Shouting With Iron
"There are some tribes forbidden to look upon the faces of their gods. So weak are they that to see their gods whole would shatter their minds. Not so the Grinning Tempest. We are strong, and so our god can walk among us. Do not look at him, children, without thinking how much greater than a man he is. Look up and see his height, look across and see his mighty thews. Pray to him that he will give you a feather from his back to protect you. See his club of war and know that you shall never lift it, see his silver armor, his gift from the Prince of the Northern Jungle, and know that it shall never grace your shoulders. We are weak compared to him, but do not forget that we alone among the Hill Tribes can even look upon our god's face - that we alone among the Hill Tribes are strong."
-- Nine Eagle, shaman of the Grinning Tempest tribe of Hill People
Many Moons Ago[edit]
"Of course I knew it would mean my life to call him down from the boiling skies. It is not for mortals to bind gods to our will. But what else could I do? The Arczeckh horde had swept up from the southeastern jungle, with their gibbering madness and ragged claws. I saw the great cities of civilization crumble before them, I saw Hill Tribes scatter around me. Shouting With Iron captained the lightning against our attackers, his liegeman birds clawed at their eyes, our warrior's arms filled with his strength. My son survived the day; I do not regret my choice.
"Though I stood facing him, I do not remember the blow that split my skull. Death is the great divider and the moment of crossing has been lost to me. But I linger on as a shade of myself, an honored ancestor to my people, even though my sons and grandsons, sacrified to our god's hunger just as I was, have faded from all memory save mine."
-- Three Wing Seer, Honored Ancestor Spirit of the Grinning Tempest tribe of Hill People
A Growing Storm[edit]
"I am troubled, Nine Eagle, for the future of our people. Our god has grown sullen since he met the Golden Lord in battle before the gates of Chebam; now storm clouds always nip at our heels like a pack of claw striders. I thought things would grow better when the god returned from his visit with the great Prince of the Northern Jungle, but instead the horned wolves have followed him home. It is fit for Shouting With Iron to lie with our women and beget thunder children; you know that I am one so blessed. But now the horned wolves have begun to make... demands... and our people are ill at ease. I will trust my god, as my tribe has for generations before me, but something must soon come of his plans, or I fear the hunters may soon war with the horned wolves."
-- Swift Iron, Hunter of the Grinning Tempest tribe of Hill People
At The Altar of Storms[edit]
Thunder shaking the air around it, a horned wolf fell heavily to the foot of the god's house. Swift Iron laid his jade club as a burden on the beast's back and, though it was strong, it could not throw off the weight nor snap the Haltan vines that bound it tight. Nine Eagle stepped down from the altar to regard the beastman; it was a fine example of its kind, but still... "Is this all you could bring to heel?"
Swift Iron frowned up at the shaman. "The horned wolves have swift feet. Most ran back to their jungles as soon as our lord fell."
Nine Eagle clicked his teeth. "Ten will have to do."
The shaman gestured, and two dozen Grinning Tempest warriors, all loyal children of their god, hefted the horned wolves to the top of the altar. Swift Iron followed after them. "Do you fear that the Prince of the Jungle will be angry that we use his children so?"
The shaman did not spare the hunter a glance; his concern was for the sky, boiling over with clouds. "A little more," he said, and then: "Ma-Ha-Suchi wants his children to be strong. He will shed no tears that these were weak enough to become our prey."
A strong wind blew the grass flat against the earth and Nine Eagle sniffed the air. "It is time," he said, and signalled for the warriors to take up position behind the horned wolves and his apprentices to light the fires set beneath the four trees, grown by a Wood King's boon, that surrounded the god's house. Finally, he took his own position at the center of the altar and began to shout.
For an hour, his prayer rang even above the roar of the storm. Lightning shot down from the sky and scorched arcane patterns into the grass around the stone altar. His face soaked, Nine Eagle watched the sky and the four burning trees. His throat was raw and bleeding, but still he gave voice to his call. Finally, in the moment the furious rain forced the tree-fires to gutter their last, a roar of thunder drowned out Nine Eagle's voice and in the sky a Storm Serpent was born.
The shaman moved quickly; as the Serpent raced down from the sky, Nine Eagle went to each of the beastmen in turn and slit their throats with a flint knife. They sagged against the warriors who held them, their blood spilling out upon the altar. But still the Storm Serpent raged closer; the warriors let go of their dying captives and set their spears against the charge. From beyond the veil of life, Three Wing Seer spoke to his heir. "It will not be enough. He needs more."
In the center of the altar, Nine Eagle raised the knife to his own throat. His shade would see if he had met with success.
