Blades & Black Rites

Hooded figures like carrion birds grim,

Circled the altar in the room most dim,

The embodiment of purity lay chained,

To the sacrificial stone,

She felt abandoned and alone,

The only God who ruled this place,

Was the great idol above the altar,

It's eldritch visage enough to make,

Even an angel falter,

It stood over all sinister & stark,

Through graven eyes it observed this rite most dark,

The high priest stood clutching naked blade above naked breast,

The red hoods were still as the tomb, waiting to send the virgin to her final rest,

"Now young heart", the priest did cry,

"It is time for you die!"

One of the crimson hoods flung back,

To reveal a black haired man,

His skin was richly tan,

He gripped a sword ready to attack,

He lunged forward like a spawn of hell,

His sword danced gracefully,

And one by one the cultists fell,

He saved the high priest for last,

The head was clove from the shoulders,

The maiden was aghast,

The torches burned like the abyss,

The swordsman released his breath in a hiss,

The floor was littered with the dead,

He spied the idol and gave a shudder,

He looked upon the girl and severed her chains,

He covered her with the cloak he wore,

She tried to thank him but could only mutter,

"Let's leave this vile place " he said.