The well rehearsed words in the ancient language blossomed out of Anticlea’s mouth, sitting in the circle of sand the darkness stretched around her as she stared unblinkingly at the foot high idol several feet before her on the alter. The female figurine stood on an orb of brass carrying a great cornucopia and with a golden wing almost enwrapping her. Anticlea noted the flaking gold paint on the wing and horn and the poor quality blue cloth enwrapping the alter. As she began to come to the climax of the ritual she spread her arms out wide and tilted her head back to the ceiling, she closed her eyes as she did so and shut her mouth. She had done this too many times not to do so. The last fleeting glance she caught was of the dull yellow light streaming through the grate above her and the large silhouette that occupied the space directly above.
Waiting for that moment a strong armed man above slit the sheep’s throat as he and a young boy held the creature still, the life blood of the frightened beast flooded down upon her staining the cheap cream cotton tunic she had purchased for the sacrifice. Letting the cascade of the animals vita pour over her face and into her hair was about the only thing she considered sacrificial that and the expense. Pushing those thoughts aside Anticlea waited, eventually the brash tone of the temples priest filled the cramped sacrificial room
“Tyche is pleased with your offering Anticlea wife of Arthus!”
Rising as gracefully as someone with their eyes closed and covered in hot clinging blood could, she turned and walked towards the voice raging in her mind about the ludicrously of the offering not being accepted, the money she had proffered to this miniscule temple was probably all the priest and his hand full of boys would live off for some time to come. Anticlea walked steadily across the few feet of sand with a poise only a woman of a certain age could. As she stepped up onto the stone floor of the small room she thrust her arms forward and waited, there was a pause and a significant lack of a towel. Anticlea’s face turned into a scowl she heard one of her pathetic maids move forward with a start from the wall were she hoped to avoid the spatter. As the maid placed the towel in her blood stained hands she heard the priest breathe in to start another sentence which would surely impart another grain of wisdom she already knew.
“Tyche giver of Fate, guider of our destiny…” Anticlea ignored the priest as she cleaned herself as best she could. She had hared this before when she sacrificed hear some two months ago and had no desire to hear it again as it was exactly the same rhetoric as on her home plane, she did however tune back in to the helpful remark of
“..and don’t forget your receipt the local watch aren’t so forgiving about blood stained people wandering the streets with out a good excuse, but were in the worlds wouldn’t watchmen worry about such things, ha… huh” the forced laugh that followed only succeeded in furtherly reducing his status in Anticlea’s eyes. In a low and un-amused voice Anticlea responded with out looking at the greying priest
“Thank you Honrable one and may the gods guide you in your daily tasks”.
Anticlea strode out of the temple and into the night she mentally raged to herself and was confident that her maids were already two steps behind her. ‘A converted building so far from the other temples. Ha! You had to go around the back to perform any animal sacrifices. And why did day and night have to come at such inconvenient times, Arthus said she was too used to Caleserius time Ha! He’s the one who wasn't adjusted and she just had to take care of everything, had he remembered the sacrifices to see all went well as he tried to broaden his business dealings. No. Granted he had remember to consult the gods when they had left to get to this new city, this new world but he hadn’t seen to it that there journey to the gate was successful, oh no and that was 30 miles from their home she did that. Always she had to make sure the gods were appeased’ Anticlea’s internal monologue continued as she strode through the streets towards her new home; she didn’t notice anything that was a gift of hers not the smell of the blood nor the night or anything in it.
He watched her leave alone from the back entrance of the temple to some goddess of fate, and could taste the blood on her dark hair from hear. The buildings in this section of the city were mostly deserted and had anyone been in nobody would have noticed the dark shape clinging too a slate rooftops if they were. It waited for 50 hart beats when a flustered young girl not long from adolescence rushed out of the temple, and he moved.
Rumana took the receipt off the priest as quickly as she dared and watched Lucretia chatting to one of the priest’s helpers. The mistress had forgotten Lucretia had the night off and was only at the temple to see her new thing, which left her to do all the work and she’d already gotten her mistress angry with the towel. By the time she managed to get onto the street her mistress was already fading from view. Rumana had enough time to worry again about being out in the dark in deserted streets with just her master’s wife, before someone placed a hand over her mouth and pulled backwards. It took a second for her to pass the brightly lit door to the temple too the alley way which ran along side it once within she was spun around. No one within herd her gasp or the sound of sandals dragged across paving stones, to busy with the cleaning of the sands and removal of a carcase. Rumana flinched as hard bricks dug into her shoulders and for a moment all she could see was the sandstone blocks of the temple before her when something filled her vision.
An emaciated form moved in the dim light cast by a nameless moon, its body was all bone and muscle like rope and it pressed her arms into her chest with its weight. Its head was mostly obscured by a formless mask like mercury which had but four holes in it, two horizontal slits for eyes which you could hardly fit a needles through and two to allow a pair of black horns to slide back form the forehead like a goat. The figure was dressed in a blue cloak so dark it seemed part of the night and the figure appeared to have several black straps attached to its arms and naked chest.
Rumana shook her self mentally and tried to scream but the figure had its left hand pressed so firmly over her mouth it was pushing her head painfully into the wall. She tried to kick out as it drew a small vial of some whitish liquid from one of the bands on its left arm and shock it. Rumana tried to bite down on his hand but either the fingerless gloves were too thick or he didn’t care about the pain. The figure leaned forward as it uncorked the tube and shifted it out of her sight, Rumana tried kicking out with her left foot but failed to hit her attacker, as she did so the masked face moved so close she could she could see two small perfectly blue and entirely alien eyes staring passionlessly into hers. She felt his hand move beneath her skirt and she managed a muffled shout as she thrashed around, almost head butting her attacker she was briefly surprised by the attackers smell of faint dog and strong sap. The attacker moved its weight back and had left the vile were it was Rumana tried another scream and managed to get an arm free as she saw what the figure now had in its right hand. The priests didn’t hear her muffled scream as she saw the odd notched blade. Rumana felt a sharp brilliant pain as the figure sliced her throat open careful not to cut into the bone.