Hooded Man Ritual 소설 & 이야기

That must have been the fiftieth time I was asking Beta Hugh that same question. “We’re here, young alpha,” he said, before standing aside to reveal a pond, surrounded by tall men, standing, hooded, faces covered with dark, long cloaks. It was a small pond, the men were at least twenty, maybe thirty, standing well spaced out from each other. They were the ones who had been playing the drums, the same drums whose sounds reverberated throughout the thick woods. The drumming had stopped as soon as our presence was recognized by the men. Only hushed chanting and occasional outbursts were heard. This was the ritual of the cleansing ceremony.

Through the haze, i spotted a silent figure, putting together bowls of dark liquid around me. I couldn't tell what was in the bowl, but it's content glistened under the dim candlelights. Symbols had been crafted in the ground, in something thick and red. My chest tightened as i knew what was coming next.The ritual of the naked dance, one meant to prepare me for my doom. And i clearly wasn’t ready for it, not now. Five bald people in black cloaks danced around me, humming softly. They were the path makers, preparing my body for the ritual of doom.

This is happening in my pack. These people are doing this in my pack! Who are they? A strange mumbling fills the air before stopping abruptly. One of them steps out. “Tonight brothers and sisters, under the moon and with the skies as our witness, we carry out a ritual. The power in our blood lies dormant, but we ask that with this offering, Tierel offers us his touch. We ask that he cuts us off from the shackles of weakness, and that he marks us so we can ascend.”

Only then would he be able to discover what was taking possession of the camp’s chief. When Jackson and Adam stepped out onto the porch to investigate what the old medicine man was up to, he unceremoniously demanded that they go back inside. He wanted no living beings out in the open during the discovery ritual. Spirits that normally go about their business without concern for the living can become troublesome and even dangerous when the energies are magnified in the way he’d be magnifying them. He wanted no loss of lives on his conscience. With the fire blazing, he reached in the little sack he kept hanging around his neck and pulled out a large pinch of herbs. Placing them under his ton

The hood of the no-fur's robe was flipped over and Doll looked out over the grand ceremony. There was a Black-fur in the center of the room. He appeared to be floating and bound in a very odd position for what Doll understood to be a healing ritual. There were a few stone walkways under the floating tom and he appeared to be bleeding on the walkways and into the pit below while his aura spiraled upward into a huge auric circle. The magick that bound him was also turning the tom in a circle slowly.

Hugh, the Teggãm, towered before them, his scarred chest bared, ready for the blood call. On a stone slab lay Alpha Mason, still unconscious, his body sweating and twitching from the goddess’s burden. Dixton hovered near, torn between brotherhood and fatherhood, his face pale with dread, scared for his own life. He knew the ritual might save them or damn them all. The air grew tense as the clouds parted, releasing the moon into full view. The wolves dropped to their knees, voices low at first, then swelling into chants that shook the forest. “Bërham ecrensã!” Annette cried, her knife slicing across Hugh’s palm. His blood sizzled as it dripped into the burning bowl, mixing with powders and oi

When we reached the backside of my mansion, the two of us were approached by a man in his early-thirties — the most reliable member among my people after Jordan. "Zaylen, all preparations for the ritual are completed," Marcel announced, his voice low and solemn. "Everyone is ready and waiting for you to begin." I nodded, my gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd, a sense of determination coursing through me. This ritual was more than just a tradition – it was a sacred bond that united us, a testament to our shared heritage and the power that flowed through our veins. It was done every full-moon night in order to wish blessings for a smooth journey for the newly transformed members of our pac

I think about his big, hot body, and I think about what it would feel like if he lay on top of me like this man is doing to Arina. My sacred part tightens and I don't know what this sensation is, but it scares me at the same time that I want to feel it again. When the music drops a little, I hear Arina emit a low, timid scream. The man too. And then the ritual ends. The man comes down from the altar and two Mothers take him out the way he entered, away from us. My eyes follow him, but he doesn't look back. Arina remains lying down, so we approach and continue to sing, asking for her womb to be blessed by the Goddess.

He takes my hand and leads me to the monolith depicting Lycaon. It’s been half a decade, but I know every word of this ritual, which I once dreaded. The Hierophant steps forward. He’s tall and thin, with dark skin and eyes, and his head bears a regal crown. He’s the same man I looked in the eye on that night five years ago, to whom I cited the Right of Accord. He doesn’t begin the ritual right away; maybe to give me a second chance to back out, this time forever. I drop to my knees before him and bow my head.

Then the sheet lifted from my face. Through my blank stare, I committed his features to memory. I would come back to haunt him. “She’s gone. Blessed be.” Lucien’s answer stunned me, “She joins the pyre.” The hooded man tightened his grip on me and said, “I’ll see it done.” The simpering elder murmured something about rites and Lucien’s pending nuptials. The hooded man carried me out the door. I automatically tried to take a deep breath of the outside fresh air, but couldn’t. Panic set in as my eyes watched the world bounce from my position over the man’s back.