If no one minds, I'd prefer to take a step back from that for just a moment...
After breakfast, Prophet gather his belongings from the bunkhouse and readies himself for battle. First he dons his chain shirt, along with a few rough leather guards for his forearms and shins, and a few other accouterments. He grabs his bag as well and moves for the storage house, where he sits inside the door and kneels down. At this point Theo might well be with him waiting, so he'd see this ceremony go down. If he is there, Prophet nods to him and comments, "I'm going to perform a bit of a ceremony here, something I like to do before battle when I get the chance. Feel free to stay here, watch, just don't interrupt me. It'll take a while."
That said, I'll spoiler the actual seance--I wanna write it out for the practice and in case anyone wants to read it, but since at least some of you probably don't care, I'll avoid a wall of text taking up the whole page.
After about six minutes of this, Prophet closes his eyes and reaches back into the bag. From within the leather he draws six candles, all of which look as though they've been burned before, and all of different lengths. Still with his eyes closed, he takes each candle and sets it on the sword's blade, evenly spaced from hilt to tip. He then reaches back into the bag and draws a flint and a stick of incense. Holding them together, his song turns from a hum to a chant, almost a murmur at first, but growing louder with each time he scrapes the flint and incense against the blade of his sword. After running it along the blade six times, he raises the flint and incense above his head and opens his eyes. Even in the dim light, it's easy to see that his iris and pupils have rolled back, leaving a milky white between his eyelids.
Bringing the incense back down again, he strikes the flint hard against the sword, scraping sparks into the air and catching the incense aflame. It burns brightly for a moment, and in that time he sweeps it across the candles, his chant dying back down to a low but quick murmur. Each of the candles lights in turn, his hand unerringly drawing the stick of bittersweet incense across the wicks, and then he sets the incense upright between the innermost candles, at the center of the blade. Despite the thin, rounded end of the stick, the incense stands on its won as he draws his hands back. Falling back into a simple kneeling position, Prophet folds his hands and waits for the call.
After the hour is nearly up, he hears it. M͠a͘l͞à̴̢z̴͘ ҉҉T́͜͠ą̸rn͘.̷͡ ̡́It͟ ͘h͡a̧s̵ ͟͢b̷e̴͞e͘n̵ ̵m̡҉á̶̧n̸y̶̴͏ ̶d̨̢a̧͟y͞͏̨s͜ ̷͟͠s̀i̷̡n͝҉ce͏͢ las̡t͜ ̀I̴ ̴ḩ́e̸̢a̢͜r̷̨͟d҉ ̧́y̡͡͝o̴̢͟u̡͘r̷̡ c͘̕͜al̕͢ļ̶́. ̸̧Y҉o͘u͢ ̡h̨a͟v̀͘e̴͜ ̡̛͟sh̶͘͢am̶̷̢e̸͘d͞ ̷͟ḿ͞è́,͜ ̶c̷͘hí̢͝ĺd̕.̧͢ The voice is ancient, impossibly timeless for an orc, raspy and strong, deep and everywhere.
Not at all, Kordatar, Prophet replies in his mind. For every great warrior knows there is a time for battle, and a time for peace. Ambor mabas lufut--liquor after war. The time for rest was upon me. Now it is the time for battle and blood.
S͝҉o͏ ͜ýo͞͠u̕ ̶͢c̴a͘͡l͡l͞ ̶o͝͏n̸ m͢e̕ ̧͡n͏͡ow͜.̴̧͢ The voice sounds pleased, in its way--as a berserker is pleased to hear his enemy's bones snap, as a wild animal is pleased to rend and tear the flesh it consumes. W͏į̸̀s̨̕e,̷̨ ̸̶͡ch̡i̢͠ld̶ ̶́͘ò̸̵f ͠͏M̵à͏n̷͢.̡̨ ͟͡͠M͞y͠͏ ̢͘͏str̵̶e̴͜n̨gth͠ ͏f̧̨l͏͝ơ̸w̴̷̨s̨͏ ̕͝ţ̛͜h҉r͢o͝u͝͞g͠h́͜͡ ̧͜a̶̧l͢͠l̵͏͝ ͘͞o̶͠r̸c v҉e͡i̶͠n̶s̵̡,̧ ҉̷bu̧҉t̀̀͘ ̛́f͟o̢͟͞r͠ ͡͞ý̷͜ơ͘͘u͡, ̴͠i̧t̡̕ ̨̀wi̧̢ll̷ ̡̕f̵͞l͠o̷w҉̵ ́t͏̶h̸ro̷҉ù͞g̀ḩ͞ ́̀͢t̷̵h̛̕͞e͢ ̸s̀ṕį̨r̴̨͠i̕t͘,̴̢ ̷̴a͝s̶ ͞w̴̶͘el̶l͘.
So you will aid me this day?
A͟s͢҉̕hd̶͜͞a̛ú͜t͞a͜ş̧̕ ̶̛V̴̧r̷a͞s͝ub̸͠at́͟l̨a̧̕ Someday I will kill you. A common Orcish greeting.
Nar Udautas. Not today. The reply.
After the seance ends, Prophet opens his eyes once more, and they have returned to their normal appearance. He calmly lifts the sword and tilts the blade, and the candles flicker out as they slide down into his waiting bag. He kicks the blocks in as well, then kicks the whole container to one side of the storage house. He turns to Theo, who sees that Prophet's tattoos have changed color, now appearing to be running rivulets of fresh blood tracing lines across his skin. The half-orc grins, and there is something predatory in his smile.
"M̢i͘rd̀auta̕s͞ v̵r̶as̕," he says, and his voice is different now--deeper, rougher, and somehow older. It has the tones of men who have seen hundreds of battles, who have stood through them all and proven themselves greater than their enemies. "It is a good day to kill."
That said, I thought the plan would be for Prophet and Theo to hide inside the storage house to attempt to surprise the bandits, rushing out when they got close enough--say, when the first of them triggered one of Eran's traps. Of course, having Theo wait outside to "greet" them would be reasonable. In any case, Prophet was hoping to get some chance at an element of surprise.