The gardens were always peaceful at Dawn. The Tothites had their own ritual chamber that chartered the movement of the sun, so they were all preparing for the dawn in whatever way the followers of that Aspect prepared. Vibius, being an Acolyte of Lusacan, had a lot more interest in being outside when the moon set. It was an important time of the day, various prayers needed to be whispered and the altar of Lusacan needed blood. The Acolyte was alone in this duty, since only he, his Mistress and two other followers of the Dragon of Night were even present in the Temple. Lucretia was fulfilling her duty as one of the two mandatory High Priestesses and as her apprentice Vibius had to perform the garden ritual.
This was one of his favourite duties. He was alone with his god and able to pray for more selfish things, to commune in solitude and take advantage of the silence of the courtyard. As he made his way from one of the underground exits, climbing the stairs that opened up into the centre of the gardens, he turned his face to the brightening sky and smiled. It felt good to be home. The aroma of the summer flowers and the slight scent of the ocean in the air invigorated him. When he reached the alcove where the statue of Lusacan resided he knelt before it and placed an obsidian goblet at the foot of his god. The stone statue was so weathered the face of the dragon was worn away by the elements. The claws extended towards Vibius chest, reaching down to the penitent mage, the tips of the claws still gleaming, metallic but discoloured by blood. Vibius looked to the sky again, then to the goblet, to make sure it was in place.
When the first ray of dawn light touched the tops of the Temples towers the Acolyte closed his eyes and whispered the words of the ancient prayer. It was a sorrowful chant, saying farewell to the night and to his god and his power. Blood poured from his arm as he opened his veins and collected in the claws of the statue. The blood sacrifice was to ensure the return of the night and to prove to Lusacan that Vibius was willing to sacrifice himself for his god. As his life's blood disappeared into the statue he pulled his arm away and wrapped it in a cloth, tying it as a tourniquet. Healing would come later. His gaze drifted expectantly to the goblet and a moment later a dark ichor poured from the statue, issuing from the heart cavity and dripping into the goblet. When it was full Vibius picked it up and put it to his lips. No longer his life's blood, but a potion as black as midnight, he poured its contents down his throat and consumed the liquid completely.
The mage's eyes slowly turned black, the whites gradually clouded by the darkness that was Lusacan. As the Acolyte took his god into himself he felt the pain of the loss of the others. Of Dumat, the First, of Toth, the Light of the World. Vibius wept because Uthemiel's beauty was no more, her existence so recently extinguished. The world was empty, only Lusacan and Razikale remained and the Acolyte mourned their solitude with tears of blood.
When the sun was fully risen Vibius' gaze was once again his own and he looked at the world anew. Life without the Old Gods was desolate. How did the others live knowing that their God no longer lived on this plane? Even though Vibius knew his god slumbered he still felt his power. It pumped through his veins, kept his heart beating, gave him air to breath. Were the other cultists merely the living dead?
He shook his head and stood, his face smeared with bloody tears. The small smile on his face rendered his appearance ghastly but he did not care. He had done his duty and all he could do now was wait for the night to return. Exhausted, for the ritual had taken a lot out of him, he went to a nearby stone bench and sat down. Rest now, find Lucretia later. That was his plan for the morning.
With a sigh a started to prepare for his decent into the catacombs of the temple below. The mage pulled at the tourniquet and winced as his wound opened and began to bleed again. The pain was nothing really, he was used to it, it was the sight of the gaping flesh that made him queasy. If not for this aversion he might have trained more earnestly in the school of Creation. As it was he could just about heal himself and even then it took great effort. He felt rejuvenated by the ritual though so had the strength to knit his skin together with a healing spell. His left hand hovered over his right forearm and a soft glow of blue light emanated from his palm and enveloped his arm. After a minute or so of intense concentration he breathed out, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.
Across from the bench was a pond so he knelt before it and use the bloody rag to clean his arm. When he was done he got to his feet and started towards the steps which he had emerged from only half and hour ago.
Navigating the catacombs was second nature to him now. He had spent much of his youth here and even when Lucretia was not ordered to be here Vibius had volunteered himself. He loved this particular temples, even the ruins it had become in places held him in awe. The tunnels and stairwells looked the same to any newcomer, but Vibius knew their differences. The eastern stairwell that connected the first and second subterranean floors had a bust of Archon Valerius (whom his Mistress's husband was named after) which had half of its face missing. He thought the image almost as handsome as the Magister she was married to. Of course Vibius would never tell her that. As much as he respected and feared her he was also wary of her. And he loved her. It was silly to think of her as anything beyond a harsh and sometimes cruel mistress, but she had taken him when he had no hope of another mentor. Without her he would be nothing. His loyalty ran deep and even though he hated being with her sometimes he always obeyed. Not quickly, but always he did whatever she asked.
When he arrived at her chambers he paused, listening for a moment to see if she was alone, before knocking and entering. He knelt and bowed, as was custom after the first ritual of the day.
"*Lusacan, Nox noctis addo, vestri vox oriri ortus iterum per occasus sol solis." He would look up at that pale, sever face with silver glare and golden crown only when she gave him permission. Fixing his gaze upon her feet he waited, and hoped he had pleased her...
*"Lusacan, Night Bringer, may your power rise again with the setting sun."