Cradling his cup in his left hand, Ippip stirs the dark liquid with the long thin index finger of his boney right hand. He stares into the swirling depths, as if trying to unravel its mysteries. Stirring slowly and methodically.

"Dreams of fire and rain. Soft whispers. My lives at the bottom of the worlds. Sharp pains. The veil slips away. Sharp whispers and soft pains. Dreams of rain and fire..." The mad little seer murmurs, rocking rhythmically forward and back ever so slightly. Over and over.

And then he stops.

Ippip tilts his head to the ceiling, opens his mouth wide, and rolls his tongue out to its full length while raising his right hand high over his head. His hand is curled in a knobby ball, with the index finger dangling down.

And now he waits.

Sitting motionless, his eyes fix on the end of his finger, watching the dark liquid slowly gathering. Finally a single drop drips free, landing perfectly on the tip of Ippip's tongue.

A broad satisfied smile brightens his dirty face, before he inserts his finger once again and starts to stir. Slowly. Methodically.