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Message: <blockquote data-quote="CanadienneBacon" data-source="post: 3371763" data-attributes="member: 11146">The priest purses thin lips and frowns at Maelicent but gets on about the business of his casting.  Rather than pour the white rock salt on the spider carcasses, the pair of priests reach in and grab great handfuls of the grainy substance and toss it over their shoulder.  Arne pulls a silver scythe holy symbol out from under his cassock and, holding the pendant aloft in the air, begins chanting seemingly to himself in a foreign tongue.  The priest's eyes glaze over with energy and beads of sweat form on the man's forehead, while all the time the pace of his chanting increases.  The second cassocked priest has no holy symbol but continues to toss salt to and fro while his comrade chants.  The floor of the horse stall is soon littered with the gritty white salt.  As Arne's voice reaches a creshendo, the second priest moves more quickly to dip into the bucket of salt in an attempt to keep time with the quickened chanting.  Bits of salt spray all over, some of them landing on Maelicent.  The priests repeat their performance a second time on the other spider carcass, then abruptly cease their chanting and salt tossing.  Arne's hair is matted to his head with sweat when the casting is complete, and Maelicent clearly notes that the smells of fetid rotting flesh and oil going rancid are no more.  Arne picks grains of white salt off his black cassock with a frown.  "Next time try not to fling it so wildly, Gruyere."  With a smug, "There, done." Arne nods at the pair of preserved spiders then motions for Gruyere to collect the three buckets.  "On our way and back in time to usher in the evening service."   Their service done, the oddball pair of priests quits the stable, leaving Maelicent to his peace.</blockquote>

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