The two figures wind their way through the red landscape; dwarfed by its magnitude, besieged by the driving winds, framed only by dearth and emptiness.
The first pulls her wolf to a stop at the base of a dusty ramp. She looks back at the other, smaller. The priest looks at her, her green eyes searching.
“Dis is it, Missus Talukah. De monument of Orcish Powa’. Where heroes died, and were born again. De Altar of Storms.”
The steely gray altar stares down upon them. Still, unmoving, energized by some ancient air of fury and conquest.
The elf nods, stoic, her eyes studious. The two continue their ascent up the dusty path, bracing themselves against the dry, violent gusts.
A murder of crows. Black rats squabbling and fussing for real estate on the corpse lying prone beneath their claws. Mido waves them away. They scream their protestations as they scramble away, perching atop the nearby pillars and keeping their wary black eyes upon the two.
“This is… the ritual?” The elf slowly pulls herself off her wolf, nearing the sacrifice. Mido tilts the body forward, exposing the emptied ribs to the priest. “What happened?”
“De shadow man, Virrot’. He do this. Take de man’s heart, his life blood, his soul. Poured it in de hat and made de odda’s drink it.” The slightest hint of revulsion graces the elf’s features. Mido drops the corpse unceremoniously.
“They drank it?”
“Che, Missus Talukah… Dis Virrot’… He be fillin’ dere heads wit’ nonsense. Sayin’ dat de end times are nea’, dat we need ta be lookin’ fo’ a new source a powa’. De Grin depends ‘pon it, ‘pon de deat’ magics. Be sayin’ owa magics ain’t good ‘nough…”
The Sandfury troll stares down at the empty body a while, pensive. Hesitantly, she adds, “He soul still be screamin’ as dey drink it inta dey bodies.”
Talukah raises an eyebrow. She glances around the Altar, her gaze resting on a raven momentarily before returning to the grisly corpse.
“And this Virroth… What does he think this blood is supposed to do?”
“Makes dem stronga’. I saw it wit my own eyes. Dey be getting’ moa’ powaful afta drinkin’ de devil shit… But dey not askin’ ‘bout what gwan happen when dey hunger ‘gain. Cause dey gwan to. De hole gwanna fill up dere stomach… Gwanna fill it up til all dey is is de hunger.”
Talukah nears the corpse, glances over it thoughtfully. She remains quiet; the shifting of her eyes the only motion she makes. Mido watches her, tense. It was a gamble. The troll wasn’t familiar with Talukah’s history, wasn’t sure how she would react to the sacrifice. But she knew now, more than ever, allies needed to be made. She had prayed that the elf held true to the light. Talukah’s gaze shifts to Mido, suspicious.
“And you know this from experience?”
The troll smiled, feline. The elf was as wary as she.
“Cha. Deat’ magic de only kind a’ magic in de Farrak… But I be exiled fo’ a reason.”
Talukah nods, her stoic façade finally melts to some slight degree. She sighs, looking suddenly overwhelmed.
“This Virroth, does he act under the Warchief’s authority?”
“Cha.”
Talukah nods. Her face still veiled by her hood, the shadows offer a flimsy mask for the sudden uncertainty that could be found there.
“Then… We’ll need to be wary, I suppose.” The priest adjusts one of her gloves, seeming to stare off in to a realm known only by those who had known death. “I’ll need to do more investigating into the matter. Speak with a few close associates.”
The troll nods. She glances around again. The crows were eager to return to their feast. Aside from their grating caws, the Altar was eerily quiet.
“Le’s leave dis place and talk… Neva know, maybe Virrot’ be returnin’ to it.”
The two figures weave their way back down the sanguine trail. Their voices are a hushed whisper, drowned out by the howling gales of the Blasted Lands. The black beasts beneath them halt at times, words are exchanged more excitedly a moment, and then the slow journey home to Stonard resumes its course.
Both wolves halt at the border to the Swamp of Sorrows. The two healers exchange glances and salutes. Murmuring their salutations. Talukah continues into the murky swampland. Mido remains on her wolf, watching her departure patiently.