Let this sacrifice echo across the Conclave, that our brother Jarros was found worthy of bearing his life before Solael's blade. Few are granted the honor and fewer still have the will to accept the burden for the benefit of us all.
And so it was with our brother who not only willingly stepped forward to feed Solael's hunger, he had Solael's sigils painted upon his bare chest as he paraded himself to the center of the Conclave. Larger than life, he stood proudly before Sagon and his curved witchblade and proclaimed to all that today marks the first day of their victory against the usurper. Jarros kneeled, as was customary, but his eyes never turned away from the Vicar's stoic gaze.
As was set down upon us by Solael, Sagon uttered the sacred words and slit his forefinger to paint a rune upon Jarros' forehead. Then the Vicar stood behind the sacrifice and placed the sacred blade upon his throat. This was the chosen's last chance to back down, though to be perfectly honest such a disgrace would likely end in death anyway. Jarros looked ahead with confidence. His face was beaming with pride, such was his faith.
"For Sola..." he began to cry when Sagon slit his throat and plunged his other hand drenched in black flames into Jarros' chest. Sagon removed the dead man's heart in a swift motion and drank deep of the lifeblood spilling forth. Jarros' body slumped to the ground, his eyes still staring forward. Several attendants saw to his cremation as the vicar delivered the heart to Solael's shrine.
The heart was placed in an ornate bowl and incinerated; and as it burned the runes upon the shrine grew brighter.
"Solael is pleased," Sagon uttered, smiling with bloody lips.