chaele
worship like a dog
Chaele looks away from the herb with a short gasp of surprise, not expecting the crackle and rush of electricity to flash in front of her light-starved irises. In the dark that resumes the little creature takes its dying breath, with only a crisp burning smell to show for it. The shaman grins faintly behind her mask as she tucks away her prize.
She leans toward the dangling corpse, still kneeling as she catches her breath. With a decisive nod, she replies, “Its meat will cook well, thank you.” And its fur will add to her cloak, and its bones will make a fine effigy, and its vocal chords will prove an interesting specimen for her ritual magic.
There is one more use that it has as well. “Its entrails would make for a fine haruspicy, if you have a question to ask of the spirits.” Preempting the question that might follow, she explains, “I can divine the answer by reading its liver and intestines. But it only works for the person who killed it.”
She leans toward the dangling corpse, still kneeling as she catches her breath. With a decisive nod, she replies, “Its meat will cook well, thank you.” And its fur will add to her cloak, and its bones will make a fine effigy, and its vocal chords will prove an interesting specimen for her ritual magic.
There is one more use that it has as well. “Its entrails would make for a fine haruspicy, if you have a question to ask of the spirits.” Preempting the question that might follow, she explains, “I can divine the answer by reading its liver and intestines. But it only works for the person who killed it.”
at the shrine of my lies
