Raektov climbs to his feet with Gruskorb's aid. A cut over his left eye streams blood into his face. He looks around, staring at Malthazir a moment before tearing a rag from his robe and wiping the blood from his face. "Whew! That was close."
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"Well, I'm not as versed in Manevykian Folklore as I should be. History really isn't my passion. But Li'luraant, the Soulbleed, originally came from the Voigrymm Forest to the east of Manevyk. The hag was driven from the Northern Coasts by the old Vallens in the mid-seventh millennium... their records are not that thorough," Raektov begins in a flurry of information. The wizard starts again as though reciting the lore from a book he was, at that moment, reading. "She made her way into the northern range of the Iron Mountains, after fifty or sixty years she ended up The Downs of Haemil, where she once again clashed with humans. This time, it was the Aertens... a less violent people than the Vallens, but certainly with more resolve. They followed her over the mountains and into the Savage... er, sorry, The First Lands. The Grave of Tüflsatym joined forces with the Firebird Clan to find and destroy Li'luraant, trapping her in the Dream realm of those lands." He looked at Niyut and smiled. "That's your clan, right?" Niyut smiles back although it looks contorted and uncomfortable. When asked of the iconography of the prayer beads, he nods and takes another bite of jerky. Raktov points to a large, slightly deformed knucklebone, "Well, the oversized knuckle between the first metacarpal and the proximal phalange... um, the second knuckle on the thumb... it's huge. That's a warrior's hand, deformed from constant use of an oversized weapon, like the massive flails of the southern orc tribes. And see that hole through the bone? It has a groove running lateral to the hole that appears worn smooth. But, if you look close, there are thin metal shavings embedded in the groove. That is from the grip pins that those orcs use to ensure their warrior's don't drop their weapons... a cruel device installed in all adolescent males... oh, and females that take arms." He takes another bite of jerky. "Pretty obvious, actually."
"Huh? Aśadva? Oh, she... or he, we don't know for sure, was a powerful usurper of the ether, neither trained nor blessed but rather bound to the ether through her flesh. A sorcerer of sorts, though the name had not been coined during the Godling Wars, when she lived. She was hunted down and destroyed. Her pelt... oh, uh... she was said to be a primal beast with fangs and claws, and a scarred, hideous pelt of fur. So, anyway, she was killed then skinned... some say she was flayed from her skin while still living. A student of Lorrynor took her pelt and used it to craft several curios. With the Ether still bound in it, her flesh was powerful, but, or so the legends go, Aśadva cursed her own skin as it was peeled from her body," Raektov says without missing a beat. With that final revelation, he nods with a look of disgust upon his face and an eyebrow raised in speculation. "A pair of gloves, boots, a belt... a cloak, oh, and pouch... all claimed to have come from that cursed pelt. Li'luraant was said to have possessed the gloves, using them to entice pugilists to her cause during her lifetime... well, her first lifetime. I'd certainly say she has a new lease on life these days." The wizard drones on speculating how the Souldbleed may have come upon the gloves during her first reign of terror. But, as that was ages ago, he admits that most theories are just that, theories. Turning his attention to the beads. "Hmm... don't know much about items that originate from the orcs of southern Haemil," he continues with an inquisitive look. "They're distant relatives to the Nightblood for sure. Perhaps, they've made contact."
GM:
The camp is edgy and restless, but everyone is able to get sufficient sleep to feel refreshed and somewhat alert. After a bit of breakfast, Raektov spends some time huddled over his spellbook muttering to himself. Satisfied he's as prepared as possible, he saunters over by Niyut who studies one of the cursed items. "Oh, I'd be careful with Aśadva's Gloves. They'd slip off those orc hands and bound up your magic real quick if they get the chance... chomp," the young wizard says between bites of stale jerky before walking off towards Garidan.
Raektov watches the ritual with bewildered eyes. He catches himself on several occasions not breathing or blinking, nearly passing out as a result. When the pair of casters complete the ritual, he finally sits down and relaxes.
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