Cornered Animal

There is a dagger in front of you, a lamb screaming for its mother, and the eyes of Father peering out from under his robe. Your brothers and sisters surround you, trained silence scaring everyone into holding their breaths. You can hear the babe bleating noisily, confused and afraid. It’s cold outside. You wish that you were wearing more than the white slip dress laid out on your bed this morning. [[I don’t want to pick up the dagger. |HESITATE]] [[ I pick up the dagger. |GRAB]]

Your hand freezes over the hilt of the dagger, your muscles seizing on their own volition into a tight fist. Father sighs, audible over the cries. You know that you have disappointed him. Shame washes over you, turning the tips of your ears red. His hand reaches out, picking up the dagger, and then it is over yours, unfurling your fingers, the coolness of the hilt kissing your palm as he slides it in there. Despite your failure, he still believes in you. [[ I gut the lamb. |GUTTING]] [[ I slice its neck. |SLICING]] [[ I really do not want to kill this lamb. |ASSIST]]

You reach out and pick up the dagger. Father gives you a nod of approval, and you glow with pride. This is your moment. [[ I gut the lamb. |GUTTING]] [[ I slice its neck. |SLICING]] [[ I really do not want to kill this lamb. |ASSIST]]

With an almost sadistic pleasure, you drive the dagger into the soft underside of the lamb. Its screams intensify as it does not die immediately, horrified at your violence. Its belly is tissue-thin, tearing with no resistance as you bring the dagger up to its sternum. Pink, steaming guts spill onto the stone tablet it was bound upon, and you grimace, knowing that someone else will have the displeasure of cleaning that up. It is quiet now. Too quiet. Father does not speak. Your siblings do not move. Your dress is now stained viscera pink. [[ I feel disgusting and dirty. I want to wash my hands in the temple. |TEMPLE]] [[I feel nothing. I turn to father for guidance. |FATHER]]

You slice the neck of the lamb, as is tradition. It gurgles quietly before falling silent, its death swift and, for the most part, painless. Blood flows across the stone, darkening the rock, and pools around you, turning the soles of your bare feet crimson. [[I feel disgusting and dirty. I want to wash my hands in the temple. |TEMPLE]] [[I feel nothing. I turn to father for guidance. |FATHER]]

You grasp the dagger with both hands, arms shaking as you point it towards the defenseless creature. Tears well in your eyes as you look upon its frightened gaze, how the animal thrashes in its restraints before you. You can’t do it. Father steps forward, and you know that today, you are not favored by him. One of his hands wraps around yours, the other holding the lamb down. “Shhh.” He says. You do not know which one of you that he is talking to. With his help, you slice the neck of the lamb, blood spurting over you both. [[ I feel disgusting and dirty. I want to wash my hands in the temple. |TEMPLE]] [[ I feel nothing. I turn to father for guidance. |FATHER]]

The temple is a small building, with a stone path leading up to a tall, ornate wooden door. Using both hands to push it open, you hurry over to the centrepiece, a large stone basin filled with water blessed by Father. Usually, he would be here to wash your hands for you, refill the basin and bless it again, however you did not have time to request his presence. Panic drives you forward, plunging your hands in, scrubbing your skin raw, water splashing up as your manic actions disrupt its still surface. Slowing down your laboured breathing, you pull your hands free and wipe them on your dress. The water is dark now, bloody and unclean. You shiver, thinking of the poor lamb it came from. At least you have a moment of peace, alone. You should take advantage of the empty temple, a rarity, since devoted siblings usually fill this space, listening to Father’s sermons. [[I kneel down and bow my head in prayer. |PRAY]] [[I take this time to look around. |LOOK AROUND]]

Sinking to your knees, you clasp your hands under your chin and close your eyes. The events of the morning have rattled you; you’ve never had the privilege of being the one to orchestrate Deyga’s sacrifice, and you secretly hope that it will not be asked of you again. That’s not a good thing to think about while praying to her. You wince. [[I continue to pray to atone for that train of thought. |PRAY 2]] [[Feeling embarrassed, I get back on my feet and dust off my knees. |LOOK AROUND]]

You decide to take this time to investigate. Since the offering this morning, something has been sitting in your stomach, twisting it slowly. Before, you were an obedient follower, a hood constantly obscuring your vision as you drank, spoke, and did whatever Father requested of you. Now, you’re not sure if you would be able to blindly follow along to one of his sermons, or another ritual. Something was very, very wrong here, and that troubles you. You’ve been living with these people, within this community since you were a child. It’s all you’ve ever known. Maybe the temple will offer you some insight. The room around you is bare - Father disapproves of an emotional attachment to material items - however a few things manage to catch your gaze. There is an [[old tapestry |OLD TAPESTRY]] hanging behind the [[altar |ALTAR]] at the back of the temple. On a small table off to the left, you see the [[dagger |DAGGER]] that you used this morning, still stained red with the lamb’s blood.

