The silken, violet strand of hair, gently curling at the tips.
He clutched it in his caloused palm and pressed it to his lips.
He laid it softly 'cross the altar and watched it sink inside,
Reflecting on this ancient rite of sacrifice and pride.

Thus the sacred rite bagan, the King's wardship discarded
His inner abyss lay vast and bare; the veil to grace was parted.
He braced himself to be attacked by his enemies and kin,
His head bowed low in sufferance as they lashed upon his skin.

His rent and beaten body yielded and sent his spirit free
Into Sgrios' stagnant realm where the dead are wont to be.
The stench of decay hung heavily there within the stony keep.
He gathered his composure, for in fear he would not weep!

He hurried along the well worn path, slipped 'tween the rocks of old,
Sought entrance into Deoch's hall, determined, brave and bold.
His reverent heart leapt in his chest when standing 'fore his grace
He humbly dropped down to his knees with awe across his face.

"I devote my lifes experience." He meekly said unto the flame,
When His form was shaken with fervid hands and caused him to exclaim.
"Deoch!" he cried, prostrate and a'quiver, entreating his maker's touch.
Devoutly he offered all that he'd learned and his lord empowered him much.

Spent and sated he descended from glory and settled on firm land
His eyes a'glow with a renewed spark glorious and grand.
Profound was the change and in short time, since the last even'n fair,
When into the Crypt he'd stalked to meet a lass with violet hair...

Authored and penned in Deoch 53
By: Mistress Ivy Di'Vine
(MistressIvy in Dark Ages)