They were praying again. Praying in that awful, utterly butchered language. It started as it always did, with vicious whispers and hushed hymns. As time grew, so did the frenzy; a few voices became many, growing into a cacophony of sound, a perverted harmony of foul chanting. The cave walls surrounding the site did little but amplify the sound; the guttural tones bouncing between each crack and crevice.
As much as Nyx tried to drown it out, there was no hope. She was, after all, trapped. A captive of lunatics. How long had it been? Weeks now, if not months. Keeping track of time was becoming difficult. The days seeped into nights as quickly as her wounds could bleed.
From her hovel of a prison, Nyx could only watch on and listen. The cultists had gathered in numbers, amassing at the mouth of their altar. Littered sporadically about the place were crystals of sorts, hued with colour. The ones painted red seemed particularly venerated. Nyx shuddered at the mere sight of them, all too familiar with their evil. Their taintedness.
Feeble as she felt, the young Kiffar scurried as far back as her chains would allow. Out of sight, out of mind. Or so she hoped…
The others, those imprisoned with her, still whimpered and wept. Like her, they were unwilling acolytes. Slaves, and victims to this cult of madness. No amount of pleading could sway their demented captors, and any attempts to do so were met with harsh brutality. There used to be more of them, stuffed tight in the cell. Now...now there were only three left, with Nyx being the eldest.
Not that it mattered. Nothing at all mattered, so long as she was left alone, left alive. Already weak, Nyx began to drift in and out of consciousness. Ancestors willing, she could find a short moment of peace in the abyss of oblivion.
@Fine Dining Set
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