Chapter Eleven, In the Hall of the Gods

Holy Ty-Drasil, later that evening

The Drakoni caravan lined up at the threshold of the Great Hall. Even those among them who’d made prior pilgrimage to Ty-Drasil mustered their awe to enter the revered realm. The ornate and indomitable doors caved open by several sentinels who pointed the excitable flocks to their places. Entering before the tribal congregations, Drakkon rested palm on Azarra’s shoulder. He ignored the begrudged murmurs from throngs behind and gave his mother lasting look. Their bonded hearts infused dual courage.

Resounding vespers travelled the walls’ grand acoustics, bouncing a litany for this fateful exchange. Azarra could not pinpoint the words of the monks’ protocol over pounding rhythm of a war drum overtaking her breath. Thundering ritual of drums gave proportion to her heartbeat. Beating patterns arranged themselves besides chimes & strange whistles preluding the bustle inside and driving gust through the gathering. Oracles sowed song over the layers, adding warbling hymn. Rich tones carried sanguine vibrancy; their trill awoke primal trance in the veins of the vast chamber.

Lavish columns held the ceiling and contained the choir. The roof of the dome, decked with engravings betwixt the stones and glassy material supped on its reflective pools. Gorgeous tapestries of masterful artistry curtained the walls, bearing depictions of illustrious figures of myth. Braziers blazed beside each of the spiraling pillars. Offering aroma of incense and sacrificial sweat. Totems sculpted for each of the gods held their places high over the furthermost floor, by a careful indenture that held them up above so to let their gods gaze from their etched eyes. Opulently crafted chairs were arranged along the walls for seating these most prestigious members of each caste. The shamans, sages & oracles joining in Summit with tribal speakers (so fluxed in factions that there fashions clashed) while servants and less considerable folks stood packed into corners and along the rim.

Azarra then recognized the melody’s meaning. It was an invocation to the gods for protection and a prayer to allow the truth to be beholden. A warning and a promise to keep things pacified and a call to reveal any mischief and malefic intent.

An acknowledgement of Saathar’s outer dominion and a spell to seal it outside the doors. This reverie eclipsed the aim and power of any normal prayer. As it went on to circumscribe all, Azarra & her sparse allies stepped to concaving circle in the center court that dipped slightly below. Directed wordlessly to where warming emerald coals were alit. There was no seating here, as unspoken directive that Drakkon must stand to address the circle once the song threads its tail to completion.

While the spiritual trance the oracles tailored wound around the columns Azarra suddenly joined in. Her harmony entered the chorus respectfully. Quietly at first, but as she sang along to the tune, native to her soul’s language, her voice sprouted wings. Anxiety deafened by the mindless hum, she felt free to take the lead, grasp the reins of her former sisters’ song. Her charming timbre belts final phrase of the liturgy. Despite the pretense, no longer ordained oracle herself, they allowed her solo. For tonight they would sing with and for her, who sang to and for them. They would hear her renewal.

Pouring out sacred serenade she glides to the bounds of the circle. Presents then the hidden gift, carefully holding the jagged crown of Bellieus in her grip, in offering. One of the bones jutting out from the crown’s circumference pricks her finger by unwitting force. But, perhaps unaware of the pain or propelled by its purpose, she holds fast to notion that the relic enhanced her luck. The last lines of cantillation vibrate through to all and then in its lull, Azarra, in show of reverence, bows her head and drops to her knees. Lifting the horned crest up to the Elder who sat his encircled throne. A funny contentedness comes to her through the joining & rest of the carol, having sang her hope through thawing song.

The oracles’ incantation faded to evanescent echoes, allowing the purr of the audience to return. Gaahl lifted himself by the arms of his chair and shuffled close. His wilted paws beheld the artifact. His lone eyeball skimmed crowd’s clusters. “You serve this House and the glory of the gods returning this sacred crown to its rightful place, good Lady ov Sight. Acquiring it from the depths of perdition where it for far too long festered in fiend’s ownership is a feat of excellence & honor. Hark how it arrives home. Bellieus, Lord ov Forests, and his children are surely elated to have this exalted helm of godly make no longer in the bloodied claws of a rabid bear.”

