(Untitled)
Wherever the Goddess is, there is the grove called Nemet. Tonight, when the moon is just past full and the stars gleam in patterns that Belasius has begun to recognize, this corner of the Forbidden Forest is Nemet. Belasius kneels, his white robes dragging in the snow. He has set a bowl of sweet water and a burner of fresh incense at his left and
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The Rider enjoys this season like he does no other, even though he is currently stripped of his power. The approaching winter would be the perfect time to regain that power. It is tradition, after all.
(The time of darkness and cold, when the Dark is at the height of its power.)
He already has a plan. One he believes will not be expected, and not be found out until too late. In times past the Dark had occasionally used objects in which to hold its power, and the Rider does not see why he cannot use an object to gather power, as well.
A small object, a vial made of cut crystal, spelled to gather the power of the darker emotions of those in the bar, and left to its work where it will not be found. It would be left until the dead of winter, when the Rider will regain what was taken from him. Yes. The only hindrance is that it will take power he does not currently possess to spell the vial around which his plan revolves. The fact makes his thoughts dark in more ways than one.
As the Rider wanders in the forest, he finds that his thoughts are soon intruded upon by the intense feeling of hatred coming from somewhere to his right. It is a hate with power behind it, which stands out to the Rider like a beacon in the darkness, an arrow through the quiet, snow-muffled forest.
He goes to it, taking care to not be seen, and stops within earshot. Hm. He could possibly use this man whose hate is so strong. But not yet. The Black Rider knows the value of patience, however. As he waits, the Black Rider's fingers close upon the crystal vial in his pocket. Ready.
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