Within Lukenzal and its many cultures, there is a common tradition where they celebrate a grand feast. Be it at the start or end of winter, the start of a harvest, or every once in a year for the sake of celebration. Many of these are benign, involving peaceful acts of revelry, competition or some manner of romantic event for the young peasantry.

But the Irdel has something radically different. They have what they called the Great Blot of Irdel, a clearly pagan ritual which occurs once every two years. It is by tradition to them, that it starts during or after the sixth month of the year. In it, a grand preparation is done to prepare a feast within the great halls of the Irdel, where statues of their old gods are cleaned and prepared.

Which is followed by the gathering of select sacrificial animals, chosen by an individual referred to as Herdsman, commonly assisted by local members of their tribe’s priesthood. For these animals, numbering any amount depending on the tribe, would be ritualistically eviscerated. First from the neck, then the belly and finally the back. As a means to spread blood and organs to large cauldrons, prepared beforehand by the the priesthood.

Once done the tribe gathers around a large tree, which is often where they place the statues of their gods. Here the cauldrons are brought forth to have its contents applied to the tree and statues, whilst some blood is sprinkled to the gathered tribe members. Resulting in a rather bloody affair. The remnants of the sacrificial animals are cooked, as the final step of the Great Blot begins.

Here the Irdel choose from four to an upwards of twenty individuals, either slaves or prisoners from their common raiding, which are then sacrificed to their gods. The manner in which these individuals are sacrificed is usually through hanging, with their bodies allowed to hang by the large trees common to their settlements, where a murder of crows is waiting to feast upon their remains.

Then a grand feast can begin, with many Irdel celebrating with great joy within their large halls and longhouses.

This Great Blot of theirs is said to be done for the sole reason of gaining favor from their gods, a contrast to the more benign and loving gods of the greater races, as Irdel believe that their gods can only be appeased truly by the sacrifice of flesh, and celebration in that order.

Rarely however, during or after a war, captured enemies are treated to a far more barbaric variation of the Great Blot. Here the Irdel commit cannibalism, as instead of animals being ritualistically eviscerated, it is humans or other intelligent beings. With many set ablaze and torn up to several pieces. This version of the Great Blot, is referred to as ‘Irdel’s Harvest’, presumably referring to a god which their name came from.

It was a practice that truly reeked of barbarism, a proof some would use to declare the Irdel to be monsters, their pagan faith being daemonic and be deemed necessary for extermination. The Irdel couldn’t have had cared less, and several now knew why. For their gods were real, and their gods demanded blood.

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The wailing had not stopped ever since it began an hour ago, the wailing that woke him from an endless and dreamless sleep. It was a sorrowful and angry wail, their meaning spoken to him through mouths that will never speak again. For the ones that held them were dead, hanging or impaled to the once holy site that he knew to have had been home.

Once he recalled, that there was a home here, its details lost to his newly awakened mind, but he felt warm for a moment. Whatever that memory of a home was, it was filled with humanoid figures that set him at ease, but the memory faded. Replaced by the endless wailing of the dead, reminding him of his current task.

A task which the wailing of the dead demanded. He did not understand how, or why, but the meaning of their wail was clear to him. They demanded vengeance, salvation and above all, a means to damn the souls of those that desecrated the Irdelmor. Which was what drove him in his mad frenzy, when he woke and was filled by the rage of a dead people.

His people.

It made him frown as memories not his own bubbled up in his mind briefly, fading quickly as it appeared, leaving only some understanding of what it was. But he knew what happened, these people had attacked the last of the Irdel. The last people that worshipped his kin. Which drew his mind to memories that he owned, or so he believed.

He knew himself to be Irdel, a son of harvest, what that meant was lost to him. But he understood that the people of Irdel venerated him, or at least Irdelmor. For in the tongue that he knew, Irdelmor translated directly to ‘Irdel’s Grave’, which was his. Alas that didn’t matter too much, as his own past eluded him. What mattered was the demands of the wailing and restless souls of the dead Irdel.

So he moved, his face now serene and calm, beautiful once more. Unlike the mad and monstrous scowl that overtook him, he looked much more ethereal now. Walking with a grace and poised that seemed natural, gentle, loving, even his own face expressed such a thing. It was even perverse in a way, for he was still naked.

But what ethereal quality he could have had emanated, was made null by how bloody he was. His own hands gripping one individual each, both humans having had their limbs broken or hacked of. They could only managed sobs or whimpers, and that did not concern him. For there were dozens more, and maybe hundreds if some survived his mad attacks, buried beneath the bodies he had tossed aside. If, he reminded himself.

He hauled the two individuals to the center of the Irdelmor, where the pillars had formed a circle around what was a sort of large rectangular stone. It was a sacrificial altar, that he recognized based off of the carvings upon it. It was written in old Irdel, the words were prayers and various demands to both his kin and the Irdel.