One of the jarls, Vikkar of the Varani peoples, stood for exuberant proclamation. “Aye, tis so! It must be said that many of us wary chieftains expected you, Drakkon, to ride here bearing the horned crown atop your head as a trophy. Would’ve been a warning that Kassan’s warlike parasite of vanity transferred to new host. Yet merit & modesty are in you. I attest that my people hold to your cause.” He spoke openly, unafraid of the slings of dissenting opinion. Then the man sat back down on his chair, thumbing his long silver braid.

Surrellius shot up with vigor to shout refutation. “I see no reason why we should shower praise beyond its recovery. While we all agree that its possession by Kassan was woeful indeed, its return to us is no heroic deed but payment of a debt. For, see ye, it was always ours and never theirs. Just because they did not steal our relic for their designs does not grant godhead to the lad. These unruly vagabonds may prove thieves of a different sort altogether. Coming here to steal away the traditions of our people and rip out the sovereign power of the tribes from under our nose. I advise you all to employ healthy skepticism and not give over to foolish whims.”

When the sage’s downplaying wrapped up a dozen or so heads nodded agreement with his rhetoric. They looked down upon Drakkon and his fellows with redoubled suspicion. But the young Lord stood firm, unsoaked against downpour of scrutiny. “The crown of the Forest God formerly rested on the head of spiteful madman. Kassan’s ownership, in terms of this physical plane, was granted willingly by many of ye who sit council now. Yet you refuse to weigh your shame on the scales. I do not seek to challenge that wisdom, nor condemn mistakes. But it does seem the Temple permitted a tyrant to reap the lands of these goodly tribes. Your insinuation against my motive is empty. Perhaps the onus of debt should settle on your brow, sage.”

He pressed his point against gawking & scowls. “Good chieftains & emissaries of this great land: Kassan’s death is but the first step, and an immense one at that, at cleansing this land of starker shadows. Why should I then submit to this sickness I fight & curse you with another bout? Why, when I hath come to free thee?!” Drakkon’s regal affect proved as mesmerizing as oracle vespers. “I come not with legions of war but bearing tablet of reform. One writ of loving unity for all the tribes. I aim ascent of our collective strength against the true threat: Vizzari. For too long that State spawned of sacrilege & bent on slavery for us flourished. Why suffer this?”

“Why present a feast of ourselves? Let chunks of tribal lands be eaten up whole by dread Vizzarion? Slobbering as it slithers from beyond the Ruun to wrap around us. Its fangs injecting venom into the spirits of our kin, poisoning our wells, and swallowing up our very right to live – to toil, tend & die - in our ancestral homelands! Yet ye appear so complacent to allow the Vizzar to dissect our borders and harass our innocent. Can you not see how monstrously those villains profit from our division, our convoluted jabbering?”

The few acolytes serving as scribes were distraught by the pressures of jotting every word of this proceeding, with pace so volatile. “I am of Living Light! Born of mortal womb, I stand before you incarnated as Man to redeem through the knowing of humanity. I hath come to watch the world, poisoned by Serpent, wane! To conflagrate putrid mass & immolate the holes of all snakes! To cast their coil into the abyss ne’er to reform! From this fire births consecrated ground for us to live in unbounded light! To lead on to untainted Aeon that I bridge us to!”

Saccharine hush fermented in the hall, many unsure how to respond to the weight of his words. Surrellius stuck through the sickening silence next. “By declaring your flesh holy, you mock the highest god! You speak of reform & redemption while prancing into hallowed space to spit such irreverence! Thou look a Jotun, thyself! Many a madman thinks himself above humanity, but even they are too humble to claim the empyrean crest as their own!”

His brothers scoffed with their Primus. “You shout before the heavens’ dome, child. Come before a council that hath guided respective tribes for longer than you have known awareness and bid them grovel? Such unbridled arrogance is in you! How twisted to invoke principle of peace and protection, only should we grant scepter to you. You barge into sanctified Ty-Drasil and expect it bow to an upstart pup, some rabid wolf hungering for glory after tasting the throat of the Bear?! Nay, never! I believe that should this council refute your recognition you would sooner turn heel and return with pikes and pitch against us...”

The ringleader’s stare encompassed Corinna. “For one who presents as a champion of the Old Ways how odd it is that you travel alongside an apostate. Do you not know that the punishment for apostasy is the taking of those eyes which forsook Sight, if not simply death? Indeed, your camp harbors ill broods, Drakkon.”

