Wicked Wicked

The chamber, despite it’s name was silent, so silent in fact that the soundlessness hung in the air oppressively and added to the strange sense of pressure  in the room. “Take a seat Cher, I’ll be right back.” He purred before slipping away to his herb chamber to collect the appropriate “highball” for future telling. The Priest’s highballs were small leaf pouches of dried and crushed herbs, each one mixed for a different purpose but all of them held the ability to transport him to The Crossroads. He slipped into his ceremonial wear, a cowrie shell shawl with two boar jaws resting on his chest and finally grabbed a faintly sparkling stone, one he had dug and scoured for relentlessly until he had found it. He reentered the chamber, pulling the door shut with a piece of rope slung through one of the edges and took a seat on the opposite end of the nganga from Razi. He set the stone and leaf pouch down in front of him and looked at the considerably larger woman with n expression of calm reverence. “Tell me Cher, what’s your name? Your full and real name I mean, the Loa need to know who they’re looking for.” He said softly almost as if he were preparing to sing a lullaby.

speaking You