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A tempting bout of laughter erupted from the beautiful ebony shaped mouth of the vysstichi noble. That laugh grated with an insidious pull, feeding the pulsating need, the unrelenting promise that Olvann would have his blood this darkening. Aslan would be pleased with this attack on the hierarchy of the plague queen's disciples. The Plague Queen... How many unclean wretched sacrifices had she accepted from these mere mortals? She was as tainted as they, what godly reverence was this? What form of god would accept such a poor offering? Aslan must have known well that his disciple would carry out such an important task or never would he have driven fate to offer such an important individual to the healer. Olvann knew quality. Never would he have sacrificed such a poor offering to his god.
She evidently enjoyed playing with the dagger, it danced jovially across the perfect ebony skin of the boy. She attempted to convey the ideals of their Queen onto the boy, whom made not a sound but tried stoically to not reveal his dread at being released from the mortal coil. He was an offering, nothing more and he would not know anything more for his limited existence. He was indeed simply an animal, unable to speak, unable to defend himself, the contrarieties of the Plague Queen astounded him, what power could make such a boy walk unfalteringly to the slaughter. It was simply amazing. Perhaps Aslan was doing the same for him. Olvann had considered his chances of survival after he had offered the soul of the noble to his god; those chances looked decisively grim. He was here for a purpose, he had to trust in that, Aslan had led him here, and would protect him if he completed his holy task.
Blood oozed prophetically from the cut on the boys face, marred skin that screamed in denial at the silvered edge the noble held. The girl froze and regarded the display with open mouthed dread. How interested she seemed in her own fate. Olvann smiled at that thought. Upon completing his spell, he noticed the slight shift in the noble, had his perception been correct in noting that the noble had felt his spell? Perhaps, perhaps not. But he was quite sure he was being ignored. Would these vysstichi be so trusting of a complete stranger if he was being ignored? Especially, as they were, exposed from every angle? He couldn’t understand it, perhaps he still remained humbly unnoticed.
Still he waited, unconcerned by the brutal display.
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