Another of the esteemed heads, Asmodai, arose with the voice of his people, the Estoni. “Aye! This ‘living lord’ delivers a witch to this doorstep of the gods! She is an insult to sage and summit; derides my people who observe the law by ancient tome. Apostasy is an intolerable transgression of all decency.” The chieftain continued his case. “She hath been marked by the gods only to reject this divine calling! Fleeing into the woods and corrupting the nature of her gift. Mayhap for black discourse with wicked nether sprites. I must go so far in supporting what sage Surrellius sayeth by speaking plainly to you, lad: yer martial feat warrants no right to lead us. Using fear of Vizzari to ascend to chieftain, augmented by ludicrous claim of divinity, is an unsavory strategy. Would you not trample through the houses of the holy in hubris?”

Drakkon met the chief’s leery watch with unblinking resolve. He lifted his chest and resonance to stand taller than his accuser. “Corinna is here by my decree. A decree, I see, that evades comprehension. She’s here not because I sought to offend your sentiments but because she brings breathing testimony to you all. I rescued her from the horror of the Serpents. She knows I speak of them not to strike you with forced fright but to say that they are already here! Hear her! For her strife reveals how those structures you worship are hollowed already, the walls of tradition turned to a prison with its poisoners the wardens. Her vision and virtue remain! I pray you consider her tale. Prove that Estonian souls are not as stony as your cities!”

Corinna itched under overbearing nervousness. The whole of the council bore into her. She considered her words but before speaking Surrellius loudly declared his whim before hers. “We are in Temple! Thusly this wild witch should be imprisoned until we decide what shall be her-”

“Let her speak!” Gaahl’s authority silenced the sage mid-decree. He cracked stave against stone and covered the spectating murmurs with order of quiet. Yet in his exhaustive condition this declaration caused his knee to stagger, and tortuous coughing fit fill the brief lull.

A biddy of a shaman vaulted over to the Elder, playing as his maid. Hands quavering, she carefully took his shiver & the gift. “Ah, Ligeia.” A whisper thanks her as the crown crosses from his hands to its new protector’s. Protrusive antlers strike the dome’s streaming light, angling glint of Saathar. Hovering over the glass, through that sacred ceiling, the planet throws down mocking beam. As Gaahl’s helper delivers the gift to stone altar an evil glow covets it.

Drakkon gave an encouraging wave over to Corinna, the entirety of the assembly waiting with potent concentration for her speech. Through her pained eyes, her hoarse throat & trembling courage she would tell her suffrage, granted by sufferance. “Leaving the Sisterhood of Sight was not a choice made from small desire to see the world or to dwell among the more mundane. I didn’t flee to any backwater to have meagre advantage over them with magick or education. I left, partly, because of disturbing visions of harm had I stayed... I came to know that prescience and still more danger within my ‘home’ here.”

“True Sight showed me nightmarish things. Haunted me with premonitions of possibility. Ceaselessly I saw a pale scorpion with trident-forked beard,” a couple pairs of eyes grazed the Primus & his peculiar facial hair, “emerge as shape of lechery. I slept little for fear of vampyr leeching my flower. In dream too lucid that first shade let in a second. That of the – justly felled - Ferali Bear with appetite for ripe flesh. I knew these figures and their wants real and closing in. So, I fled alone, having told no one my reason. Which I regret, given how different shade followed me, painting my departure as foolish...”

“Foolish maid.” Asmodai marked under heavy breath. “She should have shaken these dark dreams from her hair, dampen them with morning dew. As we all have done to persist in life’s shade. Not only oracles dream. And few dreams are solely pleasant. Yet we do not all bury the day for fear of sleep’s specters.”

A couple of groans, whispers, and wheezes from her audience broke pace of Corinna’s breath, which, regaining it then swept about the dais. “-but worse shadow caught me, more ruinous torrent awaited outside runed hearth. I realize it is only rational for you to be suspicious of me but please allow me to illustrate the horrors I hath seen away from these halls.”

Gaahl gave nod of permission. Chaining others to his motion, many delegates emulated his eager ear. Surrellius and those allied with his argument remained stiff during this motion, aghast but watching without ability to oppose course.

