Aerys Kain
02-09-2006, 08:12 AM
No moon shone in the inky black sky that evening, and no gust disturbed the stillness of the northern woodland air. Firelight illuminated the clearing in a brilliant display of orange and red, sending streaks of light dancing along the shaman's oiled skin as he stood before the great flaming pyre, his arms raised to the heavens and his head thrown back in silent worship. Drummers sat cross-legged in a large circle before the roaring flames, pounding on animal-skin drums rapidly in a pulsing rhythm. The sound of the drums echoed ominously through the deep forest, silencing all wildlife nearby. The firelight illuminated other figures standing behind the drummers, men and women clad in ragged leather and fur clothing, their arms and faces held towards the sky like the shaman standing before the pyre at the head of the circle. A low, throaty hum could be heard from the assembled men and women, barely audible above the sound of the drums.
The shaman slowly lowered his head to face out towards the circle, his eyes rolled back far into his skull and his mouth slightly agape. He was a terribly thin and gaunt man, his bony frame clearly visible under his sagging skin, but he had anointed his body with sacred oils and seemed to gleam in the firelight. He wore only a ragged loincloth and clutched a twisted and knotted walking staff tightly in his right hand, his left hand gripping the hilt of a wicked looking black knife. His eyes suddenly returned forward, though his gaze remained glazed and unfocused, and his voice called out over the pounding drums with surprising power and authority.
The shaman slowly lowered his head to face out towards the circle, his eyes rolled back far into his skull and his mouth slightly agape. He was a terribly thin and gaunt man, his bony frame clearly visible under his sagging skin, but he had anointed his body with sacred oils and seemed to gleam in the firelight. He wore only a ragged loincloth and clutched a twisted and knotted walking staff tightly in his right hand, his left hand gripping the hilt of a wicked looking black knife. His eyes suddenly returned forward, though his gaze remained glazed and unfocused, and his voice called out over the pounding drums with surprising power and authority.