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

Astalor bellows a final deep, droning chant - sustaining the discordant note for several seconds - and a cold wind rises around him and the platform, billowing his robes out like dark wings threatening to bear him aloft!

He shouts out in the Black Speech, and while you may not be able to understand all of it, you do catch the ancient evil name "...Morgoth! ..."

And then he thrusts his blackened left hand out like an open palmed punch, and there's a deafening crash of thunder, and blinding flash of light as lightning strikes a rocky outcropping to the south and west! Sending shrapnel raining out from the spot above people's heads in wild arcs...

A couple people from the encampment fall to their knees, and raise their hands aloft, "Bangdu Caun!!", they shout!

Others are just so stunned that they have little reaction at all other than just staring in wonderment.

Astalor then turns to the north and east, and again begins the deep, droning bellow, while cycling his arms, seemingly working up the energy for another strike..

Duinhir sees that the robed figure beneath Astalor, roughly in line with where the lightning struck, seems to be in pain as he grips his forearm, and the blood that was once flowing wet upon it is now sizzling dry.

As Cirion peers across the ruined courtyard, rain begins to fall lightly and lightning flashes in the clouds overhead (nothing striking the ground, this time), but it illuminates something atop the rocky outcropping across the way. Perhaps a... skull he thinks - such a ghastly silhouette is impossible to mistake. But it also has other things piled around it, rocks, or sticks, or more bones?

Eothain smashes his shield into the roof of the ruined building, and the force of the blow - and to a lesser extent, the clattering of the bones as they tumble apart, a femur falling through a crack Eothain created, the skull rolling onto it's side - makes a noise that cannot be concealed...

However... there is A LOT going on in the derelict courtyard. People's eyes are drawn to either the performance of the ritial, or the burgeoning physical confrontation between two men. And between the wind and rain and rumbling thunder, and the discordant chanting? Aother scary noise - like the apparent sound of a collapsing building - both doesn't seem that out of place, and is also really just another thing that most of the observers would prefer to pretend like it wasn't happening... or that it's ALRIGHT if it is indeed happening.

All a part of "the show"., the observers must tell themselves.

Such is the power of the Dark Lord! ... And it won't harm US! We are on IT'S side..., they must be hoping.

As the world seems to be coming apart at the seams around them.

And Astalor and his cultist priests are apparently too involved in the ritual to notice the noise, or perhaps just cannot stop...

...

From his position up on the rampart, crouched low and far away from the guttering torches near the platform, Cirion let's his arrow fly and it lodges in the skull! Shattering the cheek bone, and the force of the impact knocking it loose from the long-bone pyramid it was resting beneath.

No one else is watching over there. No one else knows there even IS anything to be watched, over there... except Astalor.

The sorcerer has his arms raised aloft, his face turned up toward the dark clouds, as he beseeches the sky for it's power... and he brings them all down with a powerful bellow, thrusting his blackened hand out like an open palmed punch toward the toppled pile of bones...

There was no time for him to see that it had been disturbed! No longer in it's proper ritual alignment....

He grabs his blackened forearm, and screams in pain, from a source that you can't see... until... You can tell that the energy he summoned has nowhere to go! Yet a lightning bolt still comes down from the clouds!!

It arcs down, striking him on his outstretched hand!

CRACKOW!!

Astalor's pained scream is cut short as he's thrown to the ground by the fury of nature...

Many of the observers scream as well, and for a moment things go eerily silent. The cultist priests do not immediately realize what's happened, as they're focused on their own roles in the ritual - the one to the east is hissing in pain, gripping his forearm as the blood flowing from his self-inflicted wound sizzles dry.

Astalor lies still for a moment but then starts to stir. The man has forgotten his scuffle with Duinhir, and the people from the encampment are chattering amongst themselves, and creeping closer to the platform, trying to figure out in their figurehead is alive.

Was that supposed to happen? Is he alright? There's blood coming from his nose and mouth!

Some even laugh nervously, Ha ha, Bangdu Caun, that was a good joke!, they hope...

It is only then the cultist priests notice, and then they look back and forth to each other, unsure of what to do. So they keep their parts of the ritual going...

Astalor groans and coughs blood and shakily, begins to try to rise...

The crowd seems like they could go either way right now.

"Was this a display of power? Did he call the lightening down upon himself, to show that he could live through it!? He has done so!"

Others are skeptical, " Why would he do that? Such power without control is dangerous! What if that had been ME! Or my children!?"

...

A woman next to Eothain stifles a chortle at his quip, and two men begin to step forward with Duinhir, "He's right! He needs help!" Two of the cult priests, tighten up their formation, placing themselves in the path to Astalor.

They say something in the Black Speech, and then in their heavily accented Westron, "Stahnd bock!", though they also continue their ritualistic motions.

And seemingly in answer, or as an additional threat, the sky cracks and rumbles with thunder, and lightning arcs across the low clouds.

The storm does not seem to be finished. And indeed the hairs on the head and arms of anyone close to the platform begins to rise and stand on end, with electric energy searching for a place to be released...

You can see Astalor's eyes go wide, as they search the ruined building's rooftop, behind the crowd.

He rises on his knees hurriedly and with difficulty, and begins a discordant droning chant, thrusting his blackened hand to the sky - which as his sleeve falls away, you can see his arm is now blackened all the way to nearly his shoulder!