Spirit Caller

Smoke rises through the opening at the peak of the tent, the thick hide covering pulled aside and tethered back with a frayed strip of twine. The air within the tent is sweltering. The remains of a massive fire in the center of a tent simmers and crackles, the red hot embers pulsing a steady wash of heat. Thick wooden beams leaned against one another forming the central supports for the structure. Thick hides are tied at various points along the supports with thick leather straps. Hundreds of bone charms and beads hang from twines and leather strips. Bundles of herbs smolder, thick clouds of smoke wafting up from their burned ends. A pungent aroma of a dozen different incenses pack the interior of the tent in an nauseating and atmosphere of narcotic smoke.

An orc sits on the floor, his hands outstretched over the coals of the dying fire. He is a shaman of his people, his responsibility to bind he spirits of the ancestors and the elements to  the will of the horde. He is draped in simple leathers, a wolf's head shawl places on the floor beside him. His features are smooth, less gruff and brutish akin to others in his races and slightly more human. Despite his seemingly calm appearance, he appears - unnatural. His eyes are white, rolled back into his head with his eyelids fluttering slightly. He is muttering something incomprehensible. The words, although of a language not known by mortals in nearly a thousand years, bear the burden of power. The intonation and inflection of the words cause the air to reverberate to the cadence of the sermon. Despite the warmth of the fire, the temperature in the tent drops rapidly and the heat from the coals dwindle to a dull spark. Frost forms on the wooden beams and a cool mist swirls in front of the orc's mouth as his breathing intensifies. There is a greasy feel to the air and the sounds of Krogar Grul beyond fade and sound muffled, as if a blanket has been tossed over the entire tent.
"Xe tapy za haf qryiz virc aly vorv aooyr haf zmy kdaav ao xe zmafwilv." the orc mutters. His body shakes as his trances intensifies. Blood runs down his nose but he seems not to notice.
"Ticy smiz uw hafrw, qryiz vypal ao virclyww, vorv xe, hafr mfpkdy wyrjilz, iwc aldh oar xe juwual ao zmy ofzfry!" the chanting continues and begins to slowly rise in volume.

Suddenly the flap of the tent is pushed open and a hulking orc steps in. In an instant, the trance fades. The fire roars back to life and the frost along the beams melts immediately and the cascades to the floor of the tent, evaporating as it falls and causing the humidity in the tent to rise dramatically like one of the jungles of Chult. The orc sniffs the air and scowls, his top knot brushing the high arch of the tent's entrance way. He is armored, helm tucked under his arm. It is a coif with two small metal plates at each side of the eyes to protect the face. Attached to the top is a curved, v-shaped blade, the middle is attached to the center of the helm. The shoulders are fairly oval, very long and quite large. They're decorated with a wide piece of thick, colored cloth, draped over each shoulder and hanging over the edges. Teeth and claws from a hundred different creatures are woven into the leather of the armor and protrude from the edges of the pauldron, making the piece of wargear resemble a gaping maw of some fearsome beast rather than armor. A pair of battle axes hang from slings on his waist, the blades of each ax has a jagged edge along the curve. The curveture of the blade is off center, causing the weapon to come to a wicked spike at it's peak. The half of each weapon is wound in red shark leather with an intricate silver dragon's head at the pommel.

