A light was stricken up, touched to the tips of several candles which illuminated the room. Luco looked up and caught a brief, accidental look at himself in the broken in half mirror hanging on the wall; a hood was shadowing his face, casting dark shadows along the sharp angles in his face, the gaunt and darkened figure becoming unpleasant. He could never bear his reflection for too long. It was a waxing moon that night, a good time to uncover what lay ahead for him. He was feeling mixed emotions about the current situation.
He picked up a leather pouch, placing his hand inside and mixing the contents up the bag up. Three times deosil precisely. He immediately brought a small handful out and cast them upon a black cloth in front of him. The snow coloured crystals clattering down and landing in different directions. If a rune is upright, it has a certain meaning. A few symbols were facing upwards, the visible symbols glowing slightly.
Raidho.
A journey. A change. Coming towards an important choice.
He paused, looking about his room in thought. However he quickly focused in on the amount of papers covering the floor that were all very illegibly written on. Christ, even the homely mess of his dormitory began to depress him too long if he stared and thought about it for more than a couple of seconds. He quickly snapped back to the runes.
Perthro.
A secret matter. Initiation. Ah.
A few metaphorical cogs began to turn in his head. He slid a cigarette out from behind his ear and slipped it in between his lips. Leaning down slightly, he lit it from the naked flame of a candle dripping with wax. His eyes flickered over to the remaining runes, tendrils of smoke curling from his nostrils up to the ceiling.
Berkano. Mannaz.
Promise of new beginnings. Aid in the form of a new ally. Well, it's about time.