![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
val_coraxI’d been going through the motions of the Summoning Ritual for awhile now, making certain that I could go through the all the steps in my sleep. I'd tried and discarded various ritual items, until I’d found the ones that felt just right for the task at hand. I ended up getting rid of the mechanical clocks I’d picked up, as they kept time perfectly and that, well, was too precise and too Weavery for the summoning of a Sands of Time Spirit. I /did/ keep the novelty clock, that would randomly speed up, slow down, and occasionally go backwards. Was meant as a gag item and I’d noticed it passing as I was wandering about and checking out the shops near Snakes and Lattes. The other Ritual items I ended up keeping, were various minute timers, oil and sand based. A small burlap bag filled with a fine sand, that would escape from the rough-weave of the cloth, and a silk bag filled with coarse playground sand.
A couple of Ravens had told me that I was nuts for trying this, but I just couldn’t leave the problem alone.. A corax, his wife, and an Egg’s Guardian, all dead. An Egg stolen, a Corax child crippled - she’ll never change, is damaged mentally, emotionally, and there is /nothing/ that could be done to fix her. Her Egg had been destroyed, or worse, been used to create a Buzzard. No, this was crime that could not go unpunished and the guilty parties had escaped justice for close to three years. Far, far, too long.
I’d looked at other alternatives, but the Omens all spoke of summoning a Sands of Time spirit as being my best chance of success. They also spoke of change…
After getting word that the robin's egg had hatched, I called up the Otter Pack and was pleased when they were still willing to help me. Wit the recent shit going down with Naomi, I was afraid that they would have the time to help me. But, they still came and met me after nightfall, by the deep pond near Edgewood. We crossed in to the Umbra and followed Nokivaris, who led us in to the Dreaming through a series of Airt pathways. While the dreaming may be easy to leave and easy to get too with the right Rite, it is a bit trickier without it. Still, we managed without any major problems. Well, until we passed through the last pathway and I was handed some flashback to my recent Nephrandi nightmare. Ugg. I Did not need that. Not at all.
Once we were all in the Dreaming, I led Otter Nonsense to a section of the Dreaming, that contains a pathway in to the Deep Umbra. Oh god, that place is terrifying and I never, ever, ever, want to fucking go there. The things that were in the Dreaming, just because of its proximity to the Airt pathway in to the Deep Umbra were just so very wrong and as I was preparing for the ritual, this thing came out of the Deep Umbra.
You see, the anchorhead began to bleed a dull pink glow, and throb in time with a heartbeat. Slowly, carefully, the tip of brass began to press through it, like the prow of a ship sailing into port through a bank of fog. More and more followed, eventually revealing the serrated brass piece belonging to nose: a nose on the face of a ichor dripping face. Out and out it flowed, part octopus, part brass machine, part man, and 100% abomination. It strode through the anchorhead, walking on long, brass-festooned tentacles, carrying its funnel like body out from the dark-lands from which it cam. Ink and glistening oil dripped from every surface, from every point of metal was fused to its body, and seeped out of all the exposed pores. Bringing the last few legs through the dimensional breech, it loomed over us, impossibly tall for having gone through such a small anchorhead. The bulbous, alien face regarded us, blotting out the light as the giant brass god stands astride, oil-dripping udders dangling overhead like eldrich chandeliers.
I pissed myself. But, we were lucky, whatever the thing was, it decided that we were not very interesting and wandered off. Thank Gaia. I hurried on with the Ritual, before it could return.
I finished setting up my ritual items then I double, then triple checked everything. Finally, I began the Rite, walking between my Ritual items with the bag of fine sand tied to my hip, while scattering coarse sand by hand. I chanted in a rhythm that rose, fell, sped up and slowed down, all while keeping my steps out of tempo with my words. As my feet carried me over the Umbral ground, the dribbling sand from the bag and my hand eventually formed a pattern, the Glyph for the Wyld. Once it was distinct enough, I changed the pattern I’d been walking and overlayed the Glyph of the Wyld, with that of Time. By now, my voice had gone hoarse, sweat poured down my face in little rivulets that occasionally made it into my eyes, making them sting. I starting to think that my summons would go unheeded, forcing me to return home in defeat. Then, a rushing sound filled my ears, a soft grinding and swishing, growing ever louder, until a massive spirit appeared through the Airt pathway that led into the Deep Umbra.
