Allies (City Hall)
Allies (Culture)
The candles burned down low. The musk and scent filled the close air of the sealed room. Shadows deepened, stretched out from the corners of the room as the night wore on and the light weakened.
Campanella didn't see it.
Campanella didn't smell the heavy air after a while either.
He sweated in the cloying air but didn't feel it.
His mind was elsewhere; his body, screaming muscles and twisting viscera, continued on their dogged and pre-set arrangement of movements. The movements which he had been forced to rearrange to fit the smaller space of the new cabin Sanctum. He moved, his heavy robes rustling loudly. His eyes wide, focussed elsewhere. His lips moved; his voice hoarse.
He had been working all day on his rituals: preparing, casting, resting, and preparing again. And now, at last, complete! The glyph held as it merged with his Pattern, flaring slightly as it took, and sputtered into life.
Campanella made a sound. Pleasure? Triumph? Pain? Who knew? Certainly not him.
He wobbled, sank to his knees and then pitched sideways.
But the glyphs held. At last!
And Campy gets his monthly Rits set up!
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