Corinna mouthed thanks and continued. “I joined in with a humble coven of hedge-witches raised on the craft. Learned new varieties of Sights and Soundings of the Divine from blessed women. We made a life for ourselves between hidden groves and visits to outposts and village skirts. We made no attempt to rival Ty-Drasil’s grace but those locals who trusted us came for small works, healing, herbs & readings. The Vizzar pursued us across countryside and cornered us at Stormgaard. While some of you may cruelly celebrate these witch-hunts, I should inform you that they did not set their sights on our coven alone. The snake-men interrogated the heath folk about their traditions, raked their souls. Those who braved public worship of their patron deities, old and true gods who ye know, were strangled and gutted. These sadists prance freely through the realm under pretense that should any harm come to them all the Magistrate’s might would flood our lands, bringing destruction onto us beyond inquisition. They burn farmsteads, crucify those who will not reject their groves, bidding monuments to ancestral worship be torn! All under the watchful gaze of some of ye great chiefs!”

“Insolence! Surely these claims cannot remain unchecked by your wisdom, Elder?!” Surrellieus punctuated, breaking her flow. His white face punctured by veins, pumping rage-tainted blood to push up his temple. “This heretical heathen was exiled to protect her oracular sisters from her deviance. Hers is a terrible curse! A Sight not strictly from the gods but hoisted by infernal specters. Her flesh and the substance beneath, animated by evil. This lying wraith pushes perdition’s air out her mouth still! Good people, let not this slander stain our congress!”

Just as couple of his obedient entourage were about to shout their support for his impedance Ligeia shut them down with authoritative delivery directed at their barking hound master. “If you continue to denounce Corinna before she presents her case, then perhaps another hearing is needed to shine aspect on your behavior. Muzzle that temper. Let the truth present itself before our combined wisdom. Lest your protest belies some heinous secret?”

That pompous halo about the Primus Sagus evaporated. Cowering with tail between legs and tongue snagged on tooth. He could but whine and mutter to himself while the woods-witch spelled out her disastrous tale.

Corinna took another breath to avoid being snatched up by undertow of emotions; of memories rushing through her mind and pouring from her tongue. “The Vizzar tied us to posts to burn us alive... Drakkon, by good grace of miracle, arrived to smite them. With voice alone he saved me from the serpent’s fangs. He was the only one, among the thousands who play witness to their acts of terror, brave enough to stand against their malice!”

She pointed towards her friend of fleet childhood, grown into a man and soon to morph to Living Lord. “He put himself on the line to defy these agents of oppression. Were it not for him, not only would I have perished, but all there would still be living in hushed abjection! The Vizzar will no longer see us as lowly dogs to be kicked around and trod on. Nor as cattle that can be fenced in and subsequently slaughtered. But this act of defiance is one they threaten to move against us for, against any & all of us!”

“Whether you find it agreeable or not, tis only a matter of time before Vizzari marches out to reap more of our lands. Drakkon has not only proven himself a capable leader but likewise shown himself to be pure in spirit!” Torrents of perspiration leaked from her brow to the floor, her color becoming flushed. “Through the Vision granted to me as a blessing of the gods and by the whispering intuits of the spirits that confer with me in my workings, I know that our only hope to fend off Vizzari is to put aside our trivial squabbling and unite under the Drakon- i...Unite-under the-Drak-oni...Uni-te und-er-the-”

Corinna’s speech splintered in repetitive stammer. Her words an incoherent swirling of the same phrase over and over, as though possessed and seized from coherent sound. Eyes spun back in their sockets showing only glaze of eyelids wheeling. She frothed and sunk into stormy seizure. Before the stunned assembly she collapsed backwards. Drakkon caught her, though the force of her dead weight hammered hard even his vigor. Gently he lowered her rattling frame to the floor, unsure of what could be done to save her as her writhing persisted.

The stocky chief Asmodai jabbed at the ailing woman, screaming out to the hesitant court: “Beware!! The witch casts magicks to bind our minds to treacherous design! This is the work of whatever Fallen fiends she writes pacts with! Gird yerselves against what darkened spells this sacrilege evokes! Something must be done here!”

Surrellius immediately spotted opportunity and followed the fervent holler with voracious demand. “Sentinels! Gaol this witch in a holding cell! Her lingering presence pollutes these proceedings and can no longer be permitted by our court!”

