The druid walked in through the smoke, shining pink columns of salt beset her on each side, shimmering in the blinding light of a bonfire lit behind her, deep within the altar. She raised her arms high above her head, gilded bracelets dangling nearly to her elbows. She was all but skin and bone, years of fasting and sleep deprivation had taken their toll on her body. But her spirit bloomed, glowing white and pulsing around her. She was drenched in sweat, naked save for the long red scarf flung around her shoulders.
From the huddled crowd, an old woman emerged, shrouded from head to toe in a ceremonial woven robe. In her arms she cradled a rumpled pile of cloth. Gingerly, her old feet found their way up the heavy stone steps to the altar. Kneeling unsteadily, she extended her withered arms as far as they could stretch, passing bundle to the glowing woman before her, eyes aflame. The priestess took the child into her hands and pulled the wrappings from it. It was a boy, still messy from birth, umbilical cord dangling from its belly. The priestess said her prayers quickly, expertly dancing through the words via years of repetition. At the zenith of the recitation, she ripped the cord from the baby’s belly, shoving her bloodied fist into the air, presenting the cord to the sky.
She lowered her arm, bringing it to her mouth. One snap from her jaw and it was cut in half, once more and it was gone, swallowed nearly whole. The priestess screamed, chest heaving as all the air drew from her lungs. The crowd returned her scream, a savage cry which cracked and carried through the rocky canyons of their desert home. The sands seemed to glow white with the moon and fire as the air grew thick. A deep, blurry tone filled their ears, which made the hairs stand on the backs of their necks. Their god was among them, now.
The druid dropped to her knees, holding the child in the air. Slowly, bathed in the light of the fire, the child began to float above her hands. Higher and higher, the child lifted into the sky as its screams grew fainter and fainter. Then it was gone. This was the moment of truth. Would their god accept their gift? If the child had a flaw, a simple defect, the sacrifice would be rejected, and they would surely starve. The crowd, the priest and even the fire itself seemed to wait with weighted breath, perfectly still and totally silent. Just as quickly as it was gone, the screaming came back. Faint at first, though getting louder and fast. You could feel the tension in the air finally snap. Nearly one hundred hearts, broken at once, as an entire village realized there was no hope left for them.
The child landed with a disgusting thud against the stone floor of the altar, immediately crushed into something more resembling a puddle. The child’s mother was the first one to break the silence. Her broken howl shook the very steps themselves. A horrific, utterly destroyed wail followed by deep and inconsolable weeping. Her husband wrapped a blanket around her sunken shoulders, whispering affirmations in her ear. The priest stood, defeated. This was her last chance as well. As is their custom, two apprentice druids emerged from behind the columns and stretched the red scarf around her neck. Each taking a side, they pulled, strangling their mentor. The priestess arched her back and began to spasm, deliberately expelling all of the air from her lungs. The apprentices held firm, averting their eyes as the priestess squirmed and seized upon the rocks. With much gurgling, and sloshing as her body wretched and raved among the smashed entrails of their failed sacrifice, her soul left her body, and she was dead.
Barbarian Perspective 