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The time had come. Tyrion had been communing with Es-Una for quite some time; before, during and after the siege of Occlo, requesting: guidance, strength, counsel. He believed the time for the prayer was upon him, and he yearned for Her power to flow through him to. . . . what purpose? He thought curiously. . "All will be revealed shortly," he said. He made his way to the Northern most edge of the island, spoke casually with the merchants, canvasing them for details on a suspicious character they had seen lurking about lately, "he 'ad a curious pomp'ous look to 'im. Always carrying cloth to sell and wearin' frilly look'n clothin'. T'was dyed pink. . Tyrion made a note of that, odd as it may have seemed. It did not help matters that the man was colorblind. Moving on with his more urgent quest. Tyrion steadied and readied himself for the task at hand.
He knelt down and began the rite, confident in it's power and purpose. "Contactus Oraculum Accipio!" Tyrion began to chant, at first a soft hum, barely audible until the words washed out of him with increasing intensity. "Contactus Oraculum Accipio, Contactus Oraculum Accipio, Contactus Oraculum Accipio, Contactus Oraculum Accipio!" Tyrion blinked and stood up. He turned to regard the Chaos guards eyeing him intently. Summoned honor guards; a rite of such magnitude demanded no less, Tyrion thought. His peripheral vision began to pick up materialization. A faint silhouette at first, but quickly the veil was pulled back until the full form of an Imperial altar became more and more apparent. Tyrion examined the craftsmanship and was not disappointed.
Tyrion finished with a prayer of thanks, in Her honor.
