[Pact] Khûrriip, The Flayer

[Wasteland_Shaman 97]

Khûrriip

The Flayer

Lesser of Votar

The Hordelands offered no comfort, between the scorching sands and the arid gales striking him, Gutlug'Lur carried onward armed only with his trusty pilgrim's staff along with his skinning knife, a hunter's tool that had aided him many times when the land itself failed to provide sustenance. His pilgrimage to the Headwaters went well, armed with the knowledge and covenant of the Oasis Spirit, he travelled to his next destination on his pilgrimage...Yet the Spirit he sought was not one of water and life, no, this Spirit demanded the quarry of the hunt as properly befit a Lesser of Votar, the Great Spirit of the Hunt and patron spirit of his Clan. His footsteps strode across the wastes ahead of him, considering what offering would be best to offer to the Spirit, along the path he had witnessed many creatures. A dingo devouring a wallaby on the path from the River shrine, crocodiles basking along the riverbanks in the Sun's light, and a lone hyena standing guard over a corpse half-picked by other scavengers. 

 

None of them would do, for Gutlug had heard from a travelling hobgoblin of a creature from Aevos that had came to these lands. One he was quite familiar with due to having chanced upon them during his time as a renowned hunter, a pack of these creatures, 'Durbûrzlagl' they were called...The goblin told him that one made its home in the cave dens close to the gold mines, attacking miners and travelers alike. He remembered how a pack of them nearly slayed his party, almost taking two to meet Kor.

 

 

Yet the Durbûrzlagl must be stopped, so Gutlug prepared to meet the creature along the cliff face where it rested. Covering his green body in red sand and yellow clay from the river to hide his scent, he tracked the beast's bloody pawprints on the trail towards a dead tree above the mesa cliffs...The roots of the tree appeared to be a charnel of sorts, bones of descendant and beast alike littered its roots, Gutlug grunted and shook his head. Preparing himself, Gutlug removed his skinning knife and began to tie it to his pilgrim's staff forming a crude spear for felling the beast. Beneath the tree, the tracks led further into a dry cave filled with a musky smell. A lone male, marking its territory. The beast suspected nothing was amiss as Gutlug crept into the cave's entrance, spear in hand, from the cave floor he picked up a stone and threw it at the beast, The Spirit would not accept this sacrifice if he hadn't roused it first, such was the decree of Votar. From this disturbance the beast stirred from its slumber. Anticipating the beast, Gutlug raised his spear, knowing he was at a disadvantage in this fight, he dashed to the side as the beast strode to the cave's mouth.

 

 

Gutlug waited for the proper moment to strike, his earthy scent a mask for his prey's rather large and attuned scent, his ears perked with every stride of the Durbûrzlag's claws dragging on the ground. As the Sun's last light struck the beast's yellow hide, the orc pilgrim roared and thrust his spear into it's side, blood gushing onto the cave floor before turning to face him after he'd pulled his spear from it's mark. The creature immediately pounced on Gutlug, the two locked in combat as Gutlug fought the beast off with his spear, scissor-teeth gnashing and sputtering spittle on his green face. The beast's claws dug into his bare arms, the two snarling as they wrestled for supremacy in this cave, orc prevailing with Gutlug managing to toss his foe off onto the ground belly-up. In this moment, Gutlug seized it, plunging the spear into the underbelly before drawing its guts out with the knife's blade on his ramshackle spear. Gutlug breathed heavily, having exerted his energy on the hunt, along with the

mark of his struggle dripping orcish blood onto the ground. With the corpse of his quarry over his shoulder, spear in hand he lumber out of the cave, he made for the tree.

 

 

Soon enough, the Sun crept down below the horizon, Last Light hitting the mesa cliffs. It looked beautiful, it truly did for the Uruk, having dealt with sticking to the low-paths during his pilgrimage. Yet now it was time to offer his due, for Votar had offered him a victory and payment was needed. Taking his prize to the base of the Charnel Tree, he laid it down and prayed to Votar, kneeling at the tree. Gutlug removed the skinning knife from the binds securing it onto his staff, muttering a silent prayer, he began to flay the hide from the beast from it's flesh. Gutlug turned his nose a little, he was used to the smell of blood and musk, yet the acrid smell never got too old as he pried the skin from it's corpse and laid it upon the tree's dead branches. Now it was the time to contact the Spirit of which resembled the beast, Khûrriip the Flayer, Lesser of Votar whose Forest of Skins was decorated with the hides of every beast, descendant, and even the Bûrz prey of old hunters. There, he spoke the Old Tongue.

