02-15-2019, 01:50 AM
Rowan did not fail to notice the Armande glancing at her from the other room as he spoke with Vale in hushed whispers. Yes. She would have to be wary of that one. Really, she should have been wary of this entire scenario, but that vision… She had never had one like it before. Ever. In her heart of hearts, Rowan knew it was because of Vale. There was a synergy between the two of them. Would she only have such visions when she was with Vale or would they come on their own now? It had awakened a lust within her that she could not ignore. Sex, drugs, food, and all manners of opulence were all well and good, but they didn’t come close to the pure ecstasy she had felt when her third eye had opened unto something Otherworldly. No matter what she had to do, or who she had to tie herself to, Rowan Finnegan vowed that she would master this ability. She very much believed in Fate and it was clear that this is where it was leading her.
The older man departed and Vale drew Rowan into the room. Other members of her tribe entered then, dressed in what appeared to be religious garb. Nothing fanciful, but the meaning was clear. Rowan knelt opposite her newfound sister on the carpet. Vale immediately began recounting sacred lore to her.
So it begins… Rowan thought to herself wryly.
Rowan lapped it all up, committing everything to memory with a rapt expression on her face. She immediately noticed Vale’s use of the term ‘Great One’ when talking about Gregori Rasputin, a well-known mystic from Russian folklore. Her sister had used the same term when referring to Armande earlier in the night.
So he has reincarnated? Does Armande know all of this? Surely he knows the old stories of the man, Rowan thought to herself as Vale went on, I knew the man could Channel… Why did he not say anything when I stated the obvious? Is he hiding this fact? What is that man’s game?
Rowan’s suspicions were confirmed as Vale went on. This seemed to be some mystery cult that Vale followed- or had been born into it seemed. She took everything her sister said at face value. It made all too much sense. Vale’s Russian had a strange accent to it and she clearly spoke another language that Rowan could not understand; all of that also explained her surroundings and the monk-like people that were now forming a circle around them.
Vale spoke reverently about the Eye showing her something…
“Sun, sky, trees, plants, light…”
It was evocative of the sights contained within Rowan’s first vision. Goosebumps rose across her arms as Vale spoke the words and Rowan saw flashes of that vision in her mind’s eye once more. Further confirmation this was meant to be.
The rest almost seemed to be like a spell as Vale went on.
“Poison drives out poison. Sin drives out sin. Pain drives out pain.”
Rowan had sinned greatly in her time on this planet. It was almost encouraged when one grew up around New Orleans, but after that horrid experience at the hospital after her miscarriage… Death begot death. She had killed dozens upon dozens of innocents with nothing more than a scream. She hadn’t meant to, but she had still done it. Taking a life was the most grievous of sins. Rowan had sinned more than she had cared to admit. Perhaps there was something to this ritual… Perhaps she could finally absolve herself of the weight she had carried all these years…
Vale and the others in attendance showed off various wounds. The implication there was that they were all self-inflicted… Presumably, during the ritual she was taking part it. Confirmation settled in once Vale offered up various ‘tools’ to her. Hooks, barbs, whips, knives, they were all there…
Rowan gulped audibly.
“It is your choice. Let the Eye show you what to do,” Vale intoned as she handed Rowan something to drink.
Rowan accepted the glass and downed the liquid in one gulp. Despite being a guest, she held the glass out for a refill, and with little surprise on her part, she was humored. With a shaky hand, she reached out to the tools, touching each of them; caressing one after the other, hoping for a vision to come again. She sighed quietly. Nothing did come.
Until she removed her hand from the last item; a rusty looking blade with a black handle. Her body convulsed, the drink slopping on her wrist. It came and went within seconds, leaving her jaw hanging open and breath raggedly coming from her body. Her eyes rose to meet Vale’s. She knew what she had to do. She did not want to do it, such an act was unthinkable- something she could never, ever undo… But she knew. This was the way.
Rowan downed the second glass and took three deep breaths. She dragged her right index finger through the air, tracing out the Veves for Papa Legba and then Chango, muttering chants in Creole under her breath. Threads of air started to warp and writhe, trailing behind her finger.
Do it. Don’t be a fucking chicken, Rowan. Do it. Fucking do it, she thought to herself.
Rowan pointed to her left eye quickly and then whipped her hand back, palm outstretched before her, almost closing the space between Vale and her.
The threads of Air conjoined into a thick, barbed braid and dove into her left eye. The barbs traveled along the flow, surging into her eye socket and latching onto the white orb. With a sickening popping sound and a horrendous shriek, the element of Air ripped Rowan’s left eye from her skull. It floated out and over to her outstretched palm, viscera trailing behind, blood staining her white dress. The Air dissipated and her eye dropped into her palm with a splash; blood pouring from Rowan’s empty eye socket.