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One of the humans he carried recognized it, and squirmed, starting to yell in terror and sobbing loudly now. This irritated him, for the human was dressed in metal armor he didn’t recognized, surely such an individual was a warrior with no fear? Why else would he have the honor of bearing such a grand thing? His displeasure only intensified when the man looked to him, speaking in a tongue he didn’t know, but clearly begging for his life.

This was supposed to be a warrior, not a coward. For such an action, the man was the first to be sacrificed. Forcefully placed on top of the altar, then followed by his armor torn apart, and his body mutilated. First it was his remaining limbs, then his chest, and finally the head. He screamed as Irdel did this, dying pitifully and cowardly as he did so in life.

But a sacrifice was a sacrifice, and for a moment Irdel heard the wailing die down. Only for a moment. So he continued, bringing another man to the altar and doing the same thing he did. It was a bloody and messy affair, made worse by the lack of proper tools on hand. So he resorted to the ax of the Irdel people, which did the job well, though with less finesse. But it was good enough, for he continued on. Steadily killing off the remaining survivors, and causing the wailing to subside just a bit more.

This went on for what seemed to be another hour, with the harvested parts and organs neatly stacked upon a large cauldron, one that was once full of food used by the Irdel. This act stopped when he went to acquire more individuals, this time it was a female. Young and fairly beautiful, clearly different from the Irdel, for she bore red hair, darker skin and gentle green eyes.

For a few seconds the girl looked to him with what was hope, and then turning to fear and revulsion as she viewed his gore caked form. Then the wailing came in his ears, and he grabbed her, his gaze looking all around Irdelmor as he dragged her, kicking and screaming while most likely cursing in whatever tongue she spoke.

Unlike the others, she would not be dismembered upon the altar, instead she gained the dubious honor of having herself hanged. When she realized this, she shed tears as she broke down to pitiful sobbing, just when Irdel was looking for a rope to hang her alongside the others on the ancient tree. It annoyed him just like the first man, they were weak and pitiful, seemingly having not expected this when they desecrated Irdelmor.

A warrior was one that had long forfeited his life, those that go to battle go knowingly that it may be their last. So it was so that his kin and people smiled in battle, or at least did not weep and wail when blades took them. These people were different, and it made him all the more willing to hang her. But it was proving hard to find a long rope, forcing him to instead attempt to find ones within the packs of the cowardly people.

Though as he did so, the world suddenly turned black. Pain coursed through his body for a moment before the blackness gave way to light, and he found himself standing once more as he had fallen for a few seconds. He turned around and saw the girl, being pulled away by a man, saying soothing things to her as he held a strange glowing sword.

It was akin to the tales that he heard as a child, a warrior saving a maiden in distress, saving her from some monster or abusive family. But he was neither, for he was the vengeance of the Irdel, and they were the ones that were the monsters. He thought this as he charged at them, hands gripping ax’s he took from the ground, with his beautiful face once more shattering back to that ghoulish and monstrous visage.

The heroic man stood his ground, motioning for the girl to run which she did. He yelled something as his face became defiant, but it did not matter to Irdel. None of these cowards and cretins mattered. They were weak, and it showed as he clashed against the man’s blade.

As the blade, magical as it was, could not defend quickly enough against the barrage of strikes directed to the man. Irdel held the advantage, and he used it well to overwhelm him, where the practiced and well enhanced form of the man could not seem to keep up. With desperate parries, feints and blocking doing him no good, as more and more Irdel hacked at the man’s armor.

The ax’s initially did not bite deep, but it dented and soon shattered the armor as he put more force in it. He was beyond human, and this man was simply one. It could not be called a proper challenge as the man soon had himself cut down, one ax digging deep into his waist, and the other on his neck. It killed him instantly, and Irdel was left with the purpose of chasing after the girl.

But he did not feel like it, so he continued with the others. This time thankfully without anyone to disturb him, and actually finding ropes to hang the prisoners. Which he did, managing to hang them along the tree, there they began to wail too, but in their wailing the previous corpses slowly stopped their screams. Which drew a happy smile from him.

All that was left was the feast, and he walked to the cauldron where he took it and began a tedious process of cooking human flesh and organ. But he managed, and soon began to bloodily eat everything in a ravenous hunger. Yet as he did this, a deep sense of misery came within him, making him gaze all around to the sight of the Irdelmor. His grave. No, the grave of the people that worshipped his kin and him.

A twisted grave with pillars and a tree on fire, yet never affected by the flames, with the corpses upon them bearing the same quality. Truly it was twisted, a place that did not deserve to become like this. Which soon caused his misery to turn into anger, for something deep within his mind egged him on to take revenge, and it made him agree. Even when most of his memories were not there, he understood that vengeance needed to be taken, and Irdelmor was justification enough.

However his zeal and choice in deciding to take an extreme action, did not stop the misery. For a reason he could not truly understand, one unrelated to the desecration of Irdelmor, he could not help but begin to cry. As his misery was accompanied by a distinct feeling of loneliness and self-loathing.