Robed figure

[Soyaman 7]

 

Foam crawls up the beach, the waves beat against a small boat, the distant fog slowly settling, the skies dark, a robed figure sat silently lets the water carry him towards the dark isle ahead of him. Looking down, almost as if meditating he sits, letting the boat bob from side to side.
Then a crash. A creak, the boat is stuck on the beach sands. As it stops, he looks up. His face half covered, he glances over the terrain ahead of him.
A dark land, the smell of humid fog, the sea water and death enters his nostrils. He sits unmoving in the boat for a minute, glaring across the new landscape before his head rises slightly as he mutters quietly to himself. "Why have you brought me here, master." his voice is croak. He hasn't spoken for a long time. 

He stands up and exits his boat, his foot falling into the soggy sand. He begins striding up the beach at a seemingly slow pace. He moves in a distinct direction, up the hill. Looking down, it seems he wouldn't know where he is going, he doesn't explore his surroundings. But he seemingly walks towards a distinct goal.

He walks up the beach and reaches a lesser hill. As he steps atop the hill his eyes shoots side to side, shocked by his discovery, strange structures sticking out of the cursed ground before him, his breath gets increasingly heavier, his forehead gets slightly damp, he shakingly walks forward, falling to his knees after a few steps, he's gasping for air, wheezing, he drops his hands on the ground, a single drop of sweat drops from his forehead as he stammers. "My lord.. What is this? Why?" he stares into the cursed ground waiting for an answer.
A small wind whistles pass him. His eyes opens and he sits up straight. Looking around the camp before him.
"I understand."

[Soyaman 7]

The night is bright, the moon shining through the fog and the cloud.
A storm appear in the horizon, the wind is harsh and loud. The faint sound of thunder in the distance and waves crashing against the island at the beach can be heard from atop the hill.

The robed figure stands before a small flat stone altar, adorned with tiny skulls carved into the side.
The figure kneels before it, legs collected, he humbly bows before it, resting his head ontop of the stone altar.
He whispers quietly to himself, the words deafened by the wind the carries sound of storm and ocean.
"The time is nigh, yet you bring me here. Show me my purpose."

The figure reaches into a small leather pouch attached by a simple rope at his waist. A small black-ish purple rough shard is pulled out. It looks as if cut out from something larger, a tiny piece of something leathery is dropped on the altar just as the shard is gently placed on the altar.
Afterwards he reaches in once more to pull out what looks like a scale which is put next to the shard.

At his waist opposite his pouch hangs a knife with several curvatures, a handle in purple, straight, but with no real guard to protect the hand. A knife made for cutting rather than fighting.

Slowly the knife is pulled out of the fragile roped ring that is holding it in place. Meanwhile he raises his arm forward, out above the altar with his palm facing the sky.
He forms a fist and with a quick motion he cuts through the air above his head and into his wrist. His head is laid backwards, eyes closed, but his eye still flinches when the knife digs into his bone. With a jerking motion he pulls it out ever so slightly, just enough so it is no longer stuck in his bone.
He drags it downwards whilst inhaling deeply. His blood begins to surge and run down his arm, his hair begins dripping the blood ever so slowly onto the various items placed on the altar.
An odd language is being spoken in the process.

Suddenly the wind halts.

The incantations stop. "More?"

He pulls the knife out of his wrist and places it on top of the altar next to the bloodied items. Both hands on his knees he takes a deep breath before returning a nod to the altar.

"I understand."