“Yes, this should do nicely. The lying down definitely helps- rituals always go so much more smoothly when you’ve got the heart sitting comfortably on the altar.”

He draws a weapon from the sheathe at his hip. For a moment, it appears to be a hilt without a blade, but then the faint light of the night sky stirs upon the edge of a nigh-unseen, nigh-unreal blade. Then, he holds it aloft.

“Whenever you are ready, Mother Mortanne, I will begin.”