Gold.
A mountaintop that reflected gilded light at its crest. An unending yield of honeyed rays cast down from the roiling bronze clouds above. A plateau upon which stood a faceted monument polished to nigh invisibility should one not be looking directly upon it. At its base was an arrangement of pillars surrounding a marble dais. Carved upon the pillars was a ceremonial writ so skillfully engraved that it seemingly danced and darted across the surface of the smooth stone.
Gold.
Gold was the armor of the Assembly attending the Rite. Gold was the garb and mask of the proud figure seated upon the golden throne. Gold was the hair of the three sisters that stood upon the altar. Gold was their countenance in their woven ambrosia hemp. Gold were the daggers they held to each other’s throats.
One sister, tall and regal, locked eyes with her siblings with an expression of duty and responsibility. Another, with her hair cropped the shortest upon her shoulders, held a gaze of silent ambivalence. The last, with ethereal beauty and a smile that surely radiated light to the heavens were the clouds not so obvious a herald.
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The Lord upon the throne rose. A stature that dwarfed the attendants and shrine maidens. An authority that towered over the mountain and the clouds. They raised their palm and beheld the proceeding.
A golden tongue, a spoken word that bedded eternity, a prostration of the Assembly. The Lord grants his approval, and the shrine maidens put strength into their arms. Would their blood, too, be of ichor?
Their blades would never breach flesh, however. As the shrine maidens thrust their ceremonial weapons, the ground shook with a terrible tremor. The Assembly was at attention, their divine spears poised to strike an unexpected foe. The mountain itself began to roar in protest. The Lord remained as they were, but one could see a molten fury seething from their eyes.
The shrine maiden, tall and proud, drew a long-blade from the member of the Assembly nearest to herself. The wavering sister dropped her dagger and knelt in fear. The third flashed her blade as a burble of laughter like silver chimes leaked from her gleaming grin.
The dais cracked and from beneath the fissures a legion of hands rose up, grasping at the sisters and dragging them down. The Assembly lunged forward to defend them, but to no avail. The ground beneath their feet erupted and a shade leapt from the dark below. Chaos had suddenly challenged the Rite, and before the Lord could intervene, the sisters were gone.