Patrollogs
(Yasmin's decursing attempt)
[Wed Dec 27 2023]
In the Small Kitchenette
In this kitchen, the glossy tiles in a herringbone pattern contrasted with the matte greige counters the cabinets are painted soothing light blue color with the island extension serving as an extra dining area. Marrying both, the floor tiles are a custom mosaic pattern reminiscent of an old-school Parisian bistro. A floral arrangement enhances the kitchen aesthetic.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Seated now at the kitchen table, Yasmin stares down at the ring she's picked up right outside the door to her apartment, pondering its wooden surface with a thoughtful look. She doesn't put it on, for all that it seems like it'd be a perfect fit, instead just running her fingertips across the surface of the item to feel out any symbols that may be etched upon it.
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
First the outer circumference, and then the inner; Yasmin's examination is thorough, her brow furrowed in a frown of concentration while she goes through the actions. She feels for the raised and depressed indents beneath her fingers, before reaching for the metal pin in her hijab, pulling the metal out of the fabric. She's learned her lesson from the last time she'd attempted to do such a thing as this, and she gives it a methodical, neater approach this time. The metal tip of the pin glows red with heat as she brings it down to scratch along the surface of the wood, her fingers carefully protected from being burnt.
Yasmin squeezes her eyes shut just in the brink of time, a startled little gasp escaping her at the flash of light that it emits, though she saves herself from any undue eye damage just on the brink of time. A 'tsk' under her breath at the ring, as though she can make it behave via disappointed mannerisms, and she goes back to her wood-carving, circling around the entire circumference of the ring.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
At this rate, maybe Yasmin should invest in professional woodcarving. There's a low humming under her breath as she scratches through any of the symbols she can find on the ring, a shiver crawling down her spine at the sudden coolness of the room. "You do not like that, huh," she speaks to the ring as though it's going to speak back (please do not speak back), her scratching along the outer boundary complete. Onto the inner circumference it is.
All things considered, this seems like a relatively tame curse; nobody has been set on fire, the ground hasn't started shaking, and she's relatively unblinded, apart from that flash of light. The cold, well... it's cold enough already, and she's got her fire to keep her warm. There's a little narrowing of Yasmin's eyes as she holds the ring up to the light and continues to work, the smell of burnt wood rising from the object, along with wisps of smoke.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
The hissing of hot metal on wood, the meticulous, slow drag of the tip of her pin against the inside of the ring; Yasmin loses herself in the act for a few minutes, scratching away all the symbols present on the wood's surface. At last, when that is finished, she inscribes a tiny symbol of her own, a name of God to keep it protected and safe from harm at the very end, and then straightens with satisfaction, stretching out her arms and neck after having been hunched over the ring uncomfortably.
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden ring is broken.
Yasmins Decursing Attempt
(Yasmin's decursing attempt)
[Wed Dec 27 2023]
In the Small Kitchenette
In this kitchen, the glossy tiles in a herringbone pattern contrasted with the matte greige counters the cabinets are painted soothing light blue color with the island extension serving as an extra dining area. Marrying both, the floor tiles are a custom mosaic pattern reminiscent of an old-school Parisian bistro. A floral arrangement enhances the kitchen aesthetic.
It is about 50F(10C) degrees.
Seated now at the kitchen table, Yasmin stares down at the ring she's picked up right outside the door to her apartment, pondering its wooden surface with a thoughtful look. She doesn't put it on, for all that it seems like it'd be a perfect fit, instead just running her fingertips across the surface of the item to feel out any symbols that may be etched upon it.
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
First the outer circumference, and then the inner; Yasmin's examination is thorough, her brow furrowed in a frown of concentration while she goes through the actions. She feels for the raised and depressed indents beneath her fingers, before reaching for the metal pin in her hijab, pulling the metal out of the fabric. She's learned her lesson from the last time she'd attempted to do such a thing as this, and she gives it a methodical, neater approach this time. The metal tip of the pin glows red with heat as she brings it down to scratch along the surface of the wood, her fingers carefully protected from being burnt.
Yasmin squeezes her eyes shut just in the brink of time, a startled little gasp escaping her at the flash of light that it emits, though she saves herself from any undue eye damage just on the brink of time. A 'tsk' under her breath at the ring, as though she can make it behave via disappointed mannerisms, and she goes back to her wood-carving, circling around the entire circumference of the ring.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
At this rate, maybe Yasmin should invest in professional woodcarving. There's a low humming under her breath as she scratches through any of the symbols she can find on the ring, a shiver crawling down her spine at the sudden coolness of the room. "You do not like that, huh," she speaks to the ring as though it's going to speak back (please do not speak back), her scratching along the outer boundary complete. Onto the inner circumference it is.
All things considered, this seems like a relatively tame curse; nobody has been set on fire, the ground hasn't started shaking, and she's relatively unblinded, apart from that flash of light. The cold, well... it's cold enough already, and she's got her fire to keep her warm. There's a little narrowing of Yasmin's eyes as she holds the ring up to the light and continues to work, the smell of burnt wood rising from the object, along with wisps of smoke.
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
The hissing of hot metal on wood, the meticulous, slow drag of the tip of her pin against the inside of the ring; Yasmin loses herself in the act for a few minutes, scratching away all the symbols present on the wood's surface. At last, when that is finished, she inscribes a tiny symbol of her own, a name of God to keep it protected and safe from harm at the very end, and then straightens with satisfaction, stretching out her arms and neck after having been hunched over the ring uncomfortably.
With a final burst of power the curse on a wooden ring is broken.