Detestation, distrust & disorienting vertigo descended on the dais. A feast for feuds & flammable frictions to feed of discord’s festival.

Yet Vikkar of Varani heralded ardent defense for the ‘pup’. “Apostate though she is, that woman spoke truth. Our scouts spot increased presence of Vizzari ships intruding on our side of the Ruun. Any capable eyes close to the coast know of the ever-growing crop of foreign exponents and witch-finders treating our borders with laughing disdain. The young lass fleeing is only too human. Surely, we can present sympathy for her. How many of us had to abandon our plans, make sacrifices to keep the Bear and the Serpent from taking everything from us?”

“The Vizzari threat is not something that can be put aside as a frivolous matter to be handled lightly when they encroach on our freedom. Yet see how both those of Farrow and Ferali are pledged to the Drakoni after being so long rivals. Humoring his plan is a must. Truly, should we find a way of proving him to be the living god he claims to be I will proudly swear my sword to his service.”

There came no acclamation of assent, nor hateful rebuke to follow. Only that worrisome hush of twisting tongues. Until Elisara, priestess & Elder, stepped to vouch from different angle. “We ov Farrow, Astralis et Sylvani lines were joined in field of miracle. True thaumaturgy soared over & through us, so we sail under its flag. I do not speak merely of his humbling of the Ferali but of the unspeakable act which I saw with my own eyes: his raising this young girl from the dead!”

Elisara presented the pining portrait of young Dahlia before their array. “She dropped lifeless upon the ground of the market green midday. No heartbeat at all. None of my prayers nor efforts of any physic availed her wan rest. Till Drakkon arrived and with the utterance of his will, the laying of his hands he rescued her from the jaws of death! That confirmed in my heart that he is indeed the Living Lord in the flesh! Our guiding starlight in human form to lead us onto godly path!”

“Let the girl, this revenant, speak piece!” Railed a faceless throat from the throngs around.

“A darkness took hold of me oh so recently,” Dahlia chirped, her voice that of a whippoorwill, “a cold curtain came over mine eyes. The Hels’ harbinger rose from the depths to drag me into oblivion. In that emptiness, a slithering vision of a draconian serpent, something which lurked betwixt & beyond the space dividing dreams & un-waking Night appeared in such vile form. I felt it’s fangs tear into my soul and my being wilt, becoming then as scorched timber. All hope fled from me leaving only the mercy of that sickening venom.”

The congress turned, transfixed by the girl’s testimony. Her countenance darkened into despondency as she recalled her vision with cosmic horror. The evil of that Dread Serpent of which Dahlia spoke made the chamber air uncannily heavy, as if the mere mention of unholy apparition could conjure it within the sanctum. Suddenly her cheeks were lined with tears of relief. She beamed at her lord with reverence. “But then Dawn broke Nightmare’s web. I felt the warm salve of Divinity wash over as awesome wave. His Living Light sent that daemonic snake writhing back into the abyss. I awoke to life and set upon an aura shining like a thousand suns. In that moment my heart bowed before his solar glory, and I knew Truth to deliver me from Void.”

Surrellius spat vitriol to repress all this inflated talk of miracles. “We reserve judgement as to the veracity of such magick. Peasants and superstitious pilgrims are abuzz with the madness of this impossible talk. Yet I will tolerate none of it! A zealous follower is no credible witness! I must chalk it up to cunning deception. Playing off the desires of the people and their eagerness to believe anything that gives color to their drab lives. How often they of heaths will even raise animals upon pedestal, when they feel a goat helps summon rain and plenty. ‘Tis no proof of supposed divinity.”

There came an audible chafing against sone & creaking wood as many of those seated trundled about. Pockets of conversation burst the circle. People privately shared discussion, sages stroked their beards and delegates dangled talismans in their palms. Ligeia approached Gaahl and whispered some secret phrase to which he nodded. The Elder’s eye burst with inspired understanding; his angular brow arced, folding tempest’s force at his forehead. He looked to his peer with respect, and she offered her hand to prop him back up proudly before the crowd.

