Daranturn sat again crosslegged in the shamans tent. This time, the other shamans were asked to leave, instead two beings sat across from him, similarly crosslegged.
Despite his old age, Daranturn had issues with tearing his eyes from the redheaded woman across from him. Not only were the furs she was so casually wearing, doing little to protect her modesty, the woman was also gods damnned terrifiying.
If his somewhat educated guess was correct, sitting in his tent, right in front of him was one of the most violent creatures the lands had ever known. While probably hundreds of thousands of years had passed since she last claimed the skies, Aindaeth the Inferno, the burning Scourge and Queen of the dragons was a tale anyone would sooner or later come across.
Ages ago, the leader of the human gods had seen his children fighting for a place in the world. Constantly beset on all sides by the elves in the woods, the centaurs on the plains and the merfolk on the shores. The below was already claimed by the dwarves and the deep elves and the sky was off limits to all of them, for no creature dared lay claim to the domain of the dragons.
From the occasional human traveler that came by, he heard that the humans thought their god came to the mortal world and smote the dragons, shackling them to the ground forever. That was the extent of the humans general knowledge when it came to the dragons.
This was apparently a very prevalent story in the human lands. It was told to children as a bedtime story and the occasional missionary that came to the tribes, would tell a similar story.
But having been a shaman this long, Daranturn knew never to trust only a single side of a story.
On the rare occasion an Elf came through the tribe's plains, they told a different story. The humans had submitted to the dragons, while the then human god of virtue had disguised himself as a mortal. Over centuries, he together with the mortals, laid a trap throughout the entire mountainside. Then, when the trap was ready, it was sprung, shackling the Dragons to the ground, where they were slaughtered in droves. From the youngest hatchling, to those dragons old enough to be unable to fly, they were executed. The only one they could not destroy was an old crimson dragon. Aindaeth the Inferno fought, even while shackled to the ground. Her claws rent men in two, a beat of her wings formed hurricanes, and her tail smashed even the most sturdy of shields.
Aindaeth the Inferno fought for years without rest, even when shackled to the ground. But she alone was not enough to save her kin. And when the last of her kin was slaugthered, The last Crimson Dragon decided that no one would partake of her kins bodies, nor would they claim their lands. And so the ancient crimson dragon unleashed the inferno she was named after. Fire so potent, it destroyed the very mana making up the surrounding lands. It was told that for hundreds of years, the ground that made up the wastelands was made of smooth black glass, and one could find the occasional partly burnt skeleton encased inside.
This story was one Daranturn was more inclined to believe, as he had personally braved the wastes and dug the barren ground, only to arrive at a layer of smooth black glass. From that black glass he had crafted his staff, which helped him ultimately cross the second leap.
Daranturn forced himself back into the present. If the true Incarnation of Fire actually sat across from him, he had to be on his best behavior. And he had to stop himself from ogling her divinely crafted muscles. Clearing his throat, Daranturn began to speak.
“First, I would like to reiterate on the rules of hospitality. You have claimed guest rights and as your host I am responsible for the people of the tribes. Should one of my people offend you, please come to me and I will do everything in my power to right any wrongs. As an offering i can guarantee a secluded place for either of you, or a joint one should you wish.
Now that the formalities are out of the way, I would like to introduce myself. I am Daranturn, currently the oldest living member of the Tribes and the head shaman. Before you introduce yourself, if you deem it acceptable, I would ask for your permission to initiate the ritual of faces.
This is no necessity, but something that would help us better understand eachother.”
Daranturn lowered his gaze and waited a moment. When he saw his two guests nod, he sighed in relief.
“Thank you. This will take barely any time.”
Daranturn took a brief moment to find the courage in his heart, before taking a deep breath and reaching out to his mana. As a Shaman, his core was extremely large. Larger than anyone of the second leap should have. A riot of different flavors and hues of mana spilled into his body, reinforcing his muscles, making it easier to stand. He turned, deliberately showing his back to his guests, something humanoids would understand, but a signal to any predator.
Behind his usual spot, Daranturn approached a wooden box studded with steel rivets, each with a single rune on them. With the deluge of mana spilling into his body, it was no trouble lifting the heavy wooden box and bringing it back towards the spot in front of the lazy flame in the middle of the tent.
Once the box was in place, Daranturn sat back down and spoke to his guests. Where before his voice had been that of a wizened old grandfather, now it thrummed with both mana and a gravitas befitting of a ritual.
