Titus Flavius made his way towards the temple. He had always favoured Neptune, and always would. His grandmother used to say that his family was favoured by Neptune. And though he had seen no reason to believe it, he was to cautious to not favour Neptune. Reaching the door, for the prepared cerimony he makes his way into the temple. A loud boom is heard as he enters, the doors flung back against the walls. Standing there in his finest toga - a red one, rather than the white of the senate - he cuts an imposing figure. His time in the legions of Greece, rising from a minor decanus to primus pilus and then to Praefectus castrorum had left him with a fine figure. The uncovered shoulder showed hard muscle, not like that of a greek weight lifter, but that of an experienced solider.
Stepping forward into the temple now, he steps the prescribed number of steps, and reaches the correct spot. Standing there, breathing in the fumes of the incense burning he closes his eyes and raises his arms while the priests go about their business. Prayers ring though the temple, and Titus stands still while they do so. After a long moment silence rings the room, and Titus opens his eyes. Before him stands the priests, ready for the sacrifice, and between them, held steady by their hands is a white hart. Imported to Rome at great cost from beyond the wilds of Gaul, Titus spares a moment to think that the expense had better be worth it. Taking one more step forward, he now stands in a shallow pool of spring water. Now Titus begins to speak, loud words, perfectly reciting the pray he had learned. It is a long prayer, and takes several minutes to speak, but Titus makes no mistakes. The importance of the ceremony reflected in the words. A single mistake would make the whole affair worthless, and might even arouse Neptune's wrath. Titus sees one of the priests offer a knife. Taking the knife carefully, he slowly cuts his palm. Then placing it onto the nervous animal, he marks its head with his own blood. A potent, though unusual way of specifying who should recieve the Gods blessing.
Now Titus steps forward, making sure to keep one foot in the pool of water, touching always Neptune's realm, he reaches forward using his blooded hand to calm the stag. With the other he reaches slowly under the stag, and then brings it across in one smooth motion. The white hart lets out a trumpet of surprise before falling to its feet. Its head sinks forward and into the pool. Even its death had been perfect, it being seen as a sign of favour if the animals death makes it touch the water.
Titus stands there victorious, his arms again stretched outwards in pleasure. A priest collects a bowl full of the stags blood and with a small final prayer pours it over Titus' head. A smile shows on his face, as the sticky substance runs down his face and ruins his toga. After a moment to complete another prayer, the second priest also takes a bowl, this time with fresh water, and pours it over Titus's head. It washes most of the blood away, though not all and the ceremony is completed. Sparing a moment to thank the priests, Titus turns and makes his way down into the streets of Rome.