“Twenty years ago, when the majesty of the night sky outlined the grand constellation of Astralis-Drakonis, Azarra came to me. Then just a young oracle the likes of which I had ne’er seen before. She confessed to have conceived a child of the God himself. With the One whose star-seed impregnated her when His sign aligned at the pinnacle of the firmament. Her womb’s course, ordained as channel for the stars to enter this pained plane and flesh of ours. I conferred with the other shamans, and we concurred the child’s immaculate conception; for no marks of gods’ disavowal appeared on her. That this cosmic coming was a shift in our cycle’s shape to bring us to the threshold of the Eddas’ prophecy. To be realized of our time.”

“We provided short aid to her and her son. Although support had to be retracted to avoid any suspicion from the Ferali, when the day was yet theirs, who were more than willing to cut a mother and her babe if it secured Kassan’s reign. Our sanctum they were given was razed by his minions and both were presumed crushed by rubble or slain by the fiends...” Ligeia translated her master’s mind for the tribunal. “Shamefully our caste accepted this abuse and abandoned them to false death. Yet mother and son not only endured but rose to rally the winds of the fates, favoring their cause like no other.

This alone should be astonishing to us but more so even: I tell you know that I do believe that this man here, Drakkon, is truly the incarnation of his godly namesake! Occult power shrouds him, the sort I hath only ever touched before in sleepless communion. Only before when meditating on imprints of the pantheon pouring from empyrean heights and swimming through sublime depths.”

The council jolted in awe, outrage, excitement & agitation all at once. They were flabbergasted that Gaahl, through his second’s speech, gave affirmation. That he lent his support so brazenly. Opponents of the rising cult who had been so assured of an easy victory suddenly doubled back and reconsidered their reason. But Surrellius, on course of his own which refused to falter, flung stinging arrows aimed at Azarra.

“How can we be certain that this child’s birth was ordained above? That the Stellar sign was that road to his coming and giver of seed unknown, grants him the godhead? Why?!” Surrellieus decried. Gaahl’s verbal vessel could not challenge the sage now that he’d again ensnared Summit with doubts. Doubts which needed speech lest they fester stronger in silent animosity. “It is more probable that his father is of a more... mundane caste altogether. That she cleverly masked the nature of his origin to avoid execution for lascivious acts forbidden to oracles. We sages understand the reasoning of this ageless decree. For if an oracle engages in acts of the flesh, she closes her sight to the realms beyond. Her spirit is thus trapped in the confines she gave away, and the gift of the gods’ touch wilts her.”

“Doth this not seem a more reasonable conclusion than asserting supernatural birth? We sages master memory as our sisters do the Sight. And I do recall that not long before Azarra raised this child away in distant sanctum that a certain tome had been listed as stolen or perhaps ‘misplaced’. This tome contained scriptures dedicated to carnal knowledge and tantric arts not suited for reading by any oracle. Yet it seems that Azarra may’ve been the one to take it. For what purposes she did so I can only imagine.”

Azarra tried to be taller than the sage’s denouncing review. That the others sneered as though lurching forward in anticipation for signal to bombard her with stones or drench her in pitch would not deter her. She did not allow her worry to seep through her expression, kept tight and aloof as she searched her thoughts for any ovals of memory that could serve as ammunition to knock him off his bloody pedestal.

Then a boon rained from heaven to her: a voice that sang aloud like a seraphic nightingale responded. That of Gaahl’s consort. “It is well known that you, Surrellius, possess many tomes dedicated to black arts so foul that the pages should ne’er see the light of day, lest they taint the sun’s rays. Grimoires filled with unholy rituals and unsavory lexicons not suited for the studies of kind minds. Even your peers shy away from such reading that you willingly archive. Doth this not suggest you as a practitioner of such profane practice? Should we investigate your potential necromancy or involvement other perverse rituals, Primus?”

Surrellius was utterly dumbfounded by Ligeia’s reversal. After some stuttering, his blundering reply arrived. “I-I would say, oh shaman, that the acquisition of precarious or taboo knowledge does not necessarily imply its application and execution. Nay! M-merely the... curiosity to understand the tools of the darker side as to, uh, combat their wielders, yes.”

“Ha! ‘Nay’, you say!” Her harping rebuke melded seamlessly with soothsayer’s speech. “Well then it is only fair that we apply the same benefit of doubt to her. To fancy such matters does not equate indulgence in their practice. Perhaps, if she touched this tome at all, it was taken to protect her brothers, the sages, from the temptations she combatted?” Coy smirk spread across her face as she brought down that overbearing pride. Her rebuttal summoned snickers & subtle applause.