“There are runes on the fabric of the mats you are sitting on. If you would, pour your mana into them.”
When he saw a mischievous grin on the red headed woman's grin he hurriedly added,
“Please take care not to overload the Runes. This tent is more valuable than my life.”
The woman who he thought was Aindaeth pouted for a moment, before she laid her hands onto the carpeted floor, her companion following a moment later.
The mana spilling forth from both of them, slowly traced along previously unseen lines in the fabric making up the tent, slowly rising along the walls until the lines met at the center directly above the lazy flame.
Once the runes were sufficiently powered, no mana could leak from the tent, causing the concentration inside to rise. Additionally, no one could enter from outside to interrupt.
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Daranturn added a bit of his own mana, to complete the first step. He never once stopped channeling mana from his core, causing it to leak from his body.
“Lady Ain, you no longer need to keep your aura contained. The tent will keep me safe.”
A hopeful look crossed the redhead's face, before a wave of extremely dense and almost boiling fire mana washed through the tent. The concentration of fire mana rose to an incredible degree, causing Daranturn to sweat. Lady Ains face took on a relaxed expression.
The flame in the center of the tent began to suck up the excess fire mana, causing it to start flickering and cast shadows on the carpeted walls of the tent.
Beginning the next step, Daranturn opened one of the drawers on the wooden box and pulled out a brownish powder. He began to hum, to no particular tune and threw the powder into the flame. Once the powder ignited, it added to the omnipresent smoky haze of the tent. Daranturns humming became louder and deeper as he threw more and more different powders and flowers into the fire. The shadows on the tents walls grew deeper and deeper, until it looked like the space was expanding.
With every fistful of crushed herb or root, a new voice began to join Daranturn in his humming, until with the last handful, a choir of hundreds of voices joined him.
He knew what his guests likely saw, as he had been an onlooker in a previous ritual of faces.
The shadows had grown deeper than one could see. The space the tent had occupied seemed like an infinite void. The only things would be the eternal flame in front of him, and the people joining the ritual. Daranturn would look like he did normally, perhaps a bit younger. Behind him were arrayed hundreds upon hundreds of ghostly orcs. From great warriors to old and wizened shamans. Mundane old crones and the recently dead young ones, whose souls would join the wheel in time.
All of them were bound to Daranturns soul.
He opened the eyes he had closed in concentration earlier.
His guess had been correct, but the instinctive fear was being shared across the hundreds of souls bound to his, dulling the impact significantly. Instead he smiled as awe flowed from the souls, joining his own.
Across the now nomal looking flame, sat a crimson Dragon of incredible size. Now no longer constrained by a limiting bipedal form, she sat curled up like a cat would be, with her chin resting on a long and sinous tail. In this form, not even her head alone would have fit into the tent.
Daranturn was frozen in awe. The concentration of mana that the dragon emitted alone, was more than he could draw from the souls of his people.
Seeing his awestruck expression, the dragon let out a rumbling chuckle. The vibrations alone were probably enough to shatter stone.
“Interesting ritual little shaman. Treasure this memory as only a few have seen my full glory and lived to tell the tale.”
Seeing the pride in the dragon's eyes that bordered on arrogance, Daranturn could not help but smile. The stories were true.
“Thank you, great one. Once again. I am Daranturn, head shaman of the gathered tribes, and these-” he gestured to the gathering of souls behind him “- are the ones that came and went, The Ancestors”
The dragon's form seemed to unwind itself from the comfortable position she had assumed, stretching and stretching until she stood on all four legs, with her wings flexed.
“I AM AINDAETH THE INFERNO! THE OLDEST DRAGON IN EXISTENCE! THE INCINERATOR! THE BURNING SCOURGE! QUEEN OF THE DRAGONS! ELDEST DAUGHTER OF TIAMAT!” with every spoken title the volume of her voice rose ever higher, until it dropped back again, to normal levels. “And I thank you for your hospitality.”
Daranturn was awed. He was incredibly lucky. No Shaman before him had had the pleasure of hosting a dragon. No shaman before him had hosted a being of such impressive might, both magical and in the sheer size of their body.
For the first time in decades, he felt his core expand.
It had taken an incredible feat of magic on his part to cross the second leap. Back then hundreds of orcs lost their lives to a rock wyrm, and Daranturn had channeled his fallen people's souls into a single lightning bolt, that had both exhausted himself to the limit, but also felled the beast. When he finally came to, he had crossed the second leap. A greater stride in his path than hundreds if not thousands of ceremonies had granted him.
