Fri Feb 13, 2004 4:46 pm
Gentle the wind, and warm the sun. Beneath and within it all.. trees not yet fallen, and earth not yet cracked. Upon his knees, the fire headed son of the North stretched forward his undestanding.. up, down and all around.
A deep breath drawn, sucking in purity sweet forest and spiraling plumes of mint and frank.. mind left to slip, to wander free amongst all that was good. When all this life, all this warmth had become one with the wanderer devout.. so began the process both simple and true.
A small bag, removed from belt satchel without eyes to guild.. held firm in the right hand, to charge the eye... the left dipped two fingers into the rough material opening, swirling the contents within, with rattles and glassy clanks to pace the dream.
"To the North, and the wise.. this son calls forth. Let my voice rise over moutain, and across void.. let it reach the mightiest hall of Asgard. Oh father Odin! Open your given eye.. left knowledge unearthly spill force to aide your son in the good fight!"
And so the bag was turned over, spilling twenty six flat rocks of equal size and shape to the forest floor, to float atop the debris. Silent, eyes caged behind lid.. and time to pass, nearly an hour..
When this time had passed, and all will aligned.. those eyes drift open, turning downward upon the runes.. Ogmahs hope.-
Thu Feb 19, 2004 8:16 pm
Whispers of a future not yet set; a warning from the lips of Skult.
What lies above speaks of below
Not the illness but the symptom
Hate without form; Pain without flesh; Fear without face
Ere ocean spoke or clouds gave breath, ere wind's first whisper, ere earth's coalescence, ere star's first glint.
From the voice of the one, the first and final cry they came. Foe of the gods, weavers of lie, shadows bound to the feeling of the living.
But half of a wheel are they, bound to the doom of the million worlds. In the eye of the serpent their fate is seen.
The winds are still; the One-Eye's grim voice fades. the Fates are silent.
Threads spin onward, relentless.