Surrellius sunk in sullen defeat. Azarra gave a sigh of relief amongst the commotion while the embarrassed sage tugged on his braided trident-beard as though it could grow longer from it and bring him dignity. The shaman woman concluded consonant address. “Let us cease all fruitless bickering and decide some manner by which we can ascertain the truth of Drakkon’s assertion. A test or trial that would suit only a godly being to surpass.”

The Elder Shaman spoke up after his ally. His throat funneled the last storm from far inside him, defying his age to voice enrapturement of the council’s consensus. “As Drakkon’s claim is supplanted in a spiritual nature, wisdom denotes that this trial ought to be one to measure the purity and scope of his spirit. Let us present him with the Shaman’s Walk! Malahausca,” he referenced that naturally ground hallucinogen which shamans ingest as to allow the spirits through their vessels, “is sacred but we can extract and prepare its purpose for this path. If this is decided so, let us attend to it. That this confusion be settled expediently!”

Drakkon mulled that psychotropic substance, malahausca, remembering it from his alchemical tutelage. From what his mother explained, it was an entheogenic blend that in its full capacity taps into that essentia materia and attaches spirits dwelling in the elements to whoever partakes. Allows visions and communion while still walking with the physical world. The mixture was also referred to as ‘void-walker syrup’. Concocting it for consumption involved extracting the sap of the Andrasil trees along with the ground leaves of various plants, such as the Lambasa leaf (saturated & blended with Malderathi mold and fermented Wyrmroot). All of which are poured into cauldron and heated with untainted spring water. Then melted into gooey paste. A syrup whose fumes are of astral breath. The psychotropic substance was rarely indulged due to its volatility, as much as sanctity. Many would (and had) perish(ed) as a result. To drink is to open shamanic gate guarding against the untrained and impure, who fall from poison or insanity.

“The initiate must walk the path of dark caverns after being presented with rightful dose. The nectar melds spirit into substance. Offers a journey into the mind and more. The realm of men will fade. The true face of the gods, or daemons from below, shall make themselves known. The syrup knows how to read the soul of the user and purify it. If one’s spirit is aligned with accordance to the gods’ whims, then their journey shall be one of reunion with their deepest selves. However, if one harbors darkness within and begins their Walk with deceit, the spirits shall show them infernal horrors unimaginable. The demons unleashed upon him will destroy wholly the falsity of self.”

Ligeia picked up where Gaahl last intoned, letting him catch his thunder again while she carried the water of his intent. “To present Drakkon with this rite, initiation into shamanic art and understanding of self, is certainly unorthodox. How’ere to bid him make this Walk shall reveal to this Summit his nature. Should it come to pass that he is making to mislead us through imitation then the spirits contained in the vessel will lead him to destruction of his eternal & corporeal form. Yet should he pass this trial... Well, that presents a revolution to the entire paradigm of our world and will be dealt with then. What say you?”

Strong concession resounded through the assembly. An overwhelming majority of the tribal leaders rattled their ceremonial scepters in show of support for this proposal. But Surrellius once more refuted the full victory of his rivals, vaulting with voice to redeem his defeat. “While the Shaman’s Walk is an excellent idea, Drakkon’s claim transcends that of any mortal man. So, the dosage he should be given must exceed what would be expected of even the most hardened of prospective shamans...” He searched for a suggestion as the room once more leaned in to hear this adjudication. “Thrice the amount appears as good reason. We will, thusly, present fair challenge. Dost, thou concur?”

Gaahl sealing his functional lid to project inner vision and lifted his staff in proclamation. “It shall be so, witness ye all! Come dawn, preparations begin. The malahausca shall be harvested and brewed. Drakkon must partake of a dosage befitting his demigod matter. Then he shall set forth in solitude into the caverns winding beneath Moribond. The Watcher will allow him to pass & seal the way once within. He must endure alone underground for three days! When time hath come the Watcher shall clear the entrance. If he succeeds, survives, and outshines the gauntlet of the mountain’s mystery I shall ordain him as truly the Living Lord’s coming. Let shadowed walk shall ripple through the fateful streams!”