Lowering your head further, you begin to mumble an apology, not wanting the omniscient deity to have any sort of impression that you were ungrateful to be bestowed with such an honourable task. Remembering the way the lamb squealed, kicked, and bled makes you shudder, so you talk louder to drown out the feeling of guilt knotting and squirming in your chest. As you talk to yourself, you can almost swear that there are two separate voices intermingling with your own. One of them is feminine, greedy. The other is a little more distant, whispering words that you can’t quite decipher. [[Listen to the whispers. |WHISPERS]] [[You recite your prayers louder in an attempt to drown them out. |PRAY 3]]

Talking louder, you start to rattle off the prayers that you learnt from Father, your voice shaking, yet steady as you squeeze your eyes closed. Eventually, the whispers become quieter, until it is just you, alone, praying to nothing, and no one. A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you startle, opening your eyes with a yelp. …it’s Father, and he’s smiling down at you. ‘Just like we practised,’ he says with a hint of pride. You duck your head, embarrassed that you were discovered. ‘Come. It’s a beautiful day, and you are alone here.’ His hand doesn’t leave your shoulder as he leads you [[out |ENDING ONE]] of the temple.

Father wants to talk to you. You approach the temple, apprehensive but obedient. You see him standing in front of the altar, holding something in his hands. “Come.” He says, his eyes piercing through the dimly lit room, making your skin crawl and stand on edge. You stand in front of him, fidgeting, fists twisting and untwisting the hem of your dress. “Look at this for me.” With a flick of his wrist, he’s holding out an ornate handkerchief, the threads glowing and shimmering in the faded light. Having never seen anything so beautiful before, so delicate, you lean forward, the embroidery weaving together into a breathtaking, tiny tapestry. He holds it closer, and then it’s too close, and you can’t see the threads anymore, but they’re pressing into your lips, and his arm is around your neck, and the room starts spinning - There is a dagger above you, you are screaming for help, and the eyes of Father are peering out from under his robe. Your brothers and sisters surround you, trained silence scaring everyone into holding their breaths. You can hear your own wails, loud and confused. It’s cold outside. You wish that you were wearing more than the white slip dress laid out on your bed this morning.

The blade shines dully in the dusty light of the temple. You move towards it as if in a trance, the silver blade embellished with a vermilion gem fastened to the hilt, the handle carefully wrapped in leather. It’s quite pretty. And dangerous. Why is it just laying out in the open? In the wrong hands, it could…you shrug away the thought, a frown creasing your small face. [[You pick up the dagger. |PICK UP]] [[You back away from the weapon. |LOOK AROUND]]

The handle fits perfectly in your palm, just like how it felt this morning. You run the pad of your finger along the blunt side of the blade. It almost feels harmless now, in your hands, yet only a short time ago you wielded it to slaughter that lamb. It makes you feel uneasy. Distracted, your finger slips, and with a yelp you bring it to your mouth, a metallic taste coating your tongue. It makes your eyes widen in surprise. You weren’t expecting it to taste so…intoxicating. You suck on the cut, staring at the blood that has now dried on the front of your dress. …a dark feeling starts to grasp at you, an unceasing hunger drying out your tongue. The tapestry of Deyga seems to illuminate for a second, her single visible eye boring into your soul. And then the room is quiet, and you are holding a bloody dagger in your hand. [[You leave the temple. |ALTERNATE END TWO]]

Run. Run. Run. Your heart drums in your ears as you stand within the walls of the cult of Deyga, feeling trapped, suffocated, like your life is going to never be yours and end before you want it to, alone with empty promises. Frantic, you know that there is nothing left for you here. You need to escape. Your legs start to move on their own, and before you can realise what you’re doing, you’re holding a log from the campfire, burning fiercely in your hands. It’s hot, too hot to hold onto, so you drop it, watching the area around you catch aflame, backpedalling as it spreads throughout the enclosed community, bathing the incredibly flammable, handmade structures and buildings in a violent flame. Somewhere deep inside of you, you know that this will actually appease Deyga more than it will annoy her, as people start to scream. With dread knotting your stomach, you run, pushing through a small gap in the chainmail fence that’s been closing you in for so long and finding yourself alone. You’re safe, and you don’t know where you are. You have no plan, no money, no last name, and no Father. It’s a real rebirth. You walk away.

