The Antlers of the gods.
The mural covered corridor was filled with a myriad of tallow lamps, burners and rush torches. A small gathering was taking place: an exchange of stories and knowledge.... titbits, nuggets, and chunks of raw information shared, as a link to the sage's god was made...
There was little ceremony as was oft the case with Wild Sages, just a giving of power and a low litany mumbled more than sung.
There was a rustle...... As if a great book had been opened and it's pages run through at speed.
Then the murals began to move, drawing gasps from the assembled men and women.
Vak Vak hunkered down, acknowledging the power of a Lightbringer.
No magic was asked for, just a shrine to be built, but the god was actually here....
A grey hooded figure walked through the hunting scenes drawn upon the walls, admiring the view and forever capturing the knowledge contained there. Behind him, a small knot of hero scribes did what they did best and recorded everything.
Then a voice, seen rather than heard, came from mural, in the form of fast forming words that scrolled from the god's mouth.
"Wild sage, founder of this shrine.... you face a creation of the Mistress of Light, the vampire of Gork's Hills, guardian of the fires of heaven...... A wife of Nysalor himself.
She still lives, but far away to the west and is no concern to you. But out of Ignorance has come another, spinning his web and thus the Darkman walks again.
Remember darkness is your ally.
Humakt maybe not.....
A Lead cross, that strikes down Vivamort's spawn.
A healer's death.
A trip to Hell.
Terrible thing's to bear. Trust in the DarkStar and you Dark allies. For they know the Darkman too."
The figure then turns and slowly recedes into the murals.......
Godday, Death week, Dark Season. Waha high holy day.
Atop the settlement's mound a collection of Bison skulls, rocks, hides and horns had been joined together in a holy altar to the far away god of Prax.
Several younger braves, relatives to Granny Bisonhooves had joined Rothar under the watchful eyes of Bull and Ben. With no Priest of the cult it fell to the Praxian to take matters into his own hands.
He had been adorned with three magical vestments: Stinker, a Bison hide cloak. Hoofs, supple calf length boots and finally Old Gnarly, a javelin made from Gnarl wood and Bison bone, a gift from Six Darts in a Tree. As he stood before the altar and faced to the West and his home, the Praxian was gripped with a great feeling of anticipation for what the future was to bring.
Prayers were then offered, songs sung, a blood sacrifice given and a whole lotta power...
And even at that great distance Waha answered, taking the gifted essence and promises of future worship from the assembled laymen.
It was then that Father Bison appeared.
A massive Bull headed man, cloaked in sigils and runes of power stepped out of the darkness and into the shrine's glow.
"Rothar of the Three Mark Clan....." He snorted and pawed the ground, golden eyes fixing Rothar "You are far from home, but you were fated to visit these lands. For the good of your people and mine." He walked about the altar, stroking the bones of his people.
"You shall meet a bull. His name is Bo H'har As Jing...... What happens when you meet is up to you both, but the fates of thousands are entwined in the lives of two.... Seek no fetish with these people, for you are of the Bison and it will break your bond with your kin.... Nadara is of my line and she will make a Great Khan a good wife...."
The ceremony continued well into the next day, gifts of rune magic and words of power welcomed the rise of the sun.
And so it was done.