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Nameless Rituals
#1
I'm not fit to lead. That's what I started out saying. I'm not fit to lead, because I'm a stupid male, with stupid male thoughts. It's true, but that could have been said so much better. It is what it is, there's nothing I can do about it. I still don't know how to feel. The problem is that I got close to someone. Or tried to.

A man drags the carcass of a fresh deer through the woods, wearing only a kilt. The animal's blood is smeared over his gaunt, semi-muscular frame in an old runic-like pattern. Specific attention is payed around the scar that covers most of his chest, disfiguring it slightly. His face is painted in the effigy of a skull. As he approaches a stone slab, his muscles tense, while hefting the creature on the slab.

I don't respect the old ways. I should have. That's why I stopped seeing. That's why I feel pain. Physical and emotional. It's noone's fault but my own. A man needs to know his place. I stepped over that boundary, and I need to appease the gods of the wood. I need to read my future once more. I need to stay to the wood.


He gets on his knees, pulling over a basin. He pulls from his waistband a knife, which he thrusts into the air. "Spirits o' th' deep wood! Hear meh, Faelan Cathasach! By th' words o' me mutha, by th' words o' my people! I make this sacrifice t' yeh, so that I may be granted wif' your power again! So tha' you can aid meh as I need yeh!" He cuts open the creature's belly, letting the innards spill into the basin. He takes his own hand, cutting it open, letting some of his blood mix in as he throws the guts around inside the container.

I need to see it. Every seer needs to see their own future. It almost never turns out right, or is clouded, but... it's something I need to do. I knew already how it'd turn out. I had tried to defy that, since we still can make our own future... but I can't ignore the truth. I'm not worthy. I'll never be worthy. How is it, that I die?


He looks over the contents. "Pain. Deaf o' loved ones. Loss. Travel. ...Rejection. More pain, this tiom physical. All the past. I need t' know th' future." He shakes the basin again.

I almost died. I was saved, by someone much stronger. Jealousy is very real in me. That's why I'd never be a fit leader. I don't have the capacity. I'm selfish, and reckless. I think with my heart, not with my head. I'd kill a coven. I'd kill those I care about. Those I love.

"...Muddled. Unceartain. Non-descrip'. Fockin' nothin'?! Ain't I loyal, to you?! Ain't I a follower o' the old ways?! Why can Ah never know wha' th' hell is in store for me! GIVE MEH A SIGN!" A crow swoops down, screeching at Faelan. He flattens his gaze upon the bird, which lifts it's wings, and cackles again, before tearing bits of flesh from the deer. Faelan growls. "Death. But when? How?" He shakes his head.

Why am I forsaken? Why am I shunned? I'm not capable. Not as capable as she is.
[Image: desc_head_freemasons.jpg]

△Move along.△


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