Carving Post

I said nothing to the god, merely turned my back to it and stepped to the golden post from which the spectre of death continued to emanate. The fleshing blade was still in my hand, and using the curved tip of that sanctified steel, I drew the point along the surface of the post. I heard a sharp intake of breath from behind me, but to its credit the god said nothing. I could feel its eyes on me, though, watching.

I drew one line with my blade, followed by another, and another. Each line was scratched out with perfect precision, fine coils of yellow metal peeling away from the post and falling to the ground. It took me only moments to finish the pattern, but when I was done, I was left with a glyph that few, aside from the gods themselves, had ever seen.

I turned to face the god once again. It's eyes were wide, as I knew they would be, it's expression one of confusion, awe, and -- dare I say it -- even fear. It regarded me for some time in perfect silence, reappraising me. I allowed it all the time it needed.