The lights were lit by Jasper as he went along, and the entourage of strange, emaciated Ithecal followed them all, bracing against any other entries to the Temple. As Eldloga was made to light the flames, Jasper could feel him growing stronger in his vessel, still shaken by the sudden attack but growing in strength and concept. His ephemeral energies increased with every friendly fire he lit along the way. The bloodlights that lit the way on the street were outshone by those fires, their luminscent fruit ecclipsed, to the point where they almost resembled black cherries on the walls.
As they reached the entrance,, there was a commotion as the Judge at the back of the cathedral lifted his eyes to stare at the four of them. He stared at them, not as a person might see a person, but as a predator might look at cattle.
Then, Padraig spoke to the Herald of the Wounded God, who held out his hand to take their blood, one after the other. And yet, the refusal, to the description as well as the act of suggested devotion.
"We are not. And we will not,"
Padraig said, taking the lead in this situation. His words understood and struck the priest, as if by a blow, he fell back against the threshold of the doors. The one hand that wrapped around his ritual knife still was there, but he kept his eyes on Padraig.
Then, from somewhere beneath the city, a tremor could be felt. A small earthquake began rumbling. But nobody was panicking. Perhaps a regular occurrence here? It didn't do much more than kick up some dust from the nearby structures.
Yet, it was enough to cause Zvezdana's Chrien NecklaceTier 2 Logistics Gateway Ability from Faith's neck to come undone, and fall to the floor. As it happened, Faith's reflexes prompted her to extend her hand to catch it, revealing Famula's mark on her wrist, which held all of her slave brands upon its pattern, forming a very particular shape.
The priest, whose eyes had been on Padraig, picked up on the sudden movement of the necklace and Faith's hand, and turned to look. There, his breath caught in his voice, as he saw something in the patterns of that tattoo. Something that made him grow pale. "The... Cut of the Wounded God!" As the only one who knew how to understand and speak Vahanic - other than Faith who had a link to Padraig's mind - they were the only two to understand what he said.
"You will not bleed. Not for us wretches." The Priest agreed with Padraig, and stood aside, allowing them full entrance without resistance. He called out to the other faithful of the Wounded God, "Let them pass, they bear forth one who has the Cut of the Wounded God!"
From the altar of the cathedral, the Aukari took a few steps forward, calling forth to the priest in incredulity. "Herald, how dare you let them pass without shedding blood! Explain yourself!"
The Priest cried out to the Aukari, "Justice! She bears his wound and shall not be attacked!"
The Aukari smiled, shaking his head at the priest. "If she be what you claim, she must have some token or else something that speaks to her significance. If that be true, let her show it to us? All I see is an Immortal Worshipping hussy and her troupe of mismatched mummers." The Aukari his fiery gaze boring into the priest. "They shall not pass without submitting to proof of contrition. To refuse such is to invoke Anathema!"
The rest of the crowd, half seemed to side with the priest, while only a few echoed the word, Anathema.
The blessed of Moseke still lay upon the altar, she didn't appear to be dead yet, but she was definitely not conscious. And the flame-like tendrils ate away at the tree that depicted her mark.
"ANATHEMA!" The Aukari justice shouted louder, and a few more people around the room seemed to pick up the call. He strode forward confidently, even though he was outnumbered it seemed by the voices in the room that weren't calling for another fiery death.
The priest seemed afraid of the Justice, and cowered by the threshold. As more people saw the Herald's courage lagging, more began calling for fire.