The spirit was constantly shifting, utterly terrifying, and blindingly fast. The Sands of Time shifted, flowed, rose higher, and finally became a tidal wave that crashed over me and sent me tumbling into oblivion. I never even got the chance to make my request, or tell the Spirit what I was willing to give it in return.
A couple of Ravens had told me that I was nuts for trying this, but I just couldn’t leave the problem alone.. A corax, his wife, and an Egg’s Guardian, all dead. An Egg stolen, a Corax child crippled - she’ll never change, is damaged mentally, emotionally, and there is /nothing/ that could be done to fix her. Her Egg had been destroyed, or worse, been used to create a Buzzard. No, this was crime that could not go unpunished and the guilty parties had escaped justice for close to three years. Far, far, too long.
I’d looked at other alternatives, but the Omens all spoke of summoning a Sands of Time spirit as being my best chance of success. They also spoke of change…
After getting word that the robin's egg had hatched, I called up the Otter Pack and was pleased when they were still willing to help me. Wit the recent shit going down with Naomi, I was afraid that they would have the time to help me. But, they still came and met me after nightfall, by the deep pond near Edgewood. We crossed in to the Umbra and followed Nokivaris, who led us in to the Dreaming through a series of Airt pathways. While the dreaming may be easy to leave and easy to get too with the right Rite, it is a bit trickier without it. Still, we managed without any major problems. Well, until we passed through the last pathway and I was handed some flashback to my recent Nephrandi nightmare. Ugg. I Did not need that. Not at all.
Once we were all in the Dreaming, I led Otter Nonsense to a section of the Dreaming, that contains a pathway in to the Deep Umbra. Oh god, that place is terrifying and I never, ever, ever, want to fucking go there. The things that were in the Dreaming, just because of its proximity to the Airt pathway in to the Deep Umbra were just so very wrong and as I was preparing for the ritual, this thing came out of the Deep Umbra.
You see, the anchorhead began to bleed a dull pink glow, and throb in time with a heartbeat. Slowly, carefully, the tip of brass began to press through it, like the prow of a ship sailing into port through a bank of fog. More and more followed, eventually revealing the serrated brass piece belonging to nose: a nose on the face of a ichor dripping face. Out and out it flowed, part octopus, part brass machine, part man, and 100% abomination. It strode through the anchorhead, walking on long, brass-festooned tentacles, carrying its funnel like body out from the dark-lands from which it cam. Ink and glistening oil dripped from every surface, from every point of metal was fused to its body, and seeped out of all the exposed pores. Bringing the last few legs through the dimensional breech, it loomed over us, impossibly tall for having gone through such a small anchorhead. The bulbous, alien face regarded us, blotting out the light as the giant brass god stands astride, oil-dripping udders dangling overhead like eldrich chandeliers.
I pissed myself. But, we were lucky, whatever the thing was, it decided that we were not very interesting and wandered off. Thank Gaia. I hurried on with the Ritual, before it could return.
I finished setting up my ritual items then I double, then triple checked everything. Finally, I began the Rite, walking between my Ritual items with the bag of fine sand tied to my hip, while scattering coarse sand by hand. I chanted in a rhythm that rose, fell, sped up and slowed down, all while keeping my steps out of tempo with my words. As my feet carried me over the Umbral ground, the dribbling sand from the bag and my hand eventually formed a pattern, the Glyph for the Wyld. Once it was distinct enough, I changed the pattern I’d been walking and overlayed the Glyph of the Wyld, with that of Time. By now, my voice had gone hoarse, sweat poured down my face in little rivulets that occasionally made it into my eyes, making them sting. I starting to think that my summons would go unheeded, forcing me to return home in defeat. Then, a rushing sound filled my ears, a soft grinding and swishing, growing ever louder, until a massive spirit appeared through the Airt pathway that led into the Deep Umbra.
The spirit was constantly shifting, utterly terrifying, and blindingly fast. The Sands of Time shifted, flowed, rose higher, and finally became a tidal wave that crashed over me and sent me tumbling into oblivion. I never even got the chance to make my request, or tell the Spirit what I was willing to give it in return.
Tags: