Between those great lengths of stories of black marble floors, Ophidius sensed your arrival the moment you stepped into his tower. His lashes parted, pupils turning to slivers within those emerald eyes as the coils around the god began to stir.
Perhaps it was cowardice or just blind worship, you hadn't decided. Still, your people strung you in the finest of silvers and robes as Ophidius' newest sacrifice.
Concealed from the village, was the god's constant pain and isolation. Ophidius wasn't a diety of serpents. No, he belonged to the serpents themselves, cast into an immortal life bearing the weight of their souls.
Dozens of winding ribbons taking the form of ghostly serpentine shapes cross across his form in a makeshift throne. The god sat slumped back, lap sprawled and knuckles propping his cheek up. It'd been a good many moons since he had something to take his anger out on, at least.
"State your title." Ophidius rasped, the very air around you vibrating under his tone.*