@fire-blooded April 8th, Full Moon
The moon was big tonight. Full. Powerful. So big it almost appeared close enough to touch. Atlas wondered after it and thought it looked as if it might devour the world. His intention had drawn him towards it, like a specter that moved over grass and passed through trees, the witch walked less as a mortal, and more as the child possessed of prophecy, as he’d been born. An instrument of the gods that smoked the hearts of mice from burrows, that milked the venom from vipers and sniffed out ancestral stones buried beneath river mud. The oracle needed to prepare for the ritual, what he was preparing he couldn’t say, just that he’d put faith in the forces that guided him. In the moment, there was no fear or doubt, the witch knew what needed to be done.
Atlas approached the lake, the day’s work culminating in the amount of a single vial, held neatly between his fingers. The vial was opaque, made of a blue reinforced glass, protecting the amber liquid within from the light of the moon. A potion of his own making, though he could hardly recall the way his hands had moved over the concoction, the words that had fallen from his lips that spoke across ages of time. But his hands were warn from working the stones, and his eyes were bloodshot from the efforts of the day. Atlas was ready though.
He approached the lake with certainty, long even strides carried him from the forest and to the beach, where he would wait for Damien. Atlas remained standing as he stared out across the lake, sensing the genasi’s approach before he broke onto the beach. The oracle felt himself smile, the warmth of the man’s aura was familiar, Damien approached, and Atlas turned to embrace him. “It’s an auspicious moon,” Atlas said, “it’ll be favorable for my magic tonight.” He pulled away, gripping Damien by the shoulders, “Are you ready?” Did you bring the rings?
