Demands of Laklul

[_Jandy_ 3519]

Spoiler

 

 

Walking through the new goi of San’Kala the cold and biting air of the mountains were taking time to get used to but Nazark was headed to the Gorkil clan hall. He was treading through the terrain, passing other clan halls. Yar with their obnoxiously large bone structures, Lur with their skinning racks and finally Lak and their quickly erected shrine to Laklul. After eyeing the totem the Wargoth entered his own clan hall and sat in front of a fire pit. His thoughts were still dull from some green he had smoked earlier but this would not hinder what he was about to do.

He took a sip from his canteen before he closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing and relaxing. After a moment of recalling the coaching from his teacher he called out

“Frumz, bugdizg latz, anork uzg gorbugudlab”

After a moment there was nothing, he paused before focusing on his words and calling out again.

“Frumz, bugdizg latz, anork uzg gorbugudlab”

Repeating this until his mind was numb he suddenly felt the feeling of the cold winter air disappear, hearing the crackling of the fire no longer. He had passed into the spirit realm but he was lost. He inhaled deeply, resisting panic as he tried to open his eyes and he saw nothing. He recalled the teachings of Phaedrus

“Sight then hearing. Then touch, smell and taste.”

Squinting, Nazark focused on using his eyes to fill his vision. At first it was blurry but then after more concentration he was able to see a clear black and grey setting.

He was in a waist high marshland, inklings of thought about which domain he may be in began to creep into his mind and distract him but he was still distrustful. He pushed those thoughts away and focused on filling in colors, soon the hues of green, brown and charcoal all surrounded him. After sight he began focusing on hearing, at first a shrill ringing but after further focus he heard the croaks of frogs and the wind as it ripped around the twigs of the trees that were on the shore. The uruk rubbed his calloused hands together, focusing on his sense of touch until he felt palm against palm. He then began to focus on expanding his sense of touch until he felt the water plants under his feet, staff across his back and the coursing water around his legs. He waded out of the bog and focused on his senses of smell and taste. At first he was overwhelmed by the stark contrast of the smells of swamp in comparison to the arid mountain winds he was just at, but this feeling soon passed. He looked around for any signs of danger but luckily he saw none.

Looking for any guiding path or signal of which direction to take he found none aside from the direction the water flowed. He followed along the bank of the water as it flowed, his senses ready to alert him to any danger that may come his way. After a while of marching through the humid swamplands Nazark began to feel thirst but he knew better than to trust drinking from the bog he followed so he unslung his staff off of his back and hastened his paste. He tore through the vegetation that was in the wetland: ferns, vines, ivy, mushrooms, none of them he paid any bother to and suddenly he heard a disrest that was coming towards him from the direction he was coming. He squinted to look ahead of him and saw trees falling as something approached him and approach him at wicked speeds. His eyes went wide and he turned to dive away, staff still in hand, but suddenly a massive moist and warm and pink form had wrapped around his waist and begin ripping him back in the direction it had come from. He was soaring past the bog he was following until he saw he was in grove of sorts and saw a large yellow creature attached to the pink tongue. He was ripped into the mouth of the creature and began wailing on the tongue before he was spit out and lay in front of a gargantuan yellow toad.

“You are no agent of Freygoth..” the spirit croaked out

The orc caught his breath for a moment, looking the toad up and down “No, Laklul. I am Nazark’Gorkil a Farseer.” he recites the previously prepared Old Blah statement.

“Running through my domain after I summoned you here?” Laklul chastised “Have you any respect?”

“Nazark nûmlat nar fulak. Nazark slaiug kramp.” Nazark recited in Old Blah, promising that he meant no harm and that he wished to serve.

“So you do?” the massive toad croaked between saying “Though you have denied the offers to join Clan Lak and have also aided me in the past. Do you even remember the oath you made by joining The Cult of Laklul?”

“I serve the spirits who will guide us, thus I serve you. Laklul.” the Farseer states.

“You may… I have brought you here for a reason, Shaman. You know this.” A croak. “The war I have been waging has left me exhausted, I need my influence to be spread by your kind.”

“How shall this be done, Laklul?”

“The swamps your kind have recently found, let my name ring through them proudly with great sacrifices. Clan Lak and others must answer this demand.”

“Then it will be done,” Nazark would promise.

The toad narrowed it’s eyes at the Farseer before nodding “Then leave, return when this has been done for me.”

The Wargoth bowed to the spirit and took a step back before turning and heading back into the wetlands. He would sit and meditate, just as he had done to get to this realm before feeling the cold winter airs of the mountains once again. He sat up, gasping for air and feeling his dry tongue in his mouth. He grabbed for his canteen and downed it, dehydrated from laying in front of the fire pit for such an extended period of time. Nazark got to his feet with the help of his staff and wandered over to the clan hall of Lak, passing the shrine of Laklul. He saw the horned blue Lak on his throne and called out “Laklul calls for you to serve, now as ever.”

Schreck’Lak nods, beckoning for the Farseer to tell him of what had happened.

 

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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