 

"Khûrriip, za kausharûr strohlab golmizg, riipob za hûrûrz horn thororirlab golmizg. Hoitalizg, amukh turu ranzik Tauriipoblab thrakugalat. Rad za hoitalizg kullat lûpizg mûlû botlab urzkû baduzgûlat!"

(Khûrriip, I offer this sacrifice to your Shrine, the skin of this brave beast on your altar. I am the hunter, who many moons ago you brought to your Forest of Skins. Now this hunter asks you to show the road to your

world again!)

 

 

At the base of the dead tree, Gutlug leaned forward and his soul was transported from the Mortal realm, his very soul now in a place he had travelled there before with his Mentor and Teacher in the ways of Farseeing, Gharak Yar. The dark forest had remained the same as it was when the two shamans had visited this realm, the Blood Moon hanging high in the sky, perpetually offering it's sanguine light onto the trees bearing the flayed skins of almost every creature, men, beasts, even orcs splayed on the tree's branches. Gutlug himself was unphased, as the forest itself opened a path for him. In his arms lay the skin of the beast, the Moon lighting the road through the forest as Gutlug passed by every tree, every branch, every skin that hanged from its branch. Some old, tattered and worn, others dripping blood onto the dark grass, veins still visible from having being peeled and offered recently it mattered not, for the lord of this place cared not whether the living or the dead had been offered. All was a fair kill for the Flayer, the moment had not been lost upon the shaman, for among the trees lay Khûrriip themself, Lord of Skins, The Flayer, Keeper of the Flayed Wood.

 

𐰷𐰇𐰼𐰼𐰄𐰯

 

 

The Flayer, a Spirit almost as large as a small dragon, rested above Gutlug in the branches, observing Their servant present the offering...Their form bearing the likeness of the very beast that they slew to honour them, the Durbûrzlagl, the marsupial predator whose pelt he offered. Khûrriip addressed the Shaman, a harsh speech uttering from Them.

 

"Mirz kulash taulabishi? Mirz Khûrriipû gashdurbub, Gothob Riipu agh Atishalob Tauriipob?! RAD GASHNLAT! Kothuizub niinthroqum grishûr...Snagaizub."

(Who is the one in my forest? Who swears to Khûrriip, Lord of Skins and Keeper of the Flayed Forest?! YOU MUST SAY NOW! My claws are thirsty for blood...My Slave.)

 

Khûrriip descended from the tree, shaking the hides hanging from it's branches as They descended onto the floor of the forest. Spots and stripes Blood Red, akin to the very Moon that offered illumination in this realm almost devoid of light. Gutlug steeled himself, he carefully stepped forward to Khûrriip, offering the skin of the beast to Them. He knelt before the Spirit, spreading his arms out to plead with the Spirit.

 

"Narnûlubatûr broshanizg urzkû dârlabishi, Gothizub. Ash riip tau'ûr thrakizg, ash Durbûrzlagl, ash horn kullatûr hoitishi za uglugaizg. Rad hosh-shonûrlab skaatizg, Gothizub. Gaakh za golmalûrlabob bhûllat. Gaakh gashdurbizub bhûllat, Gothob Riipu agh Atishalob Tauriipob." 

(Thank  you for welcoming me again into your home, My Master. I bring a pelt for your Forest, a Durbûrzlagl (Thylacoleo carnifex), a beast for you I have slain in the hunt. Now I come for your blessing, my Master. May you accept this offering of yours. May you accept my oath, Lord of Skins and Keeper of the Flayed Forest.)

 

The Spirit gave a slight bow, licking their snout, They approached Gutlug to receive Their offering. Gutlug held out the pelt, blood dripping onto the cursed earth and with a single swipe of Their obsidian claws, Khûrriip carried the skin of the creature into one of the trees along with the rest of the grizzly trophies offered to them by Hunters and shamans that had come to visit The Flayer for Their blessings and to bring themselves to serve Them. Gnashing Their teeth, Khûrriip spoke to Gutlug yet again, a guttural and sickening cackle coming from their devilish maw as they rapped their talons on the tree's branches.

