The Communion

Author: Janna

Night had fallen. The last glow of the sinking sun soon was swallowed by the thick mists which had crept silently from the moist earth. And yet, the jungle of Feralas never slept. The cries of the night's birds echoed through the dark and the rustling of bushes spoke of small and large mammals rising from their slumber. Somewhere in the distance, the dull beating of a drum started up and continued to pound the same hypnotic rhythm without breaks. The very fabric of reality seemed to thin, and the soft night wind carried whispers from another world through the trees.

The hour of spirits had arrived.

The old Troll rose to her feet and slid the voodoo mask over her face. Slowly, her step unconciously in tune with the distant drumbeat, she walked back into the cave. The small space was lit by the flicker of six candles burning with blue fire. Everything was prepared: the large sigil, drawn upon the stone floor in her own blood. From the ceiling, she had hung the vital organs of a foe she had slain in ritual earlier – one above each candle. The scents of death and incense intermingled to a sweet aroma that made a muted extasy swell within her chest.

Without delay, she began the ritual of communion.

When she rammed her serpent-headed staff into the floor and muttered the ancient words, the blue flames around her flared up, and engulfed the entire cave; yet there she stood, unharmed by the fire, still speaking the words, she felt the trance roll over her. Foreign sounds rolled over her tongue as though somebody else were speaking them.

Then, a voice filled the cave like thunder bouncing off the walls.

"Who calls on me? Are ya so eager ta die?"

The Troll dropped to her knees. Her staff remained suspended before her, burning brightly. She bowed her head.

"Dis be Yang'li, shadow hunter of de Darkspear tribe, o great Bwonsamdi."

Silence fell for a few seconds. Even the birds had gone quiet.

"What do ya want from the god of death?"

Yang'li reached for her bag of blood vials and extracted one.

"I be bringin' ya sacrifices, o eternal one."

With those words, she opened the vial and poured the blood within into the blue flames before her. A puff of smoke emerged, and briefly, a figure could be seen within: a Worgen man, keeling over silently in his death throes.

Despite the fire, a spot of darkness had formed in the back of the cave; a blackness that the light could not penetrate. The loa had partly shifted into this realm. The shapeless thing seemed to draw a breath.

"He be strong in body but so weak in spirit", he commented, but his voice was laced with a foreign kind of pleasure.

Yang'li reached into her bag again, this time searching for a specific vial.

"Ya gonna like dis one better, den."

When she poured the blood, the figure shown this time was large, bulky, and two-headed.

"He was a chieftain an' powerful warlock. De battle was fierce."

She peered through the flames to make out the loa opposite her. His shape was growing more distinct; he was unlikely to leave now.

"Why do ya bring me dese souls, shadow hunter?", asked Bwonsamdi and she could hear the distrust in his voice.

She knew it was now or never. She dug through her bag and found her biggest trump. The vial glowed faintly. When it was emptied, a ringing seemed to fill her ears, a wave of energy that emanated from the magical flame she had poured her sacrifice into, the echo of the powerful spirit that passed into the loa's possession. The figure of a robed elf bent with old age appeared. Hit by something invisible, he fell over. His mouth was moving, and indistinct words reverberated from the cave's walls. Through the connection she had invited between them, she could feel the loa's satisfaction as he received the spirit. A rare kill, a special sacrifice.

“I call ta ask for ya powers, o great one. I be hopin' ta lead de Darkspear inta a new age. We shall reclaim our tradition an' our true powah.”

A sharp flicker. The loa was displeased. Panic wafted through her, and she made to bring forth another vial. Yet, she was interrupted. A hand had shot forward through the flames and grabbed her arm, a cold burn where it touched her. She bit her lip to suppress the pain and bowed her head, trembling, waiting.

“I can SEE right inta ya soul, shadow hunter.” The loa's voice had lowered to a whisper that seemed to come from right beside her ear. A shudder ran down her spine.

“Ya want power, ya want it so much. But ya want it for yaself only.”

“No, o great one, I want it for me people!”

The grasp on her arm tightened, then let go. With a bang, the remaining vials of blood in her bag burst, and the spirits sealed within flowed forth to be consumed by the loa. A draft of ice cold air seemed to sweep through the cave, extinguishing all the fires at once. The space was plunged into darkness. The loa had left.

Trembling, Yang'li raised her left hand and produced a small magical flame. She turned slowly to look down on herself. There was her right arm, hanging black and lifeless beside her.