You decide that you want to talk to Father. The events of the morning have left you unsettled, frantic even, and you have always turned to him for guidance when you feel troubled, and you’ve never felt this confused and afraid before. You find him at the stone slab that the lamb was slaughtered upon, scrubbing the surface clean. The carcass of the animal was gone, and you’re not sure where it went. ‘Father.’ He turns to you. ‘Yes, my child?’ [[“Help me.” |FATHER RESPONSE]] [[“I don’t feel well.” |FATHER RESPONSE]] [[Your throat closes, and you say nothing. |FATHER RESPONSE]]

He seems amused by this, putting down the washcloth he was holding. You notice with a sinking feeling in your chest that his hands are stained with blood. Father doesn’t seem to mind, and you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself. ‘Little lamb, so troubled,’ he murmurs, and holds a hand out for you to grab. ‘I want to give you my blessing. Will you take it?’ He waits patiently, a bloody palm upturned and facing the sun. [[You take his hand. |ACCEPT]] [[You keep your hands by your sides. |REJECT]]

You take his offering. He smiles at you, nods, and swipes his free thumb across the back of your hand, leaving a bloody red smear. ‘Be at peace, my child,’ he says, and you can feel your shoulders relax. ‘Here. For being so [[good |GIFT]] today. I’m proud of you.’

You do not take Father’s hand. At first, he thinks you are only being hesitant, so he waits. When he realises that you have no intention of lifting your hands, even clutching them tightly behind your back, his expression darkens, his brows knitted together. You’ve never seen him this [[angry |ANGER]] before, a stormy look clouding his eyes as you stand before him, small yet defiant.

Father presses a small carving into your hands. You bring it up to your face to inspect. It appears to be a small statue of the Goddess Deyga, holding a sheep in her arms. You smile, giving him a shy nod. ‘Thank you,’ you mutter, running your thumb over the wood. ‘Hurry on now. Go spend time with your brothers and sisters.’ Nodding obediently, you [[leave. |FATHER LEAVE]]

Moments pass, and neither of you say anything. Father lowers his hand, picking up the cloth again, his knuckles whitening around the fabric. ‘Run along now, child.’ His voice is flat, his eyes not leaving your face. You refuse to buckle under his scrutiny, even if your legs tremble, struggling to hold your weight. You nod silently, and take your [[leave. |FATHER LEAVE]]

After talking to Father, you decide that it's a good idea to visit the [[temple |TEMPLE]], to wash the blood off of your hands.

You stop, yet the whispers continue. The familiar voice hisses in your left ear, a croon that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. ‘Ssssstay on the path,’ she whispers, the image of the slaughtered lamb appearing in your mind again, the rush power you felt after the life had left its eyes making your limbs feel funny now, lethargic. You wet your lips, wondering if that’s how Father felt everytime he sacrificed something in the name of Deyga. ‘Find me,’ another voice sighs, almost yawning at the end of the short sentence. They seem like they’re not used to using their voice, sounding quieter and scratchy. You almost missed it, overpowered by Deyga’s constant murmuring. You scrunch your face up in frustration. Listening to both at once is getting overwhelming. [[Listen to the familiar voice. |FAMILIAR]] [[Listen to the unfamiliar voice. |UNFAMILIAR]]

You stand, frozen in place, staring at the altar that you have seen Father stand behind every week. It feels empty without his presence, like a piece of you is missing, waiting for another sermon, another life lesson to be placed upon your shoulders. This is how you learnt everything, from death to sharing to compassion to rebirth. He’s been your teacher, your leader, your mentor. You suddenly feel very alone. Doing this without him is going to be hard. Should you tell him? …no. He can’t know what you’re looking for. He wouldn’t approve. …what are you looking for, exactly? Feeling like you have more questions than when you started, you [[move away |LOOK AROUND]] from the altar.

You approach the tapestry. Out of everything you’ve seen in this place, it is the most beautiful, a hand woven piece of fabric as long as you can stretch your arms out, and as tall as the wall it’s hung up on. In the middle of the tapestry is the Goddess Deyga - a tall woman, framed by thick, curly hair, wearing a robe that goes down to the ground. She is holding a dagger in each hand and has a halo sitting above her pointed ears, with a small sliver missing from it on the right. Her face is obscured by a veil, however a single eye is centred on her forehead. The longer you stare at it, the more you feel like you aren’t alone in this temple anymore. Something is [[whispering |WHISPERS]] in your ears, now. Or someone.

A wave of warmth washes over you as a blinding light obscures your vision. When it’s not painful to open your eyes again, you look down again and see that your stained, tattered white slip dress has been replaced with ornate, green and golden robes. In your hands is a book that you’ve never seen before, with a symbol of Hurotah emblazoned on the leather holding the pages together. The God that you were just talking to is gone, leaving you with instructions on how to recruit your siblings, saving them from the grasp of Deyga. You will be their new prophet. You will save them all.