Now this single ritual and the density of mana his guest was releasing, was enough for his stagnant core to once again expand. He could not help himself. He was grinning ear to ear, like the first time all those years ago when he had first seen the shaman perform a ritual.
Finally, after looking at the dragon's majestic form, causing Aindaeth to preen under his gaze, he remembered that he had a second guest.
The moment Daranturn turned his gaze on the one called Lady Lucifer, an incredible headache bloomed behind his eyes. A jumbled mess of wings, mouths and eyes, circling a white candle flame, stared back at him.
With a grunt, Daranturn ripped his gaze down into the central flame, causing the headache to lessen. The pain behind his eyes was gone, but images kept flashing through his mind. Hundreds if not thousands of different eyes. From the slitted eyes of a cat, those of a snake, to even the horizontal eyes of goats. Those were the only ones he could properly make out. Still more images shot through his mind. Eyes that had colors he had never seen. Multiple eyes sharing a socket. Eyes inside eyes inside eyes. Thousands of wings, in only two colors. Either black as night, or white as snow, spotted with flecks of blood. And the mouths. As numerous as the eyes. Those of a snake, with fangs to match. The lazily chewing mouth of a goat. Mouths with eyes instead of teeth. Eyes with mouths in them. No matter what he did, the images stuck to his mind, refusing to let go.
While his vision went dim, he heard a musical note at the edge of his perception. It oddly sounded like a sigh.
—--------------------------------------
Lucifer sighed as the Shamans head fell forward, his body slumping, but staying upright, supported by the ethereal hands of other orcs. She turned towards Aindaeth.
“See? This always happens. At least this one did not turn into a pile of salt!”
“Salt? Why would he turn into a pile of salt?”
“Fuck if i know. Always happens when mortals look at my true form. My “Siblings” had this entire “Be not afraid!” thing going on, but that never worked for me.”
“Well, I like him when he's not a loose pile of salt. The way he looks at me is quite pleasing. Maybe he will wax my scales if I ask him nicely?”
Lucifer looked at Aindaeth. This was new. She had expected the dragon to surround herself with hunky but submissive men, or create a harem of buxom women. Or even a combination of the two.
"I don't know? You are just going to have to ask him. But wouldn't the ceremonial guards be more appealing?"
"No, he's the most powerful of the people in this little city, it's got to be him. Those guards feel totally boring."
Lucifer was having trouble understanding the appeal the old geriatric man had on the dragon, and the bond she and the willful dragon shared did nothing to clarify Aindaeths queer interest.
"So, take me through this. You'd rather have the old wrinkly man, than the dozens of attractive ceremonial guards?"
"Yes! Their forms might be appealing, but-"
—---------------
Daranturn came back to himself fairly quickly.
While keeping his eyes closed, he took a moment to breathe, assessing his mental state. The disturbing images were still there, but he could feel the burden lessening. Some of the spiritual strain had likely bled into the bond he had with the ancestors. Which would likely cause long term damage, shortening their time before they joined the wheel once again.
He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to offend his guests. While the woman called Lucifer likely had not done that on purpose, the stories told of the eccentric temperament of the immortals.
He opened his eyes carefully and first looked back to the dragon, who was back on the ground, curled up in a comfortable position. She was in an animated discussion, which he had trouble following. Something about how her scales needed an experienced hand when it came to grooming.
Carefully he turned his gaze onto the other guest, ready to close his eyes at a moments notice. While he knew of no being that caused such issues when one perceived them, he nonetheless decided to be careful. Until the ritual of faces spent it's mana, the veil of physical reality would be almost transparent, making the true forms of anyone in its perimeter visible to all.
Instead of the maddening amalgam of wings eyes and mouths, what he saw now was the form the woman had taken in the outside world. A muscular humanoid body, black hair, black eyes and an incredibly unassuming face.
Though if he strained his eyes a little, he could see the vague outline of the horrid shifting mass hidden just behind the humanoid frame. As if someone had poked a finger out from under the water, that was painted in a childish attempt at puppetry.
Noticing his gaze, the two beings snapped their head towards him. Lucifer with an exasperated expression and lady Aindaeth with what he would call a sultry smile, if he didn't know better.
"AIN! NO DO NOT-"
"Would you like to wax my scales?"
"Fucking hell."