Author: Janna
Night had
fallen. The last glow of the sinking sun soon was swallowed by the
thick mists which had crept silently from the moist earth. And
yet, the jungle of Feralas never slept. The cries of the night's
birds echoed through the dark and the rustling of bushes spoke of
small and large mammals rising from their slumber. Somewhere in the
distance, the dull beating of a drum started up and continued to
pound the same hypnotic rhythm without breaks. The very fabric of
reality seemed to thin, and the soft night wind carried whispers from
another world through the trees.
The hour
of spirits had arrived.
The old
Troll rose to her feet and slid the voodoo mask over her face.
Slowly, her step unconciously in tune with the distant drumbeat, she
walked back into the cave. The small space was lit by the flicker of
six candles burning with blue fire. Everything was prepared: the
large sigil, drawn upon the stone floor in her own blood. From the
ceiling, she had hung the vital organs of a foe she had slain in
ritual earlier – one above each candle. The scents of death and
incense intermingled to a sweet aroma that made a muted extasy swell
within her chest.
Without
delay, she began the ritual of communion.
