!EGl50Sr6go 01/13/12(Fri)23:00 No.17535652
There is mutter, insults and jeers all throughout the church. Ignoring them, you set your sights on one thing; the one that is clearly a cleric of some kind. He seems to be conversing with the chalice, and then, taking notice to your presents finally, places the chalice on the alter and points a fat finger at you.
"THIS HEATHEN HAS COME TO USURP THE MIGHTY WAVE LORDS THRONE AND OFFER IT TO HIS OWN MASTER! MY BROTHERS! TODAY YOU ARE NOT BUT ACOLYTES IN YOUR LORDS SERVICE, TODAY YOU SHALL BECOME WARRIORS OF GOD!" He is about to continue but is interrupted by the inhumane sound of grating metal, starting out slowly then rising up until it soon echoes through out the hall.
The Jeers and insults are silenced as all eyes are upon the armored behemoth shaking in mirth to some joke that only you knew. But how could they know? The do not know the words. The very words that are carved into the stone walls of this place, into the very soul of the city. You would not noticed it at first, had your attention not been drawn to a cultist sneezing. There you saw an unforgettable Sigil, one that now reverberated through your very being in the form of laughter.
Still laughing, you gather the bitter Arctic winds themselves around you, freezing everything the proximity, and started walking forward. It was not long before the cultists soon broke and ran under the freezing assault. Some tried to escape past you, only to be frozen and shattered instantly, adding to your assault.
The Speaker tried to bolster his people, encouraging them to fight the heathen, but that was soon silenced by the towering obsidian clad giant cloaked in winter itself stood in front of the alter. He pressed himself against the glass and looked on with horror as you reached out to the chalice, laughing like a madman.