The Heavenly Host

“Orgnath falgon, zartoth Orcus!” Tal Gor chanted softly. He did not want others hearing his games. He was basically ad libbing, putting together normal chants to the spirits with what he imagined he would need to contact a deity. “Anoboth, trigoshlog, nargh fal doth toman. Graghl foth zartoth!”

He thrust his fist with the talisman into the water... and screeched as the cut in his hand burned with pain. The herbs were apparently painful against the open wound, or so Tal Gor thought until he started getting woozy and the room started to swirl around him. He glanced worriedly down at the bowl. Had he cut too deep? Was his life’s blood overfilling the basin?

Red blood swirled in the water, casting a red tint to the reflected candle light. The bowl was oddly bright and shimmering. What was that in the bowl? Tal Gor wondered woozily. It was not his reflection. The young shaman suddenly passed out.

“Well, that was faster than I would have expected,” a craggy baritone voice crackled. It sounded like that of an elder warrior.

“What are you talking about?” another deep but female voice asked.

An extremely bass and darkly disturbing voice said, “Use your demon sight. We have an insubstantial visitor that has just joined us.” Demon sight? Tal Gor wondered groggily, trying to open his suddenly sleep-heavy eyelids.

“Over by the calling stone with Astlan’s symbol on it,” a third craggy voice stated. “A dream walker has come to us.”

“Ahh, I see. He looks rather young,” the woman’s voice said.

“Interesting in that we had not actually tried calling to him; yet he shows up on his own shortly after the temple’s runes were reactivated,” the disturbing deep voice said.

Tal Gor finally managed to get his eyes open and stared in awe at the room around him. He was sitting on the floor hugging a large silver talisman that looked very much like his stone talisman, yet unworn. He was in a large, carved-stone chamber with a number of large pillars around the edges. He himself was seated between two of the pillars. The voices were coming from the other side of the room, about twenty feet away. There were five very large, very odd-looking orcs and an even larger something else.

The odd-looking orcs were impressively massive, yet had cloven hooves and wings. The orcs were of widely varying colors. The giant creature was truly frightening; it had a lower body like that of a satyr, but instead of being hairy, this being was scaly and had a long tail with a spade on the end. The being’s upper torso was very orc-like, but hugely massive, with far better defined musculature than any orc he had ever seen. The being had huge bat-like wings, not unlike the weird orcs, just a lot bigger. His arms were huge with massive claws. His muzzle was more snout-like than that of an orc, more bestial with huge fangs rather than tusks, and very sharp teeth. The demon, for clearly it could be nothing else, also had huge horns, much like on the talisman.

Tal Gor gulped as he stared at the creatures, who were staring back at him as well. Finally, Tal Gor stammered, “M- My Lord God Orcus?” It was probably hard to hear, but he was feeling rather stunned.

“Well, at least the boy knows where he is,” the woman, who was standing next to the large demon, said.

The large demon, or so Orcus Tal Gor supposed it was, grinned. At least, Tal Gor hoped that that horrifying visage was a grin. “I am Tommus,” it said, “the new Master of Mount Doom. What is your name?”

“Tal Gor El Crooked Stick, son of Sal Gor El and Mar An Crooked Stick. I am apprentice shaman for the Crooked Stick tribe.”

“Vespa will be pleased that one of her tribe was the first to actually contact us,” the woman said.

A man who had not spoken before said, “I must admit, the Crooked Stick bloodline must be strong if an apprentice shaman can seek out and find this temple on his own after all this time. I had expected that locating any shaman still capable of hearing us would have been a task, and here an apprentice comes to us before we call.”

The giant demon stood; it had been seated on a low-backed throne behind an altar. It was huge, twice the height of Tal Gor. It pulled a huge mace with a metal version of the talisman as the ball of the mace. It walked over and stood before Tal Gor. “Rise, shaman,” it commanded.

Tal Gor gulped and stood up. Surprisingly, he felt no pain as he stood. He glanced down at his leg to see it as it always was, yet it did not hurt.

The demon lord noticed his glance. “So you’ve been wounded?”

“Yes, My Lord. I am sorry for my weakness,” Tal Gor said, looking to the ground ashamed.