The Hollow Crown
The Stone's will tell my tale
“It is happening again.”
The five stones are placed on the table making something akin to the cross. Their surface’s made shiny with long usage reflect a little of the light coming from the Qlin bronze censer set on the table.
“We knew this day would come.” the voice issuing from the hooded figure seems somehow detached from the feverish activity of the hand, picking at the stones like a chicken scratching for food.
The testament to this is piled astronomical charts, held down with an Islamic astrolabe, the notation in the margin a blend of greek and other mathematical symbols. They all show the same alignment, over and over again, as if their creator had hoped for a different outcome.
The first stone is turned, a mumbled “Nyd reversed… darkness, constraint.” the head bobs up, eyes briefly alighting upon a dream catcher in one corner of the room, before returning to the runes "no that is not good… not good at all. " looking at the slender delicate hand casting the runes the voice continues, " but of course we are all born from pain or necessity so perhaps this is no bad thing." The movement of a crow causes a slim volume of verse to fall from a shelf, falling open at the words, “and you withdraw to the underground world, as if down a long tunnel of clothing and chores..”
The hand turns the bottom stone, “Fe widdershins- Growth frustrated.” The far left rune, “Teiwaz, the shield. Those restrictions from the past being overthrown, leading to strength, spiritual fulfilment.” Eyes dart toward the bird that has swooped down onto the desk and now stares at the stones, as if to test their worthiness as food. “Nephthys,these aren’t for you”, the hand darts out for some grain which he scatters on the floor. “Still lets see if anything can be gleamed from the last two, eh?”
The top runs is turned, a symbol like a broken sigma appears, with a barely restrained annoyance the central rune is turned showing only a blank face, the Odin stone. The arm sweeps across the table sending them into an upturned pile of water. “That’s a fat lot of use. Bloody Viking gobbledygook.”
The diviner leaves the sanctum in a foul mood.