Run. Run. Run. Your heart drums in your ears as you stand within the walls of the cult of Deyga, feeling trapped, suffocated, like your life is going to never be yours and end before you want it to, alone with empty promises. Frantic, you know that there is nothing left for you here. You need to escape. Your legs start to move on their own, and before you can realise what you’re doing, you’re standing over the figure of your sleeping Father, the sacrificial dagger in your shaking fist. Closing your eyes, you slowly let out a breath, remembering the image of the kicking, squealing lamb. Remembering how you sunk the dagger into it, and when you open your eyes again, Father is gurgling, blood trickling out of his mouth as he loosely fights against you, gripping onto your wrist as his strength drains from him. An eternity passes, and he stops struggling, falling limp in his bed. All the power that he had over you…gone. You feel a weight lift from your shoulders as you grip your weapon, turning your sights to the door, to the people sitting around the campfire outside. The town will be bathed red. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you can hear a woman cackle.

You tune out the unfamiliar voice, and listen to the voice of your Goddess, Deyga. If you let your gaze relax, you could almost swear that there’s a shadow lingering in front of the tapestry of the Goddess of Rebirth, a silhouette perfectly fitting within the life-sized depiction of her. Staring, you wait for the voice to become a little stronger, louder. The words start to make sense as you strain your ears and listen. ‘You want the truth?’ she asks. No one’s ever offered you that before. That amount of knowledge is tantalising. You nod. The shadow begins to materialise, darkening until the form of Deyga appears before you. A gasp knocks the wind out of your lungs, and the urge to run makes your blood turn to ice, even though your feet are stuck to the ground. ‘I’ll show you the truth.’ She begins to [[lift her veil. |DEYGA LORE]]

You tune out the familiar voice, and listen to the unknown voice of another deity. If you let your gaze relax, you could almost swear that there’s a shadow lingering in front of the tapestry of the Goddess of Rebirth, a silhouette that does not match the body woven into the tapestry. Staring, you wait for the voice to become a little stronger, louder. The words start to make sense as you strain your ears and listen. ‘You want the truth?’ the voice asks. No one’s ever offered you that before. That amount of knowledge is tantalising. You nod. The shadow begins to materialise, darkening until it takes the appearance of someone you had never seen before. ‘I will show you the truth.’ The room starts to spin, you hold your hands over your eyes, and then you both are [[gone. |HUROTAH]]

Underneath Deyga’s veil is a giant, gaping mouth, spanning across her entire face, open to reveal endless rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. Saliva hangs from a long, curling tongue, her lips stained a crimson red, with small bits of flesh visible inside of her mouth, the animals they came from being too mangled to recall. **The Goddess of the Maw**. The name appears in your mind, and you know she is the one who put it there. She wants you to know what she truly is. She is not The Goddess of Rebirth, like you’ve been led to believe for all of these years. She is a constant, unceasing hunger, who demands bloodshed and carnage. She wants to swallow the world whole. Her laugh swirls in your mind, and you think that you’re going to be sick. All those countless souls, sacrificed, dead. To satiate a never ending appetite. Turning on your heel, you [[run. |END TWO]]

You blink. This isn’t the temple. Surrounding you is a forest, teeming with strange plants that you have never seen before. Glowing mushrooms come up to your knees, and vines hang from tree branches, seemingly animated with life as they writhe in the air. In the air all around you are transparent red strings that phase out of existence as you pass your hand through them. They are all connected to- ‘Hurotah’, says the deity standing towering before you. They are tall and slender, a black mask with multiple slitted eyes obscuring their face from view. They are wearing simple, yet elegant robes with draping sleeves, red strings floating in the air from their arms and shoulders. They hold a lantern in one hand, and a set of scales in the other. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ [[“Who are you?” |HUROTAH RESPONSE]] [[You stare in silence. |HUROTAH RESPONSE]]

They seem amused by you, giving off the impression that you are the first mortal they have come into contact with for a long, long time. ‘I am Hurotah, the Patron of the Damned. You are destined for a terrible fate, little one. I can save you.’ [[“Why me?” |HUROTAH RESPONSE TWO]]

Hurotah seems to consider this for a second. ‘You are the first child from the cult of Deyga who has strayed from the path in quite some time, and the only one I have been able to contact. I need your help, little one, and you need mine.’ They lift their set of scales, and the silver metal shines, and morphs, changing into a replica of the dagger you were holding earlier today. The lantern disappears from the other hand, with a red string replacing it. It looks like you would be able to hold onto this one, if you grabbed it. [[“What do you want me to do?” |HUROTAH RESPONSE THREE]]

“What do **you** want to do, little one? I will give you your freedom, either way that you see fit.” You study the items presented to you. The dagger seems to almost sing in their hand, blood staining its surface. You have a feeling that the path ahead will end in carnage. The red string does not maintain such a dark aura. In fact, you’re not sure where it leads at all. The choice is yours. As you decide, the forest around you seems to warp, as if it is nothing but an illusion, albeit a strong one at that. You stand in the middle of your community as you make this choice. [[You grab the dagger. |ALTERNATE END TWO]] [[You grab hold of the string. |END THREE]]