[SWP] another one coming

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

He was blind and could not see the transformation take place before him, he could not keep inventory of who was already here and who was coming (he didn't care).  He had come for his own reasons and certainly -- Oh! most certainly, his own reasons, he would maintain.  Turhan was infamously selfish when it came to worship and rituals, he cared very little for the mortal flesh surrounding him so that he could leave behind the distractions of the physical world.  No one could ever validate what such a man could possibly see that deep in meditative state he vanished into, but when he did, it was easier to just look away.


Turhan's journey had a singular end, some of the voices he walked by he knew  and most of them he probably did but couldn't remember. By now, the mushroom tea was already kicking in and the black room was suddenly full of colour.  Darling Bexley - the man who (under such sacred beliefs) - insisted on drinking 'dream tea' before his arrival, golden wheel spinning.  Faster and faster Bexley spun, her words covered the wheel on fire and he had to look away.


The old Ilati shaman believed in his heart that it gave him the vision he needed to see his way to Vespera.  The shaking and rattling of his bones and the deep gutteral humming was just his way of staying anchored in place while his manifestation of thought escaped him.  All at once they sounded, Turhan too.  Together, the mortals were a pack of howling wolves and Solis their moon, it felt good to Turhan.  And although he was not surrounded by his fellow Ilati, they were all family at times like this.  They were all one hollow bone which life flowed through.


"O Solisi, ndi iye m'tulo"  He prayed out loud, the energy of the group gave him energy, his spine tingled as if the singular thread which held him together was now a copper live wire.  O Solis, is She awake?  He had asked the empty air before him, hoping his words would land in the open hand of Solis himself. 


The dream tea made him think of sunshine, of sunflower fields, of staring at the sun through rain clouds to watch how electric the sun could be even without its shine, it made him feverish and his freshly painted flesh sweated profusely as his heart raced from the tea.  His mind raced onward and onward and onward, marching away from the physical body which remained behind. 


She is Somewhere. His optimism spoke like an external voice.
She might be mortal. She might be hurt. Something doubtful mentioned.
She is always here. His heart reminded him, his faith reassuring itself even without the God's response.


"O Solisi, Vespera here?" His own voice sounded like he was hearing a faraway echo, everyone's voices sent bright rings of light across his mind but the sun's face was big, and bright, and all encompassing.  The blind man felt compelled to roll pebbles into the ether ahead of him in hopes it would reach the sun (the Son?)'s light (hoof?).

T U R H A N
skull to dust

@Random Events