Obsidian sat cross-legged on a large pillow, focusing on the clear water in her shallow white ritual plate. Without need for breath, she does not disturb the air. She ignores the coolness of her basement room. The soft glow of the string of christmas lights reflects on the smooth water's surface. Soft, rhythmic drumming flows out of Small speakers nearby. She let's herself sink into her thoughts.
Ooohhhmmmm
For half an hour, she struggles through the memories of her recent nightmare. Too many questions, too many fears. Could vampires leave behind ghosts? How did the walls between dreamers come down? Would Legba show her how to break down such barriers?
Then, she remembers the dire situation of O-Yama, the samurai, captured and interrogated. There was so much to gain from his rescue. He was unaligned, so he may be open to standing by her side in the Circle. He was valued by the Prince, and the political implications were obvious. The Masquerade was being threatened. That last one, alone, was reason enough to get to the truth of the matter.
An hour later, peace comes, a stillness that mirrors inside and out.
Moving without thought, acting without thinking, doing without knowing, Obsidian picks up her black blade and draws it across her forehead. The glassy edge grates against her skull. She opens her eyes and leans forward, dipping her head towards the water covered plate.
As the drops of blood gain momentum and trickle into the water, Obsidian allows her deep mind rise up, summoning the power of the Cruac. She focuses on the blood in the water, pushing thoughts and expectations aside, reaching for the knowledge that the blood holds.
"Where are you, my samurai. How may I find you?"
Drops of Destiny
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