Sun Mote Copse gunship politico

molech!

her voice lifted, entwining with that of her followers -- her bloodstained lips parted to herald the song of the eight-armed one into the warm air. their shared passion was a wildfire's embers with the whispers of the wind to stoke them higher. oh, be pleased by us! grant us this land and a place for worship, eshamun's heart begged in a silent prayer. give us a tophet. 

as if in response, the babes within her womb moved, but the canaanite was beyons guilt. with their gift she would buy the loveliness of molech's blessing, for many years to come.