Riordan grunted softly as he hefted his squirming quarry through the doorway of his home, the creature putting up a fight within the bag he'd managed to get it into. Normally the things Riordan used for his rituals were smaller and easier to manage, but he was curious to find out what might happen if a larger offering was given. Through trial and error he'd come to find his magic was stronger and easier to read when the sacrifices he made were very fresh, and it seemed that things that contained a heartbeat were more effective than things that were living but didn't have a pulse. Plants, fungi, and the like were fine to use, but they generally required larger quantities and the things he could read were fuzzy in detail. Fine in a pinch, but if he had questions that had specific answers he was looking for he had to make larger sacrifices.

So here he was, shutting the door with his hind leg as he wrestled with the creature inside. The fox really wasn't that big when all was said and done but it was certainly aware that it was fighting for its life. The bag was made of a thick leather but still the needle-sharp teeth poked through now and then. Riordan was careful to keep his hands up by the knot where the bag was thickest, avoiding most of the snapping teeth. Usually when he involved animals in his casting they were small and easily managed or freshly dead from one reason or another out in the wild. This was his first foray into anything larger than a rabbit and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

Still, he'd come this far. Hanging the bag by its strap on a hook that hung from a rafter, Riordan left the fox to struggle within its confines as he began to set up his space. On the floor was a large circle drawn in chalk and within it were different shapes, runes, and candles. He had to touch up some of the lines before he got ready, hooves carefully stepping in the negative spaces left by his writing and drawing. In the very center of the large circle was a stone altar upon which there were a few tools. Some were innocent, like the flint set beside candles that were nearly at their end, but some were more worrisome, like the deadly sharp knife with an ornate hilt. The blade itself had different colors of metal smithed into it, the darker areas looking like ripples on a lake at night. Other items were placed with purpose on the altar as well, like incense and a holder for it, a few bowls made from bronze that varied in size, an empty goblet, and paper with an inkwell and quill beside it. Riordan made sure everything on the altar was in its place before moving through the chalk circle to the area where he stored other ingredients for his rituals, returning a moment later with fresh herbs, some of his personal dried fruit, and a bottle of wine. He poured the wine into the goblet before setting out the herbs and fruits, ready to be used once they were needed.

Letting out a slow breath, Riordan set the bottle of wine down on the altar before turning back to the bag with the fox. It had gone still for the time being though he could tell the animal inside was very much alive, although it was now simply waiting as it had determined it couldn't escape. This was the hard part, and he was fully ready to receive a few bite wounds for his efforts. But the bag was not part of the ritual and he had to get the fox out, so his own blood might end up being part of the sacrifice. Ah well...anything to test his own limits, he supposed.

Before he did anything else, Riordan checked to make sure every door and window were shut and locked. If he didn't get a good grab on this fox and it got away he wanted to make sure it didn't have an escape route. Once he was sure everything was as escape proof as it could be, he returned to the bag to bring it down from where it hung. The fox within remained still, surely planning its escape. Riordan loosened the knot at the top and took a deep breath, readying himself for the pain, before quickly bending down to rest the bag on the floor while shoving a hand inside. He grabbed some part of the fox - maybe it's neck? That's what he'd been aiming for, to scruff the creature so it couldn't bite him - and pulled. He was disappointed to find he had the fox by one of its front legs and he quickly paid for his misplaced grab. The fox bit his forearm and hung on for its life as Riordan shouted in pain. He dropped the bag with his other hand and quickly used it to scruff the fox, letting go with the hand hanging on to its leg. The fox didn't let go, though, and the centaur was forced to move to the altar with the creature still biting his arm. His own blood smeared over the stone altar as he pushed the fox onto it, pinning it down with the arm it had in its mouth while the other hand let go of its fur and reached for the impossibly sharp knife.

***

Riordan let out a slow breath as opened his eyes, looking down at his handiwork before him. The altar was a mess to anyone else, but to him it was a roadmap of the future. He could see the answer to the question he had with startling detail as well as other incidents surrounding the one he'd been looking at. He was a bit overwhelmed by the information he was being given, but it proved his theory to be true: the grander the sacrifice, the more detail he could see. The scent of fresh herbs and iron filled his senses as his good eye tracked the path of the story laid out before him over and over, trying to see if there was any detail he'd missed or something he'd read wrong. He wanted to remember everything so he could double-check his work tomorrow when the event came to pass. Normally his readings would give him a vague idea of what might happen, but this seemed so in depth it was a bit overwhelming. He reached for his paper and the quill, jotting down everything he could see. He wrote for quite some time, long enough for the slow drip of liquid from the altar to the floor below to come to a halt. Finally satisfied and with the dampness on the stone drying, Riordan set down his notes and grabbed hold of the altar as a wave of exhaustion hit him. He was startled at how his knees buckled and it took quite a bit of effort to not pass out. His work usually left him tired, but this was another level that he'd never felt before.

"Steady," he murmured to himself, reaching for the wine with his own crimson-stained hand to take a sip. The liquid helped a bit, refreshing himself enough to find his hooves again. He needed to get to his sleeping area quickly before he blacked out. The mess on the altar and on himself would have to wait for now. Unsteady steps led him from the ritual room to his sleeping area, the floor piled high with hay with a comfortable pile of pillows for his upper half to rest upon. He very nearly flopped down, losing the bit of control he had, and he didn't even make it to the pillows before he lost consciousness.

Fin