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The chitter of spiders rung through the temple's ritual chamber, echoing off the walls as the great arachnids prowling from their silken webs overhead descended to attend the Priestesses. The initiates - clad in fine black robes - swung their censers from right to left, pacing as they sanctified the obsidian underfoot and the grand carven altar itself. Fresh, bright blood slicked the stone, filling the chamber with a steady dripping rhythm. The male servants - with their heads bowed low in reverence - tended to the corpses of the sacrificed slaves, dragging them off to be tossed into the pits to feed Lolth's children. Sweet-smelling smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the coppery aroma of spilled sanguine -- a fragrance truly befitting of the Queen of Spiders.
Imrae's bright ruby eyes scanned the gathered crowd of worshipers. Supplicants bowed and offering prayers and pleas up to Lolth before the festival day was to begin. A faint smile curled upon the she-Drow's glossy lips at the sight -- from the great Matrons down to the lowliest peasant, the congregants all threw themselves before Lolth's mercy and whim. As it should be.
The ritual proper was concluded, but as always, there was an opportunity for those who wished it to make their own sacrifices, to seek the audience and advice of the Priestesses, or to remain in quiet prayer. Imrae glanced over towards the High Priestess, Azshira, quietly speaking with the Matron of House Vandree and her daughters. A pleasant sight, if there ever was one. Such a display of piety was well in the Matron's favour, especially with the powerful company in attendance.
However, as Imrae turned, the Priestess's burning gaze fell upon one particular individual. The entire ritual, the person had been *watching* her. Not simply in interest for the proceedings, Imrae deduced. And, as it stood, the interest was mutual. With a hum of grim mirth, the elegant Priestess - clad only in a spun silk shawl - strode forth to meet the bold one. This one... she had seen before, attending the temple. *Perhaps it is time for more... involvement, then.*
Lips parted, a wry smirk formed upon the woman's face. "You there," Began Imrae, beckoning you forth to meet her upon the sacred obsidian. "Come. Lolth desires your blood." **I** *desire your blood,* thought Imrae, *though I'm sure the Lady shan't object either.*
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