In case you haven't noticed, this story is in desperate need of co-authors and it would be really cool if this could become a dorm story.
I would add to it... really... except for several reasons:
When I'm using FunWiki, I'm usually in sort of a Fun mood. I want to write and read short, interesting things... not think. So if it was a random sort of silly story, I might add to it. Of course, that would probably get out of hand quickly... but oh, well. Just my random thoughts at 2:30am.
To satisfy those of you who have the need for silliness, GroupStoryTwo is hereby created as a bastion of insanity and mindlessness. Enjoy.
It was a dark, stormy night as Terry struggled down the broken path. The driving rain fought every step as she carefully worked her way down the steep hill. The sound of waves crashing into ancient stone bluffs echoed off the surrounding sandstone spires and battered at her eardrums. A slight tinge of salt was in the air, but the sea was still out of sight.
The path wound down into the darkness, with only a small light to reveal the topography of the intricately carved gorge, a shining star in a vast expanse of darkness.
She knew her father would kill her if he knew she was there. After the last time he'd forbidden her to ever go near the shrine again. However, she had been to that shrine hundreds of times before. The last time wasn't her fault, it was just bad luck. This time she was prepared.
As Terry approached the threshhold of the shrine, she reached inside her sack and felt for the tiny globe. It wasn't a complex object, just a simple little sphere about the size of a Tungu nut, but she remained cautious of the power that it contained. She carefully removed the sphere as she sat down on the ground just outside the shrine. She drew a circle, just large enough to surround her, with the green little ball, and began preparing the other items.
She placed a wooden chalice, a bag whose contents shifted as it contacted the ground, a dagger, and some ancient pieces of parchment on the ground in front of her. She took the bag and outlined the circle she had just drawn with the green sphere in a white crystalline substance, chanting softly under her breath. The green sphere pulsated with an inner light that grew stronger as the circle came closer to being completed. As the last grains of salt completed the circle about her, the globe attained a steady, ghostly glow which revealed little of the surroundings. A slight pulse could be detected in its seemingly constant shining, mirroring the faint beat of Terry's heart. The blade of the dagger caught the ghostly pallor and reflected its putrescent aura as Terry poised it on her arm, the tip just contacting where the vein in her forearm fiercely protested the constraints of the flesh.
She began to feel nervous. No, not quite nervous... anxious. All of her hairs were standing on end. She began to feel the power building around her, swirling in little vortices, appearing to dance for a few seconds and then disappearing just as abruptly. She began to sweat as she thought about the blade on her arm. The sweat made her more nervous, she knew she had to concentrate. The energies began to build and swell. She could hear a light crackling around her. She focused on her quivering hand... watched as she loosened her grip on the dagger. She took a deep breath and let go of the blade, but the blade did not fall. It stood there poised on her arm still. It was no longer under her control. She watched as the blade stood perfectly on its tip... poised ever so lightly on her bulging vein. Everything outside of her left her focus. All she could see was the dagger and her arm. She stared at the dagger, and felt as if the dagger were staring back.
She reached down with her hand and picked up the pieces of parchment. She folded them twice and placed them in the chalice. She then put the chalice in the center of the circle and began singing softly. There was a lot of tension in her voice, but it added to the eerie song. The dagger didn't move. It simply stood there, fighting her will and threatening her life. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter. As she finished the song she lit the parchment in the chalice and watched the flames begin to grow. As they grew larger she felt the dagger protesting her actions. It began to press a little more on her arm, but it hadn't cut her yet. She continued to focus on the flames and was completely unaware of the growing storm outside.
Thoughts of her father's warnings intruded on her trance, threatening to break her concentration. He thought the shrine was structurally unsound; that the cliff was in danger of collapsing; that the area had a history of tidal waves. He didn't understand the real danger. Even her archeology teacher, who had told her three years ago that the shrine housed the body of one of the great priests of the old religion, couldn't understand the true value of the location.
She reined her mind in before she lost control of the spell. The shrine, even the sleeping presence of the High Priest, only provided a locus of power. The will behind the magic must be hers.