All Hail Azarr

Seven figures in black robes and golden masks walked in a slow procession under the canopy of the jungle. Some of the masked priests held scepters in their hands, ornate candelabras adorning the top and lighting the path before them. In the center of the column, a litter was carried between two of the dark priests, bearing a sleeping woman in pale, billowing fabric. Though teeming with life, the wild creatures watched in bewitched silence. As they crossed the threshold from fertile jungle soil to volcanic rock, a voice rose like mist out of the silence. The note was high, haunting, and pained and the jungle listened on. The figures began their ascent up a narrow white stair toward the rim of Azar's Dais, the great volcano that loomed over the Turak, the seat of power of the nation of Azkosh. The song echoed over the land as they slowly climbed the stair. When at last they reached the rim of the rueful volcano, a wave of heat rose, evaporating the sweat from them even as it seeped from their pores. The heat stirred the woman into wakefulness and she lazily peered around, disoriented. Her olive skin shone in the orange din of the volcano and her blonde hair whipped and curled in the heat. Realization struck her and, in a panic, she leapt from the litter in an attempt to flee the scene, but she was still feeling the effects of the tincture and her legs gave out as she took her first steps. Voices shudderened and whispered and she looked up from the ground, realizing the rim of the volcano was filled with gawking spectators. Every eye was on her. She did not recognize many of the faces, but some, she knew. Not once did the voice falter as the singer grasped her wrist slowly but firmly lifting her and turning her to face them. She nearly jumped again when, instead of looking into eyes, she stared at the golden mask, its lips unmoving even as the voice continued the lament. The masked priest slowly nodded her head once, sensing a feverish resolve return to the young woman. "You are chosen, it is a privilege," she said under her breath, repeating the words to herself. When the time came, the woman needed no coaxing. In one moment, she stood on the pedestal overlooking the crater, her toes folded over the ledge, the next she was falling. The last note of the song crescendoed as she descended. A tear evaporated as soon as it fell upon her cheek, steaming as she whispered, "All hail Azarr." Tongues of flame licked into the air as the volcano embraced her and silence reigned in the jungle. "All hail Azarr," came a shout, breaking the silence. A hulking Orak Knight from the spectators drew a wicked curved blade from its scabbard with a ring of honed steel and drove it into the volcanic rock in salute. "All hail Azarr!" The crowd echoed as one, hungry flames reflecting like tiny orange and red diamonds in their eyes as they stared into the bubbling lava.