It was less of an altar, and more of a crypt. That holy place that was stained in a god's blood. A curse laid thick upon the air here. The curse set by Quetz'lun as her death knell. Sama closed her eyes and could almost feel the deaths of the priests.
It happened over and over again on some faraway plain. Beyond that dark veil to the other side.
"We have committed terrible sacrilege against these most holy creatures. I am sorry the Scourge led us to such desperation." She asked the altar-crypt. "I can still feel the torment of the priests."
The wind stopped and the cold thickened. The curse became more pronounced. And the feeling of the dying was more intense. Quetz'lun could still be felt here. Sama closed her eyes.
"I am sorry for what was done to you." She said. A voice echoed back in her mind and in the air.
"You Drakkari are traitors. The priests are with me forever. Such is the price of their audacity."
Sama bowed her head and listened.
"You child, you are different. You did not partake in the sin of your people. But you share their vitiated blood. Drakkari are not welcome with me anymore."
Sama rested upon her knees and bowed her head. "I only seek to learn my history. Great Loa." She whispered into the wind.
"Drakkari history is dead. Your legacy is dirt and rot and frost. These empty roads will be overgrown by abandoned dilapidation, and you will be forgotten by time."
Sama grimaced. Her old home, the place she was born, discarded by the world and so was she and her tribe discarded by the Loa betrayed.
"You hate us so?" Sama asked.
"You demand I forgive you for the pain I've been wrought? You beg for good graces when what you stand for came plain as the day in your darkest hour? No; it is easy to do right when life is good. It's how you act in the throes of chaos that determines good or evil. Drakkari be cursed. You are no people of mine."
Sama accepted the words in silence. And kept her head bowed.