled, though Goshawk could not see it. He did not look at her, though he listened to her every word, and he didn't miss her barely visible reaction to his own words regarding the others in the city. So easily brought to boil, but she had help, she couldn't have resisted. Had he let her, she would have surely risen and went out to the masses. It would have been an interesting sight to see, but it didn't suit his purposes. Well, assuming he had any purpose. The Acolyte always seemed to have a reason for the things he did, but it was impossible to tell when dealing with a member of the Black Sun, other than what they did usually served their lord in some way or another. "You want to join something better? But how do you know what is better? What if Rhysol's way is not better? So many out there would tell you that his way is worse, that it is evil and wrong. Why would you even want to be worthy of such a thing?" His words were blasphemy, this bearer of Chaon, yet he was not struck down nor did the Ebonstryfe leap out and snatch him away. How could a member of the Black Sun speak that way about his own lord? How was it allowed? The man merely chuckled and glanced down at the woman, "How do you know that all those meaningless little people you want to crush are not actually pawns in the Defiler's game? They want to destroy our city, our god, and yet would not the very act of doing so bring chaos to this place and strengthen him further? Perhaps letting them destroy this city would be a great thing in his eyes. Ah, but you see, I am twisting both of our words, turning them round and round." Now the man faced her directly, staring down. "Did my words anger you? Did I defile the Defiler?" He chuckled and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. If she didn't take it he would merely wait for her to rise on his own. "That's enough blasphemy today, I think. Maybe he will actually get mad at me? Maybe he'll strike me down right here in front of you, wouldn't that be a sight to see? Or maybe I'm just playing a dangerous game, skirting the edge of chaos as I am meant to do, just to see if I'll live or die. That is the life of a follower of Rhysol. What you want doesn't matter. Fashion a name for yourself? And what if Rhysol's influence makes you a nobody? A nothing? What if by chance you end up dead, or a slave? Will you still pray to him, and mean it as you do now?"

[Goshawk]

This man seemed to be dancing the fine line between blasphemy and chaos-mongering, somehow seeing himself as bold and strong enough to even suggest the way of their God to be wrong. But it was like a test, Goshawk told herself, forcing down the need to retaliate. He was testing her, seeing if she waas doubtful or sought to bring peace to chaos. She bristled, though, with her pent up reaction.

Casting a glance at the man, she smiled at him as sweetly as she knew how. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so fun if it was good and pure.” Daringly, she lowered one eyelid in a slow wink before looking away.

He continued to speak, to brush closer to crossing a line that would releaase Goshawk’s wrath and force her to lash out, to strike with words or a blow and earn herself a place in someone’s public execution. It wasn’t often that she had to control her anger, and she breathed slowly to calm herself. His chuckle brought a slight smile to her lips, despite her anger. He could be so charming, and seem so stupidly bold at the same time. However, as she had thought, he could have been testing her resolve, seeing if she would quail or act out and prove her unworthiness to even breathe the air of Ravok.

His hand descended before her, and she took it reaadily enough, rising and disengaging herself from his hold. His words still lingered in her mind, whispering and tumbling through her thoughts with the second voice in there, agreeing and disagreeing where it sought to.

“If I die, or become a slave, I would not stop myself from being faithful to Rhysol and what he has planned,” Goshawk said softly and coolly. “The ones I would want to crush are ignorant, blinded by the hope of peace that will not come to them. If they can’t be enlightened, then let them die and let their deaths feul the Defiler and bring fear before him. I would not cease praying to Rhysol, even if I were put in the care of one of the white witches or somehow found myself at the mercy of those Knights.” She looked at him again, bold. Not often had it been that she made direct eye-contact with one of Rhysol’s favoured, and it still thrilled her to see that blank eye that could do so much, but looked so weak. Her voice dimmed to a near murmur. “And if I become a nobody, then let my presence be unnoticed as well, so that I can easier do as Rhysol would wish of me.”

