IC Story Thread: Ch.1, Ad.3 - Black Hand

The pack animals tell Eothain their names, and as he's about to depart one asks, "Stranger! There have been some bad storms up on this peak, and they leave us with no shelter. If it storms again, would you come and untie us, so that we may find shelter?"

...

After some inquiry, Cirion learns that no specific location has been given for the demonstration of the miracles. But people will say that Bangdu Caun rarely comes down to the camp sites, and when he has spoken to everyone as a group in the past, he summons them up into the ruins of the stronghold above.

That evening, just a bit before sunset, the people of the camp begin to migrate up the stairs into the ruined fortress grounds above.

At first, before everyone has moved up into the ruin itself, there is an air of excitement and curiosity about them. As they whisper about the contents of the paper. Some expressing doubt - this cannot be real can it?, but more expressing a kind of grotesque hope - if this God-king Sorcerer's power is real... it will change the world! And they all will surely be His most favored...

But once everyone is within the walls, a feeling of uncertain fear settles in. Bangdu Caun is professing to manipulate - and violate - primal forces of the world, that mortals are not meant to mettle with. And whether they are excited or not, it would be a terrifying thing to know is even possible - much less witness.

The ruined fortress shows signs of both centuries of weathering, sitting so exposed atop a mountain, but also fire damage from long ago. Scorched and soot-blackened walls have ghostly impressions upon them where walls and timbers once stood. Stone that lost it's supports toppled into ruinous piles.

A rather make-shift, but sturdy wooden platform has been constructed in the central yard. And it is there, with this platform as the focal point, where the camp-folk are gathered.

And atop the platform stands a man in heavy, ornate robes of a Southron-cut whom you all recognize, from the description given by Lady Blackridge and her Agents in Dol Amroth, as Astalor...

The man has candles lit about him, and he chants in the black speech, moving about the platform from place to place where he periodically performs various ritualistic movements.

It's hard to tell if this is just some sort of bizarre performance, or if he's actually on about something.

But if you didn't know better, it does seem like perhaps the clouds are beginning to gather above the ruin...

Most of the people gathered are the very same people you've seen down in the camp.

There are 4 whom you haven't seen before, Astalor atop the wooden platform and three men who stand about the perimeter of the bottom of the platform, beyond which none of the people from the encampment pass. Whether by direction or just lack of will, it's not clear.

These men are dressed quite like Astalor - ornate robes of Southron cut - and they are currently standing with arms raised toward the sky, and periodically intone ceremonial words, perhaps in unison or in answer to Astalor.

Eothain finds the building empty of anything of value. It no doubt served some function long ago, but now it is just burnt rubble and ruin inside. The building would certainly provide a serviceable place to get out of sight if you all needed to though.

But as he exits, and looks back upon it a final time he notices something kind of odd at one corner on top of the structure... a skull with three long bones - perhaps femurs and humerus - forming a three sided pyramid over it.

Meanwhile, the ritual Astalor is performing increases in intensity. He begins intoning a dischordant kind of song. With long droning chants in a deep baritone voice.

And you're certain now that clouds are gathering and darkening rather unnaturally overhead. You even hear a distant rumble, seemingly threatening a storm.

The people are definitely uneasy, but they are also enwrapped by the man, most of their attention is focused on Astalor and the performance of his ritual. Whether by sorcery or not, Cirion cannot say.

Duinhir hasn't heard of such things since the legends of the First and Second Age, however there was a faction of Men called the Black Numenoreans, who's fear of death and love of power drove them to worship the Dark Lords of the Valar.

Legend has it that there were figures among them that were taught - or gifted, it's not clear - dark magicks by their dark lords.

He hasn't heard of anything like this specifically, but his knowledge of Shadow Lore does tell him that their powers were far removed from those of the Valar, and so their rituals required much preparation and artifice: symbols and song, implements, and objects of focus, as well as potentially even sacrifice...

The ritual seems to be nearing a crescendo as the discordant chanting of Astalor rises. And suddenly he thrusts his left arm up into the air, which previously has been covered by his long robe sleeves. But as he holds it aloft and it is illuminated by the candle lights around him, and a flash of lightning in the distance, you see that his hand and forearm down to his elbow is blackened and burnt, or perhaps withered and rotted.

And seemingly in response or mimicry, the 3 robed figures about the perimeter of his platform also hold their left arms aloft. They are not blackened or withered, but then they produce curved daggers, and slice open their forearms, and blood begins to spill down!

There are gasps and exclamations from the people of the encampment uttered in black speech!

The wind picks up and the dark clouds overhead rumble with thunder and illuminate with lightning from within...