Silais
That useless reptile
- 297
- Posts
- 11
- Years
- Seen Jul 17, 2016
This is a small excerpt from a story that I am writing, and it's nowhere near finished. The plot is in heavy development. This is by no means a finished product.
Some background: Isirÿa is the daughter of a petty lordling in Taul, one of the great cities of the kingdom of Ciryatan. She is sold into the service of the Diabolists, priests and priestesses who worship and care for the Temple of Siltur, the god of death in Cirtinese culture, after her father's marriage proposal to a certain Lord Anthtas Vesyck is unsuccessful. Isirÿa's journey through the stages of priesthood are the main focus of the story, which changes her views on life and human beings.
This excerpt shows the turning point in Isirÿa's outlook on her new life. This is where she becomes truly dedicated to the golden serpent Siltur. She is trying on her priestess's robe and donning her raiment for that night's prayers, and as she sees herself in the mirror she recognizes herself as a different person.
~
Some background: Isirÿa is the daughter of a petty lordling in Taul, one of the great cities of the kingdom of Ciryatan. She is sold into the service of the Diabolists, priests and priestesses who worship and care for the Temple of Siltur, the god of death in Cirtinese culture, after her father's marriage proposal to a certain Lord Anthtas Vesyck is unsuccessful. Isirÿa's journey through the stages of priesthood are the main focus of the story, which changes her views on life and human beings.
This excerpt shows the turning point in Isirÿa's outlook on her new life. This is where she becomes truly dedicated to the golden serpent Siltur. She is trying on her priestess's robe and donning her raiment for that night's prayers, and as she sees herself in the mirror she recognizes herself as a different person.
~
The robe was long and elegant, cinched at the waist with a belt of fine gold cloth. It was the color of mare's milk, the trim as red and deep as blood. The sleeves were exquisitely long, and embroidered with the lovely golden snakes that Isirÿa had seen on the cuffs of Lord Saygar's mantle at the feast in Mâhn. When she pulled the hood over her head she saw the same golden snakes coiling and weaving together like one great serpent along the edges of the cloth, their tiny fangs accented with diamonds as small as grains of sand. Such raiment would surely be worth more than her father's pitiful estate in Taul; the hood itself, with its tiny jewels and expensive Selyxian silk, was worth the citadel alone. Isirÿa smiled softly; her father had sold her to the Diabolists as punishment for displeasing Lord Anthtas Vesyck, yet she wore finer clothing now than the petty steward's son had worn at her father's proposal.
If anything, I am blessed, Isirÿa thought silently. The god Siltur has welcomed me into his fold as one of his priestesses, and I will serve him gladly. Nothing the Diabolists of Tua'lan could do to her would be worse than the abuses she had suffered under her father's care; let him keep his dying orchards and rule his sparse fields from his throne of rotten wood. She would pray and worship in the presence of a powerful and benevolent god while Tordun's castle crumbled all around him.
On the vanity lay her golden circlet and bracelet, the ones Vagyar had given her; she took them both in her hands, turning them over and over carefully between her fingers. The circlet was beautifully made; two golden snakes with their scales inlaid with diamonds and their eyes set with rubies coiled into a heart shape, their noses touching as they met at the front of the piece. Her bracelet was of similar design; the only difference was the snakes' tails, which were tipped with tear-shaped rubies. They glittered and gleamed in the torchlight, the flames dancing in their blood-red eyes. They looked so real that for a moment Isirÿa had the sudden urge to drop them, but instead she brought them up to her breast, clutching them close to her heart.
Praise be to the god Siltur and his dark messengers, she prayed silently, remembering the sermon that Vagyar had given on her first day in the great Temple. Let his grace bless all those who suffer and grow weak with age and disease. Let those whose bodies can no longer harbor their souls shelter beneath the folds of his great black cloak and enjoy eternal peace and rest in his presence.
Isirÿa smiled. As she gazed into the mirror with new eyes, she could feel the presence of the lord of death at her shoulder, and a sudden peace overwhelmed her.
"Glory to the golden serpent," she whispered.