[Verilian]

The man merely huffed at her answer and turned towards the door. His friendly attitude was gone, and when he spoke at first his voice had a tone of cool dismissal to it, but as he continued his speech became one of passion filled by a true believer. "Rhysol doesn't want people who simply accept his plan for them. He doesn't have a plan for you, his will is ever changing and you will be elevated or destroyed by his whim. But until that happens, it is your job to make your own plan. Do you think I became what I am by simply accepting 'Rhysol's plan'? I killed my own brother, I worked hard, and I impressed the Defiler enough that he saw fit to elevate me. Never accept the life you are given, that is the way of those petty Sylirans. Always strive for more. It is in fulfilling your own desires that you serve Rhysol best." The acolyte turned to face Goshawk once more. "All the whelps out there, going about their pitiful lives, and they have their uses. But they will never be more than whelps, because they accept their lives for what they are. To earn Rhysol's favor, you must prove that you are willing to change." His speech was over, and the Acolyte was done with the woman. It was impossible to tell whether he was truly angry with her, of.trying to help her, but he would speak no further to Goshawk that day. Striding forward, he threw open the temple doors and went out into the sunlight. It wouldn't be the last time Goshawk would see him, but for the time she was left alone. Except for the shard, which still beckoned to her curiosity. If she touched it, she would feel what seemed to be a pulse. It beat twice, and then the shard was silent. OOCShort post, I know, but the location threads aren't made for long drawn out rps. Your story will continue elsewhere.

[Goshawk]

She shivered at the power of his voice, his supreme devotion to the God of all Evil, and she envied him. His voice filled the Temple, echoed and cascaded around the grand room, and caused her to straighten her posture instinctively in pride. He might have been mocking her, or helping her, but she couldn’t tell.

Their eyes met as he faced her, the white one gleaming like a bared skull in the moon’s light. She didn’t let her emotions openly show to the man, keeping herself forcibly calm so as not to provoke him. He did, after all, sound extremely angry. Yet, he didn’t seem to seek to harm her, and that gave her cause for confusion. She was used to hurts inflicted by those she’d disappointed, but he went against what she was accustomed to.

Interesting.

He stalked out of the Temple, allowing in a pillar of the cheerful, distant Autumn sunlight, making Goshawk narrow her eyes and glance away. She turned to face the black shard and, once again, knelt before it, reaching forward to run her fingers along the prismatic sides, feeling that beautiful pulse of what she could only assume was Rhysol’s heartbeat. Withdrawing her hand as it silenced, she folded both upon her lap, inclined her head, and began to quietly reflect upion the Acolyte’s words, repeating them in the torrent of her mind to seek their meaning and understand what it would take for her to earn the acceptance she so desired.

She’d remain there for several bells before departing, her eyes hollow and colder, and her movements decidedly clumsy from lack of rest and sustenance. She was pleased, though, as she stumbled her way home.

[Yaotl]

Spring 5th, 512 AV Just four days ago, the Temple of the Black Sun had fractured. The storm that roused the city on the anniversary of the Valterrian had caused unspeakable damage to the Temple and to the morale of the men and women that thought Rhysol had abandoned them to suffer. Yaotl considered the mess being tended to by still faithful citizens with an air of boredom. In her opinion, they wouldn't be able to salvage the main part of the church and their energies would be better directed at somehow improving themselves so this wouldn't happen to them again. If Rhysol wanted the holiest of artifacts buried beneath rubble, then who were mere mortals to try to dig it out? Unless, of course, he wanted them to. And that would have to be the greatest question of all the questions Yaotl could come up with at that moment. Rhysol was the lord of a dominion that could not be judged by a fixed set of standards. He was chaos, and trying to figure out what he was truly going for when he decided to destroy his main center of worship without warning was beyond her ability to comprehend. Her green eyes skittered over labouring backs as the woman walked through their ranks, not lifting a finger to help them. Perhaps that could be seen as disloyal to Rhysol, perhaps not. She wasn't stupid enough to work her ass off on something that would probably take the season to clear. It wouldn't do good for her to see her work meant nothing if the pillar had shattered. Yaotl wasn't sure exactly where she could go to offer a prayer and a question to Rhysol. She hadnt been present when the Temple snapped under the pressure of the storm, so she didn't know if the alcoves had caved in. She couldnt put her trust into the stability of a balcony or a convenient unlocked door. She could only skirt the men, women and children as she sharked for an alcove that didn't have water or rubble clogging it. She found one, probably the first of a few more, and approved of its relative cleanliness. It wasn't like Parah was here to wash the thing, so she could bear with it for now. The alcove was as ornate as the Temple, and open. She face a looming pile of debris on one side and the other opened to the hall she just left. Dark wine seats, black marble floor, and ornate designs on the marble walls. Yaotl liked this one room more than she liked her own apartment. With a sigh, Yaotl purged her mind of thought. It wasn't always easy to do so. There was usually a strain of haunting music, her anger directed at some trivial thing, whether it was the mess Parah left around every day, the dog being a stupid yappy little thing, or the weather being unpleasant. She took a few deep breaths to calm those thoughts away for now, folding them away to be pondered later. She never liked to pray to Rhysol in a temper. Krysus, yes. Rhysol, no. That god seemed to have some use for people not always in a rage. Green eyes focused on intertwined fingers as Yaotl opened her mind, hoping to hear some small whisper of voice not hers for once. She didn't close her eyes, what was the point? She didn't speak either though, preferring to keep her question to herself in case the answer wasn't allowed to be heard. Rhysol, she began, I am here to day for you, as I have been here for you in thought for a long time now. You were there in Nyka to be my salvation when my family no longer took notice of me, and you were there as I walked Sylira to find my home in your city. I am here for you now, here to be used by you for whatever need you have. I would give you my life, the life of my children, and the life of my parents and brothers. Would you give me this honour and answer one question? Yaotl paused as the people outside started on eachother about who worked longest and hardest. Straining not to roll her eyes just yet, she returned to her thoughts. What happened? Her green eyes blinked lazily as the thought resounded in her head, clanging with an unholy fervor as though some kid were wailing on a gong. Others were asking 'why did it happen' or 'where are you', and while those questions were good to ask, Yaotl would try her luck in a different direction. Rhysol, perhaps my service to you has not been the best you have received, but after the event on the anniversary of your triumph, I have been willing to prove that it is to you I hold the most faith. I would like to prove myself as a member of your devout followers. I wish to join the Black Sun. She then fell to silence, her mind wide open for any whisper of chaos from the lord of Ravok.

