For a handful of days, I had pondered upon the summons of the Medicine Shaman of the House of Or, who had demanded my appearance at a healing rite which I could not afford to miss, since it could determine my stay in this plane of existence. Duly advised, on the appointed day, when the Sun had reached his zenith, I appeared before the vestals of the House of Or and permitted them to prepare me for the destined rituals of healing. They garbed me in the thin flaxen garments that initiates must wear in the rites, and with soothing words, they led me into the outer vestibules of Or and gently laid me down on a low wheeled table. 

The lead Sorcerer entered and identified himself as An-es Theticos of Lethe. He appeared young and vigorous, and wore the sage-green robes of the House of Or.

Guided by the Sorcerer, I rode supine on the rolling table into Or’s inner chamber. As we slid smoothly through the white corridors, An-es questioned me on my preferred mode of entry into the realms of
Sensory Diminution required for the healing rite, and counseled me to accept the mode of Lower Paralysis with an easy heart. I expressed my preference for the common mode of Blind Oblivion, but his words persuaded me, and I accepted his advice with only a slight reluctance.

My supine body was pushed under a powerful bluish beam cast by an intense square of light inset in the high ceiling of the chamber.

The assisting minions of Or carefully transferred me onto the Platform of Diminution, while close to my feet, the chief Shaman toyed with his arcane tools of writhing mechanical snakes and other obscene machines. An-es rolled me sideways and pricked me in my backbone with a flinty hollow tool impregnated with one of his magic potions. The forewarned paralysis soon progressed, first in my toes and feet, then my ankles, then my legs and finally my hips. There, to my relief, the deadness stopped, leaving my upper body’s muscles and senses intact. My nervousness abated, and I gazed with curiosity at the rites being enacted.

Off in the seeming misty distance, the Shaman lifted a dead leg, apparently not my own, but somehow connected to my body, and placed it high. A deep relaxation crept over me as the potions had their way. I watched dimly as from afar, while the Chief shaman chanted secret words to his greybeard assistant. Hidden from my eyes by a low curtain, the Shaman worked his incantations and unfelt fetish manipulations on my nether parts. Strange and ghostly images slid across two great square lenses to either side of me. The Shaman spoke his toneless words as he peered into the patterns of light and dark and studied the shadows of fire and flow in the magic lenses. In due course, the Shaman made his final anointing and secreted the acquired aberrant flesh into a magic vial. In an emotionless voice he announced the conclusion of the ritual.

Quietly, while the session was tending toward its conclusion, my Sorcerer guide An-es had queried me about my recent vision quest to the desert canyons to the west of our village. He responded to my descriptions of the red lands with signs of pleasure, as he too had visited the depths of the canyons during the very same lunar cycle. I took this as an ineluctable omen of connectedness.

The mystical session of the House of Or now complete, An-es rolled me back from the sacrificial platform onto my table, and the Shaman spoke again in a clear voice. He pronounced his satisfaction with the healing rite, and expressed his belief that the gods of Or might have been propitiated. But he made it clear that I should complete my performance of the sacrifice by mutual sharing of words after the gods of the House of Pathologix had expressed to him their satisfaction or displeasure with the sacrifice. I would learn their pronouncements in a matter of days, which might foretell my fate.

An-es had promised my semi-paralysis would depart within hours. And indeed, by evening it had left by stages in reverse order, starting from the hips and progressing slowly to the toes. By nightfall my limbs had completed their return to life. Tomorrow, if other signs were propitious, I would return healed to my own heath and hearth.

–rakk-slightly diminished