 

"Gutlug'Lur. Dârizubishi skaatlatuga agh nar golmal thraklatuga...Rad ash golmalûr kulizub thraklat, amal sigûrzik tul skaatlatuga inizg, Ilzgûlizg riipuob Khû'ug! Za durbhûizg, nardur uruk, agh hosh-shonizub kullatirû thrakizgub...Gutlug'Lur, Hoital agh Snagaizub."

(Gutlug'Lur. In my home you came before and did not bring an offering...Now you bring an offering, when you came here long ago I remember. I am the Spirit of the Tearing of Skins! This I greatly accept, small orc, and my blessing I bring onto you...Gutlug'Lur. Hunter and my servant.)

 

After They spoke their pleasure at this offering, the bestial spirit lept down on top of Gutlug from their perch, he felt the great weight of the Spirit as They began their work on their servant. The spirit tore open the upper-left of his robe open, the obsidian claws black as jet glistened for a short while before carefully peeling away at the skin of Gutlug's chest. He bit down and clenched his teeth, the Spirit deftly leaving behind it's mark upon him, formed from the bare flesh that remained after the skin had been stripped away from him. Before long, the marking was done in an instant and Khûrriip released Their grip on Gutlug.  Striding towards the tree, The Spirit placed the rather small but remaining strip of skin onto the tree where They rested, fusing it with the tree itself. They returned back to the perch and begat wisdom to their servant, the pilgrim's reward for this covenant and offering to the Flayer.

 

"Rad, kullatû krimpizg, nardur uruk...Gaakh turu riipuob ishu agh hornu bugudizubishi khûlat bugudizubishi. Rûgh riipu tauizubû thraklat gaakh durbûrzla largizg. Nûlat ishuizub agh darûkûrz thraklat, agh ghashanu Votarû agh kulizubû khlaarlat, Gutlug'Lur. Lur Baiark gaakh durbûrzat latakothuizub agh thaukulab, gaakh aarûrz bûrz'hai agh Ishob Uzg Dâgob Lur azub...Za gadhaalizub kullatûk, Gutlug'Lur, Gothob Lur. Votarob hontu sûrir kullatûk, rad kullat ûkil broshanub Tauriiplabishi. Inlatû ûkil ash riip tauizub thrakatûluk. Glothrok! Âdhlat! Botob fûthug kullat gundat!"

(Now, to you I bind, small orc. May many skins of foes and beasts you tear in my name. Every pelt to my forest you bring shall make me stronger. Pain to my enemies and the unworthy you shall bring, and you shall listen to Votar and my own Commands, Gutlug'Lur. The Lur Clan shall be strong under my claws and your blades, may you always  kill the Dark Ones and foes of the Land, children of Lur. This is my promise to you, Gutlug'Lur, Lurgoth. Votar's eyes are upon you always, now always you are welcome in my Forest of the Flayed. Always to remember a skin you must bring to my forest. Now go! Leave! The waking world awaits you!)

 

They spirit raised a paw, and with a stroke of the obsidian dewclaw, They carved open a trapdoor under Gutlug. The ground itself peeled under him, the orc tumbled down into the hole just as he had back to the world of Aevos on his first Spirit Walk...Now bearing the mark of his pact with Khûriip upon his flesh, the mark had been bestowed and his consciousness drifted back to him from the oddly chilling and bleak forest to the mortal realm again. His own spirit falling down until it had rejoined his mortal body, along with all the sensation and surroundings that came with being in the Waking World...

From the journey into the Spirit World, Gutlug shook his head. Before him was the very same tree that he had bore witness to, the flesh of the beast already rotting before him as flies danced around its skinned corpse. He blinked twice, before touching a small red-patch that had formed under his robe. Blood. He lifted his robe for a short while before noticing the mark of the Spirit had been left upon him. He smiled, having completed another pilgrimage to honour a Spirit of the Hunt and receiving his boon from the pact he had made with the Spirit. Lifting his skinning knife, he nodded. From now on, he would flay any beast, descendant, and darkspawn that came under the auspices of The Hunt, sacred wisdom he had the intention of sharing with his people when the time came for him to return...For now, he admired the dead tree, the charnel ground for many beasts and descendants that passed through this mesa. Now quiet...He picked up his staff, sliding the blade of his knife back onto his belt, and strode off on the mesa towards his next destination. His pilgrimage had one final stop before it was complete...

 

 

Edited October 28, 2025 by Wasteland_Shaman