Post by Aashiq Nassar on Feb 6, 2011 23:52:25 GMT -5
This hour of the morning should not be![/b]
Aashiq Jeremiah Nassar strode back and forth across the room, a book in his hands and curses on his breath. The curtains had been closed, not that there is any sunlight at this God-forsaken hour, and whatever furniture had been present had been shoved unceremoniously against the walls to make room for the elaborate circle drawn upon the floor.
He wore a plain linen shirt with the sleeved rolled up and a pair of khaki trousers, technically they were what he was wearing yesterday as well. He had not slept, hoping that if he stayed up all night then he wouldn’t be as tired when early morning came than if he had slept briefly and then forced himself awake.
It hadn’t worked.
All of Jeremiah’s attention seemed to be on the book; he was trying to double check his work and ensure he had done everything right, but at this hour his mind was scattered to the wind.
"That chair really needs to be re-upholstered, I should complain to the landlord. Is that line crooked?"He muttered to himself.
His eyes flitted back and forth across the pages, checking and rechecking, trying his best to remain focused. This was important, he had never summoned a servant before, or anything else really. Who knows what could happen if he screwed this up.
Whatever's left of me would probably be sent back to Cairo in an envelope. He thought dryly, trying to rein in the rampant fear with a little black humor. He glanced at the clock, it was now 4:30 in the morning. If his calculations and research were right…The calculations are certainly right, the research…less certainly…damn vanishing bloodline and their laughable library. Then this was the ideal hour for summoning, Saber summoning to be specific.
Jeremiah made one last check of his surroundings, the front door of Apartment 221 was securely locked, all curtains drawn, any sane person is asleep in bed. "Looks good , let's get started."
From his pocket he removed a cigarette case and a lighter. He opened the case, pulled out the shortest (He cut them to different lengths), put it in his mouth and lit it. He allowed himself one deep inhalation and immediately put it out against the wall, leaving a small burn mark. It was an old exercise of his that allowed him to briefly reign in his mind and focus on the task at hand. Besides, for all he knew excess smoke could mess with the procedure. Best not to tempt fate with this one.
He looked again at the circle and shrugged “Looks about right.” He said, and with that there was one last thing to do. He walked over to the edge of the circle, careful not to smudge his delicate work. He pricked his thumb on his canine tooth, ignorant to any pain, his mind now completely focused on his work. He held his thumb an inch off the floor and let a few drops of blood drip onto the circle. Almost instantly the elaborate patterns began to pulse and glow with energy. “Not much,” he muttered to himself, “but hopefully it’s good enough.”
He turned his eyes again to the small leather journal filled to bursting with scribbled notes. He skimmed the lines once and began to chant.
The words flowed from his mouth, never stopping or faltering, to do so means pain or death; neither of which really suited Jeremiah. Especially not at this hour.
He felt the prana burning under his skin, flowing along his circuits and through his body, it was familiar pain. The kind of pain bought with experience. Did it hurt? Of course, but it was something he took pride in. Power earned through a lifetime of work. Experience that would help him solve this challenge, and this summoning was the first move.
“Come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!”
As he finished the lines, he watched, with no small amount of satisfaction on his face, as the circle began to glow brighter and brighter.
Aashiq Jeremiah Nassar strode back and forth across the room, a book in his hands and curses on his breath. The curtains had been closed, not that there is any sunlight at this God-forsaken hour, and whatever furniture had been present had been shoved unceremoniously against the walls to make room for the elaborate circle drawn upon the floor.
He wore a plain linen shirt with the sleeved rolled up and a pair of khaki trousers, technically they were what he was wearing yesterday as well. He had not slept, hoping that if he stayed up all night then he wouldn’t be as tired when early morning came than if he had slept briefly and then forced himself awake.
It hadn’t worked.
All of Jeremiah’s attention seemed to be on the book; he was trying to double check his work and ensure he had done everything right, but at this hour his mind was scattered to the wind.
"That chair really needs to be re-upholstered, I should complain to the landlord. Is that line crooked?"He muttered to himself.
His eyes flitted back and forth across the pages, checking and rechecking, trying his best to remain focused. This was important, he had never summoned a servant before, or anything else really. Who knows what could happen if he screwed this up.
Whatever's left of me would probably be sent back to Cairo in an envelope. He thought dryly, trying to rein in the rampant fear with a little black humor. He glanced at the clock, it was now 4:30 in the morning. If his calculations and research were right…The calculations are certainly right, the research…less certainly…damn vanishing bloodline and their laughable library. Then this was the ideal hour for summoning, Saber summoning to be specific.
Jeremiah made one last check of his surroundings, the front door of Apartment 221 was securely locked, all curtains drawn, any sane person is asleep in bed. "Looks good , let's get started."
From his pocket he removed a cigarette case and a lighter. He opened the case, pulled out the shortest (He cut them to different lengths), put it in his mouth and lit it. He allowed himself one deep inhalation and immediately put it out against the wall, leaving a small burn mark. It was an old exercise of his that allowed him to briefly reign in his mind and focus on the task at hand. Besides, for all he knew excess smoke could mess with the procedure. Best not to tempt fate with this one.
He looked again at the circle and shrugged “Looks about right.” He said, and with that there was one last thing to do. He walked over to the edge of the circle, careful not to smudge his delicate work. He pricked his thumb on his canine tooth, ignorant to any pain, his mind now completely focused on his work. He held his thumb an inch off the floor and let a few drops of blood drip onto the circle. Almost instantly the elaborate patterns began to pulse and glow with energy. “Not much,” he muttered to himself, “but hopefully it’s good enough.”
He turned his eyes again to the small leather journal filled to bursting with scribbled notes. He skimmed the lines once and began to chant.
The words flowed from his mouth, never stopping or faltering, to do so means pain or death; neither of which really suited Jeremiah. Especially not at this hour.
He felt the prana burning under his skin, flowing along his circuits and through his body, it was familiar pain. The kind of pain bought with experience. Did it hurt? Of course, but it was something he took pride in. Power earned through a lifetime of work. Experience that would help him solve this challenge, and this summoning was the first move.
“Come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!”
As he finished the lines, he watched, with no small amount of satisfaction on his face, as the circle began to glow brighter and brighter.
