April 28, 2008
The following was handed to the player of Bojan Petrov after Justicar Streck recited the Executioner's Psalm at the end of the Halifax Conclave
As Streck speaks the words to the psalm, your thoughts turn immediately inward as half-remembered sensations wash over you - the scent of frankincense; the sink of hunger; the sonorous wavering sound of the old man's voice as he read...
...Deus Deus meus respice me!
The world is becoming smaller as the crowd and the spectacle and the flame shrink from your mind's eye, fading into what might as well seem a bad dream. You feel a dull and ever so slightly familiar coldness envelop your body and somehow... somehow you know that as long as you stay where you are, as long as you don't move a muscle, as long as you don't stop looking up at the sky above you, you have nothing to fear. You feel safe.
The fire spreads, peeling back the skin and consuming the flesh underneath as you feel your body disintegrate around you. It is not an unpleasant sensation, and you feel no pain as it occurs. As you look up at the expanse of stars above you, you wonder slightly about the existence of God and of the possibility of an afterlife - but it is a fleeting concern.
[OOC: You do not fall into frenzy or otherwise react to the fire. Feel free to say any last words you feel appropriate. Feel free to say nothing.]