(no subject)
He sucked the marijuana smoke deep into his being. As the smoke crawled out of his mouth, he chanted, he called, he cajoled, he insinuated, until finally, he could feel the invocation slither down his spine. His new brand burned with intent as the focus of reality...shifted. He was ready to go out. He left for the club, his comrade at his side, his two succubi surrounding him like a slightly dirty aura. As he entered the club, the music pulsed through his soul, the god within moved him, extended him to touch those who danced around. He felt the power, he was a god. The toga clad men, and the roman centurions seemed to nod to him as their patron. Those who knew of him, spoke of what a legend he was, how infamous his debauchery was. He smiled. Although he was humble about their words, in his heart he knew he was a legend, and this gave him power. The night reached a crescendo, the two slutty goddesses that accompanied him seemed to go into a sexual frenzy worthy of a maenad, and the dancers around them felt the power. Later as he performed the sacred magick with his companions, the power leaving marks and scars on all three, he thought one thing: Shiva dances eternally.