Rowan felt the magick flee from her body as she struggled to remain upright, her breath coming out rapidly. Tears began to pour from her remaining eye as she offered the unblinking orb to Vale.
“For you, Sister,” Rowan gasped out as another glass was filled for her. She used her free hand to down it, signaling for another afterward.
The older man departed and Vale drew Rowan into the room. Other members of her tribe entered then, dressed in what appeared to be religious garb. Nothing fanciful, but the meaning was clear. Rowan knelt opposite her newfound sister on the carpet. Vale immediately began recounting sacred lore to her.
So it begins… Rowan thought to herself wryly.
Rowan lapped it all up, committing everything to memory with a rapt expression on her face. She immediately noticed Vale’s use of the term ‘Great One’ when talking about Gregori Rasputin, a well-known mystic from Russian folklore. Her sister had used the same term when referring to Armande earlier in the night.
So he has reincarnated? Does Armande know all of this? Surely he knows the old stories of the man, Rowan thought to herself as Vale went on, I knew the man could Channel… Why did he not say anything when I stated the obvious? Is he hiding this fact? What is that man’s game?
Rowan’s suspicions were confirmed as Vale went on. This seemed to be some mystery cult that Vale followed- or had been born into it seemed. She took everything her sister said at face value. It made all too much sense. Vale’s Russian had a strange accent to it and she clearly spoke another language that Rowan could not understand; all of that also explained her surroundings and the monk-like people that were now forming a circle around them.
Vale spoke reverently about the Eye showing her something…
“Sun, sky, trees, plants, light…”
It was evocative of the sights contained within Rowan’s first vision. Goosebumps rose across her arms as Vale spoke the words and Rowan saw flashes of that vision in her mind’s eye once more. Further confirmation this was meant to be.
The rest almost seemed to be like a spell as Vale went on.
“Poison drives out poison. Sin drives out sin. Pain drives out pain.”
Rowan had sinned greatly in her time on this planet. It was almost encouraged when one grew up around New Orleans, but after that horrid experience at the hospital after her miscarriage… Death begot death. She had killed dozens upon dozens of innocents with nothing more than a scream. She hadn’t meant to, but she had still done it. Taking a life was the most grievous of sins. Rowan had sinned more than she had cared to admit. Perhaps there was something to this ritual… Perhaps she could finally absolve herself of the weight she had carried all these years…
Vale and the others in attendance showed off various wounds. The implication there was that they were all self-inflicted… Presumably, during the ritual she was taking part it. Confirmation settled in once Vale offered up various ‘tools’ to her. Hooks, barbs, whips, knives, they were all there…
Rowan gulped audibly.
“It is your choice. Let the Eye show you what to do,” Vale intoned as she handed Rowan something to drink.
Rowan accepted the glass and downed the liquid in one gulp. Despite being a guest, she held the glass out for a refill, and with little surprise on her part, she was humored. With a shaky hand, she reached out to the tools, touching each of them; caressing one after the other, hoping for a vision to come again. She sighed quietly. Nothing did come.
Until she removed her hand from the last item; a rusty looking blade with a black handle. Her body convulsed, the drink slopping on her wrist. It came and went within seconds, leaving her jaw hanging open and breath raggedly coming from her body. Her eyes rose to meet Vale’s. She knew what she had to do. She did not want to do it, such an act was unthinkable- something she could never, ever undo… But she knew. This was the way.
Rowan downed the second glass and took three deep breaths. She dragged her right index finger through the air, tracing out the Veves for Papa Legba and then Chango, muttering chants in Creole under her breath. Threads of air started to warp and writhe, trailing behind her finger.
Do it. Don’t be a fucking chicken, Rowan. Do it. Fucking do it, she thought to herself.
Rowan pointed to her left eye quickly and then whipped her hand back, palm outstretched before her, almost closing the space between Vale and her.
The threads of Air conjoined into a thick, barbed braid and dove into her left eye. The barbs traveled along the flow, surging into her eye socket and latching onto the white orb. With a sickening popping sound and a horrendous shriek, the element of Air ripped Rowan’s left eye from her skull. It floated out and over to her outstretched palm, viscera trailing behind, blood staining her white dress. The Air dissipated and her eye dropped into her palm with a splash; blood pouring from Rowan’s empty eye socket.
Rowan felt the magick flee from her body as she struggled to remain upright, her breath coming out rapidly. Tears began to pour from her remaining eye as she offered the unblinking orb to Vale.
“For you, Sister,” Rowan gasped out as another glass was filled for her. She used her free hand to down it, signaling for another afterward.