Alara Alara The Place

 The child struggled against the hands of the cultists holding him down, yelling curses that some might falsely believe a child his age wouldn’t know. He kicked his arms and legs wildly and tried to bite the arms of his captors. It didn’t help.

The cultist standing behind the child’s head, the one holding the knife, spoke. “O Great One, accept the sacrifice of this innocent!  Feed on its soul—”

“I’m not an it, you motherfuckers—”

“—restore your strength, and rise from your—”

A sound that had been gradually getting louder became recognizable finally as the sound of… a swing band, playing In the Mood. It was distracting enough that the cultist holding the knife lowered his hand slightly. “What the hell is that?”

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