The warrior mutters and shakes, as if trying to rid himself of the taint in the air. The meditating orc closes his eyes and slowly inhales.
"Warchief," he says after a moment.
"Bone Seer," he sniffs and then squats down on the other side of the fire. "Do the spirits speak to you?" he says and motions to their surroundings.
"Some speak - some do not," the Orc Shaman replied. "I am a servant to their will and your command".
"You speak in riddles Kurdan," the Warchief grunts.
"Is the great Xolkug the Unbroken too dull witted to fight with words? Is the line of Ralgut so watered down that the blood of his sons cannot fight with anything beyond their fists?" the Shaman said with a small smile. Xolkug growled and slammed a fist on the ground.
"I could kill you right here for your insolence Bone Witch," he spat.
"I don't deny it," Kurdan said passively, his gaze still intently focused on the fire. "But then who would give you sage council when you needed it most. Certainly not these other Shaman and Seekers who claim to have the sight," he replies curtly. Xolkug growls but his rages seems to subside slightly. He snorts and then sits down on the other side of the fire with a grunt and a thud.
"Your tongue moves too freely for my liking. One day, I may not be here to protect you and someone might cut it out,"
"Do you plan to die so soon?" Kurdan chided.
"Never, but you yourself know that the hands of fate take what they want and when they please," Xolkug muttered.
"This is known - we cannot control fate but we can still provide bounties and blood to those who can." Kurdan replied. He opened his eyes and offered a smile to the Warchief. As an orc it looked more like a fierce brandishing of teeth akin to a snarl from a dire beast.
"What brings you to my hearth?" Kurdan asks. Xolkug inhales deeply, taking in the mind-numbing aroma of the burnt herbs and incense.
"I seek your counsel and wisdom. I am troubled by reports from our scouts," Xolkug says gruffly.
"What news troubles the Unbroken One? Does something threaten Krogar Grul?"
"Possibly - there's news from the foothills. Near Triboar. A band of warriors has rooted out the Redbrands," Xolkug said. Kurdan's eyebrows raised in surprise.
"They were lead by a magic weaver - a powerful spell raiser. What of him?"
"Dead...missing...who knows. He's not there anymore and neither are the bandits...all dead," he replied.
"That was a sizable outfit," Kurdan said pensively. "Who are these 'warriors'?"
"Don't know. Mixed group. One of them is a half-breed," Xolkug said with a sneer and spat into the ground beside him.
"Interesting, you still haven't answered my question Warchief. What concern are they to you and why come to my tent?" Kurdan asked.
"I seek your prophecies. What do the bones say?"
"It is not so simple as to look at a pile of bones and divine prophecy. The spirits speak when they wish to speak," Kurdan said prophetically. Xolkug growled, flexing his massive muscular shoulders.
"What good are the spirit when they remain quiet. What do they do with all their time...they're dead," he said with a deep and throaty chuckle.
"That is not for the living to know," Kurdan replied. He gathered up the small pile of knuckle bones arrayed in front of him. There were knuckle bones from humans, orcs, ogres and a dozen other species now shaking in Kurdan's hands. He closed his eyes and muttered a few words and then with an elaborate gesture, cast the bones out in front of him. The knuckle bones tossed and turned in the air and began to fall over the fire. An unseen force suddenly grabbed them and held the bones in the air above the fire, each one turning in place as if some gyroscope held it's movement captive. Kurdan shuddered slightly and lifted his hands. Xolkug gasped, a look of childish disbelief on his once stoic face.
"Magic..." he said with an almost wistful glean to his eyes. Kurdan passed his hands through the bones, his fingers knocking a few of them into a wild rotation.
"What do they say Bone Seer," Xolkug whispered.
"They...speak to me," Kurdan said quietly, his eyes closed in silent contemplation. "As soon as the world turns to winter, the elder one shall bring an age of sin. There comes a day when the moon turns bright, the false sister shall mark a reunion of enemies and the beginning of a better future. It shall be on the day that trees bear no leaves, a broken promise shall cause the rise of what was forgotten. There comes a day when the lords of death return, a promise shall bring forth bloodshed of new blood," Kurdan said. His words were deep and resounded in the tent, each one bringing a small sonic reverberation to the air. The fire dimmed again and the bones chimes hanging from the tent began to chime as an unseen winds tossed them out. Xolkug stared in fascination at the display. He was completely enraptured by the magical cacophony. A moment later, the bones clattered to now smoking ashes of the fire and nestled between the coals. The chimes stopped moving, the wind subsiding and Kurdan exhaled and fell back. Xolkug hadn't realized but the Shaman had actually been levitating a few inches off the ground.
"What do these words mean?" Xolkug said breathlessly.
"I think you know, Great One," Kurdan said quietly. Xolkug nodded quietly and set his jaw.
"The Lords of Death...Elder One...Reunion of Enemies. These are heralds of my doom. These newcomers threaten us by their mere presence. When they have destroyed the foes closest to them...their eyes will turn north to Krogar Grul". Xolkug finished. Kurdan opened his hands, palms up, contemplatively and bobbed his head. Xolkug let out a bestial roar and clambered to his feet.
"If they want blood! They will have it! I will bring down upon them such wrath that their ancestors will quiver in fear!" he bellowed and turned to leave the tent.
"Hassak, Dogrel - summon the Blood Raiders and the Hell Carvers. They're going for a hunt," he said with a menacing smile. He studied the contemplative shaman for a second and then strode from the tent.

Kurdan sat in silence, listening to the war horns and war cries outside as the war parties mustered. There would be blood spilled tonight - time and fate alone would decide who's blood that would be. Movement from behind him caused him to perk up and he glared at the shape moving in the the darkness of the tent behind him.
"Stop skulking in the dark - are you ever truly gone?" Kurdan grumbled. The darkness behind him rippled and a massive shape stepped out of an impossibly small space. Its thin head sits atop a slim, heavy body. Chains are stuck within its flesh, perhaps part of whatever those creatures call culture. The creature lumbers forward, its two legs sturdily carry its massive body with a sedated energy.  Its armored flesh is scaly and moist and its toothy mouth gapes below a pair of hungry, reptilian eyes. Its tongue flickers in and out of it's mouth like a snake and it lets out a hissing cackle.
"Always watching - Always listening." it said with a raucously and insidious cackle. With a large scaled hand it pointed to the bone runes in the smoldering fire.
"I enjoyed that parlor trick - a trifling display of thaumaturgy. And was that poetry you recanted there? Chauncler? Tell me Bone Seer. Does your Warchief truly believe your lies or is he just bloodthirsty enough to take any morsel you give him to wage war," it seethed. Kurdan scowled and ignored the barbed comment. He quickly collected the knuckle bones and tucked them into a pouch.
"What do you want demon?" he said. "Be out with it and go back to the infernal hole you crawled out from." Before Kurdan could react, the creature had moved with inhuman speed. It lashed out with a chitin armored claw and grasped his neck in a pincer grip. A massive lobster like claw clacked as it closed on the orc's neck. Kurdan squirmed, his eyes bulging and the skin searing as if he was being branded from the creature's touch.
"Be careful whelp. You are not as useful to us as you may believe. You are all expendable," it seethed with a low and stomach churning growl. With a final squeeze, he threw Kurdan back and released it's grip. Kurdan gasped, falling onto his hands and knees and gulped hungrily at the air.
"What - do you - want," he said between breaths.
"My master grows impatient - he demands progress," the creature purred. Kurdan pointed out at the tent flap to where the sound of a war rally echoed beyond.
"They rally as we speak. You master will have the blood he needs," he said.
"We will see..." the creature said. "You mortals have proven to be a disappointment. After Odesseiron's incident..." it said.
"That Red Wizard is nothing but a cultist of Thay. I have produced more for the ritual than any other," Kurdan spat back.
"And yet..." the creature said with a hand wave to their surroundings. "Here we stand and our master remains locked away".
"He will be free. And soon," Kurdan pleaded. The creature stepped back and begin to melt into the shadows. As he faded, his voice called out in a whisper as if from everywhere at once.
"I would hope so - for your sake".