Since the beginning of time, the secret had always been how to die. The thirty four year old initiate gazed down at the human skull called in his palms. The skull was hollow, like a bowl, filled with bloodred wine. Drink it, he told himself . You have nothing to fear. As was tradition, he had begun this journey adorned in the ritualistic garb of a medieval heretic being led to the gallows, his loose fitting shirt gapping open to reveal his pale chest, his left pant leg rolled up to the knee, and his right sleeve rolled up to the elbow. Arround his neck hung a heavy rope noose – a “cable tow” as the brethren called it. Tonight, however, like the brethren bearing witness, he was dressed as a master. [download]
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