[Durelin]

Sevora gave Naramarth a small smile. A smile or a smirk, he could take it as he wished. What fools had she chosen for this? The man was at least attempting to be honey-tongued. She would find out soon whether he actually was so or not. She suspected not, since winged words didn't get you very far in the Citadel. The man wouldn't have had such a reputation or any sort of position at all. Fools? Or just 'cloudy-headed' from the presence of the High Priest? She had to suppress a real smile because of that thought. At least she was in command of the two presently and for quite a while into the future days. Of course, they would never be equals, Sevora was superior to many and had been for quite some time. She constantly used this superiority to her advantage. This trip would be routine, if pleasant.

"Thank you Priest Naramarth, Priestess Dristi."

And yet...she did have some kind of respect for them. Dristi veiled her anger well. They were like Sevora, if not very much.

"Wisest of the Order of Sight," she began, turning to the High Priest with a low bow. "We, the Children of the Sight, are ready to serve the Eye without question, without hesitation, and with all our bodies, minds, and souls. Our lives matter not."

The High Priest gave her a small nod and a friendly smile, most unseeming on that pale, drawn face, all coldness and severity. His eyes still burned with a strange heated light, cold yet searing hot. To Sevora the gaze felt...good. Right. The High Priest turned to the Keeper sitting next to him. "Keeper Asmodion, you may mark them and give them the blessings."

At these words, each of the Priest and Priestesses drew back his or her sleeves on the right arm. Sevora was not close enough see whether the others had been a part of this ritual before, but all of the Order knew the precedings. Meanwhile, Asmodion pulled out a long curved knife from a locked compatment in his chair. The High Priest brought out a small bowl of gnarled wood and his own knife, identical the the Keeper's. First the Keeper came to Sevora, and she held out her arm, staring at the man, matching his coldness. Using the tip of the curve, Asmodion ran the blade slowly down Sevora's arm, next to a long scar. it was from the same blade. Seconds went by which seemed like minutes. The man was good at what he did, but members of the Order were not to be effected. Sevora did not move a muscle, but kept them relaxed. Really, this was nothing, and that was the way it should be.

The blood trickled down her arm, and Sevora watched it. She couldn't explain the feeling she had at that sight, but it was so wonderful, so full of pleasure! She could stare at such for eternity and never grow weary, she was sure! But movement from the Keeper brought her back to reality. He caught several drops on his finger, then placed it just below Sevora's right eye. Pulling his finger down, he smeared the blood in a line three quarters of the way down her cheek. Catching a few more drops of her blood, he did the same below the left eye. Then Asmodion pulled down Sevora's sleeves again and turned to the High Priest.

The Highest One had pulled back his own sleeves, revealing skin that seemed striped. All those lines were scars, some were still red and puffy, done recently for this ritual. Picking an area with all healed scars, the man sliced down his arm in the same way as the Keeper. They were both practiced with this, being in their positions for many years. He did it just as slowly too, and to himself. But then, how hard was it? Sevora was sure she would have no problem slicing her own arm, it was only her arm, of course, and it was in service of the Eye. What better thing to do, anyway? She could watch the trickling, then, the sweet honey of life, so beautifully read. She closed her eyes, smiling a real smile, then snapped her eyes open. Her face went blank again, all in an instant. She had to watch herself.

The High Priest now picked up the wooden bowl again, and placed it under his arm. For a few long moments, everyone watched, standing motionless, as the blood was caught. The precious blood of knowledge. Then he handed it to Asmodion, who placed it in Sevora's outreached hands. She cradled it in her palms, staring at it for a moment, smiling a real smile for the second time in only moments, and then put the cup to her lips. She took one long swallow, then handed the bowl back to the Keeper. Licking her lips, she savored the taste. It was so sweet, better than she had ever remembered. And she knew it held so much. It held so much knowledge and power, giving you a deep connection with the Eye. It fried her blood and seared her bones, it made her stomach freeze, her fingers numb. The painful pleasure was overwhelming. She smiled openly and couldn't help but tremble. She did her best to stifle a sigh, but air still passed between her lips with a small hiss. Why hold it in? came a whisper in her mind, cold and hoarse. It's sound only increased the tingling, burning, and freezing all throughout Sevora's body. Why hold it in? the voice repeated. Sevora threw back her head and let a long, wheezing laugh. It was the first time she had laughed in three years. Pleasure was a weak word.