[Verilian]

Yaotl The Temple was in shambles. It would be seasons before it was fully rebuilt, but still the devoted Ravokians tried as fast as they could. They needed their temple, their connection to Rhysol. The Black Shard, the artifact that the city of Ravok was founded upon, was obscured from view, covered under rubble. Many of the the Black Sun had been killed, and many more citizens with them, and the amount of people trapped in the underwater depths were unkown. Ematho rarely left his home in the The Black Hole, but with most of his dungeon flooded the mysterious Druvin had nowhere to go and nothing to do. So few even knew of his existence, though his nature was obvious if one looked at his face. Only the Druvin bore the third mark of Rhysol, the twin eyes of white that saw more than normal eyes could see. Ematho wandered among the faithful, watching as they tried to fix what had been damaged. The Druvin knew not why his lord had chosen to destroy the temple, to allow the massive storm to hit Ravok. His mistress, the Voice, the one person who might have shed some light on what had happened was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she too was trapped beneath the rubble, though Ematho doubted such a thing would contain her for more than a chime. The orders of Rhysol had chosen to keep her absence a secret, but how long could they maintain such a charade if she did not return? Ematho did not know. Everyone was working to rebuild.. or almost everyone. Ematho stopped when he saw a lone woman, beautiful and finely dressed. The fact that she was praying was not so odd, many people would stop to pray now and then. It was the whisper. So long he had been beneath the waters, Ematho had brought few into the fold. But he knew the whisper when he heard it, Rhysol's answer to the prayers of the faithful. The chosen. This woman, she had a chance, and Rhysol was letting him know. Of course the Defiler would not speak to her directly, he never did, but Ematho knew that he must speak to her for him. The Druvin approached, moving silent even in his heavy armor, and Yaotl would not know he was their until a gloved hand fell on her shoulder. "What do you seek, child?" Please post your response here: Blackening the Sun

[Nanella Avavena]

1st of Winter 512 AV Nanella entered the court yard of the temple it was roughly mid day and there were a few people scattered here and there praying. She before kneeling in the courtyard roughly twenty feet from some other people praying she gave the temple it's solemn glance. Once kneeling she began to pray in a low voice"Father Rhysol protector of Ravok, guardian of all that is good in the world please lend me your ear now. I know I am worthless and low scum but please my family has worshiped you for a long time. she put her hands together in prayer and closed her eyes. "Ever since I was a infant I have visited the temple every day to hear your message. I know it's not customary to accept people who are over the age of eighteen but please I was more then worthless at that time. I was a idiot a drifter a even lower than the lowest worm a year ago. But now I have seen the dark light and I wish to serve you as a member of the Ebonstryfe.She stood up waiting someone to approach her answering her prayer. A tear rolled down her cheek as she accepted that the things she said were probably true about her own worthlessness in the grand scheme of the universe. She quickly wiped the tear away before anyone around her could see(at least others praying). "How worthless I am wanting to be a agent of chaos and betrayal yet my own words have brought myself to tears."