A SHAMAN'S PENANCE

[TreeSmoothie 4857]

Two figures stood beside each other before a fire, gouts of black smoke drifting into the air. One, a malflame-marred woman, sat down in the chair as the man beside her – a scarred Ork, prepared a herbal brew. The woman warily looked at the flames as they heated the pot, her tired eyes searching it as though attempting to scry into what might come of the journey ahead of them.

 

“Fur latz first zpyritwalk … Whych du latz want tu peep?” he asked, looking over his shoulder as he dropped a bundle of herbs into the canister. “Mi grukking de zpyrit uv Ztrengt’ or Bluud. Latz chooze.”

 

“Da zpyrit of Blood soundz interesting … Enrohk, da?” the Mali blinked, accepting the cup of tea as he settled beside her. “Da, let’z vyzit Enrohk. Hope wi nub be flatted t’ere, doh.”

 

And so they did, and as their eyes came to close, they found their souls drifting from their mortal coils, and into darkness. The moment her eyes opened again, the woman found herself thrashing in a river of blood, attempting to claw her way upon a bank made of horrid sinew. The orc plucked her from the liquid and placed her on her feet with an affirming nod, and then set off without a word – merely motioning for her to follow. Enrohk’s realm was revolting; a crimson sky, and a land made of nothing but thews and flesh. Crooked, red trees absent of their leaves were erected here and there throughout the endless hills, but clearly not of natural origin. Cultists eyed them in passing, scowling beneath the shadow of their hoods.

 

As they entered a cavern carved from bone, a voice rung out.

“You have taken it upon yourselves to come ... so I pray it is in hopes to make a pact?”

 

The two knelt, though that woman kept her head up, watching as the figure of a lumbering fe-Uruk made itself visible, covered in scars and healed lesions head-to-toe. “Ixula …” that spirit greeted, nodding to the shaman Ork. “Who is this one?”

 

“My name is – mi nayme iz Yahzlak, yam an honorary, my … Lady,” the woman shakily spoke, as Ixula rose. Enrohk strode over with a chalice held in one hand filled to the brim with blood, and with each step, the ichor teemed and dribbled over the edge of the cup.  “An honorary …?”

Conversation ensued, and as they prepared to leave, the Spirit gave them a mission to carry with them if they wished to return.

 “You will; BOTH of you, will perform a ritual in my name, bones, blood, all spread onto my altar. You shall then return and curse the land, to make sure my influence is made known.”

 

Before either of them could speak, the spirit dropped the chalice and blood splashed upward and soaked the two in red. Lightning split the sky and the pair sank through the ground as it disintegrated, violently throwing their souls back into the Mortal plane where their fleshen coils laid. Now began their work.

 

Months later, Ixula and Yahzlak stood before an altar with Enrohk’s sigil carved into the stone; atop it, laid two dwarves chained tight upon it, eyes wide and mouths agape. The woman unsheathed a sword of glowing lilac metal and Ixula chanted prayer to the great Spirit of Blood, his lips curled into a grin as the sacrifice commenced.

 In ichor the two waded, of the dwarves’ and of some demonic black sludge, honoring Enrohk’s name.

 

Spoiler

@_Leydfunny spirit rp go brr