in tenebris est veritas.
A moment of stunned silence follows his words, followed by another. The flames that surround, no, comprise him seem to laugh joyously for his presence, but she can only feel a cold, sinking curiosity that stretches time and confounds speech. She has been warned of the whims of the powerful, and knows too little of the divine to tell the difference; this seraphim creature, in this place of prophecy, in all his light and beauty, is a deity in every respect.
Her knees weaken with the instinct to kneel again, to oblige him and resume her chant in aberrant worship of him, but stubborn ego dares her not to. Instead her chin tips ever so slightly upward, bringing the sharp nose of her stag skull mask with it. Her heart is a drumbeat in her throat, her tongue dry paper behind lips of fragile glass. Still she manages to form the words, "I am Chaele Omriwin, shaman of the four winds. I have come to pay respects at this point of power.”
The little effigy, partially hidden by the shadow of her cloak, clacks gently at her side– as if imploring to be cast into the fire. “Who...” she begins, though that does not seem like quite the right designation. “What are you? What do you know of this place?”
Her knees weaken with the instinct to kneel again, to oblige him and resume her chant in aberrant worship of him, but stubborn ego dares her not to. Instead her chin tips ever so slightly upward, bringing the sharp nose of her stag skull mask with it. Her heart is a drumbeat in her throat, her tongue dry paper behind lips of fragile glass. Still she manages to form the words, "I am Chaele Omriwin, shaman of the four winds. I have come to pay respects at this point of power.”
The little effigy, partially hidden by the shadow of her cloak, clacks gently at her side– as if imploring to be cast into the fire. “Who...” she begins, though that does not seem like quite the right designation. “What are you? What do you know of this place?”
