[Pseudonym]

Ozymandias, famed collector of knowledge and lost lore, spent five years travelling all around the world studying rituals, ceremonies and dances. At the end of this time, he had every single native dance of every indigenous culture in Layonara recorded in one of his little books ... or so he thought. Ozy eventually wound up in Belinara, in a little town, so he popped into the local inn for a well earned ale.

He got talking to one of the locals and told him about his project. The local asked Ozy what he thought of the Butcher Dance.

"Butcher Dance?" Ozy asked, confused.
"What's that?"
"What? You didn't see the Butcher Dance?"
"No, I've never heard of it."
"Little old strange elf, you're crazy," the man replied.
"How can you say you've seen every native ritual and dance if you haven't seen the Butcher Dance?"
"Ummmm. I saw a moonlight dance performed by the local maidens near here just last week. Is that what you mean?"
"No, no. The Butcher Dance is much more important than the Maiden's Moonlight Dance."
"Oh," Ozy said, his curiosity piqued.
"How can I see this Butcher Dance then?"
"Well, the Butcher Dance is way out in the wilderness. It'll take you many days of travel to go see it."
"Look, I've been everywhere from the forests of the Xantril, to deepest darkest Alindor, from the deserts of Dregar to the frozen wastes of Krashin watching these dances. Nothing will prevent me from recording this one last dance."
"Ok fella," the man replied, shrugging.
"You hike north along the tarrasque trail towards the next town. After you walk 197 leagues, you'll see a Trolloc track veer off to left. Follow the dirt track for 126 leagues till you see big dead spruce tree ... the tree is home to a clan of balor. You strike out due west into the setting sun. Walk three days till you hit a stream. You follow this stream to the northwest. After two days you'll find where the stream flows out of some rocky mountains, but it's much too difficult to cross the mountains there, though. So you head south for half a day until you see a pass through mountains. The pass is very difficult and very dangerous. Home to a tribe of Tanman's mountain giants. It'll take you two, maybe three days to get through it. On the other side, head northwest for four days until you reach a big huge rock ... twenty feet high and shaped like a man's head. From the rock, walk due west for two days, and then you'll find the village. You'll be able to see the Butcher Dance there."

So Ozy grabbed his equipment and headed out. After a couple of days, he found the dirt track. The track was in a shocking state, and he was forced to crawl along at a snail's pace, and so he didn't reach the tree until a few days after that where he was forced to set up camp for the night.

He set out bright and early the following morning. His spirits were high, and he was excited about the prospect of witnessing this mysterious dance that he had never heard mention of before. True to the directions he had been given, he reached the creek after three days and followed it for another two, until he reached the rocky mountains.

The merciless sun was starting to take its toll, and his spirits were starting to flag but wearily he trudged on, finally finding the pass through the mountains. Nothing would prevent him from completing his life's dream. The mountains proved to be every bit as treacherous as his guide had said, and at times he despaired of ever getting through. But after three and a half days of back breaking effort, he finally forced his way clear and continued his long trek.

When he reached the huge rock, four days later, his water was running low, and his feet were covered with blisters but he steeled himself and headed out on the last leg of his journey. Two days later he literally staggered into the village. To his relief, the natives welcomed him and fed him and gave him fresh water, and he began to feel like a new elf. Once he recovered enough, Ozy went before the village chief and told him that he came to witness their Butcher Dance.

"Oooh little wheezy elf," he said.
"Very bad you come today. Butcher Dance last night. You too late. You miss dance."
"When do you hold the next dance?"
"Not till next year."
"Well, I've come all this way. I'm very important you know. Couldn't you just hold an extra dance for me tonight?"
"No, no, no!" the chief exclaimed.
"Butcher Dance very holy. Only hold once a year. You want see Butcher Dance, you come back next year."

Understandably, Ozy was devastated, but he had no other option but to head back to civilization and home.

The following year, he headed back to Belinara and, determined not to miss out again, set out a week earlier than before. Ozy was quite willing to spend a week in the village before the dance was performed in order to ensure he was present to witness it. It would also maybe mean a new audience for some of his tales to while away the time.

But right from the start, things went wrong. Heavy rains that year turned the dirt tracks to mud, and every footstep was a titanic effort. He reached the stream and the mountains without any further problems, but halfway through the mountain pass, Ozy was struck by a fierce storm that raged for several days, during which he was forced to cling forlornly to the mountainside until it subsided.

Then, before he had travelled a mile out from the mountains, Ozy sprained his ankle badly, slowing down the rest of his journey greatly. Eventually, having lost all sense of how long he had been travelling, Ozy staggered into the village right at noon.

"The Butcher Dance!" Ozy gasped.
"Please don't tell me I'm too late to see it!"
The chief recognised him and said,
"No, little coughing fella. Butcher Dance performed tonight. You come just in time."

Relieved beyond measure, Ozy spent the rest of the afternoon setting up his easel and readying his quills and inkpots. As dusk fell, the natives started to cover their bodies in white paint and adorn themselves in all manner of birds feathers and animal skins. Once darkness had settled fully over the land, the natives formed a circle around a huge roaring fire. A deathly hush descended over performers and spectators alike as a wizened old figure with elaborate swirling designs covering his entire body entered the circle and began to chant.

"What's he doing?" Ozy whispered to the chief.
"Hush," the chief whispered back.
"You first outsider ever to see most sacred of our rituals. Must remain silent. Holy man, he asks that the spirits of the dream world watch as we demonstrate our devotion to them through our dance, and, if they like our dancing, will they be so gracious as to watch over us and protect us for another year."

The chanting of the holy man reached a stunning crescendo before he removed himself from the circle. The rhythmic pounding of drums boomed out across the land, and the natives began to sway to the stirring rhythm. Ozy became caught up in the fervor of the moment himself. This was it. He realized beyond all doubt that his wait the past year had not been in vain. He was about to witness the ultimate performance of rhythm and movement ever conceived by mankind.

The chief strode to his position in the circle and, in a big booming voice, started to sing,
"You butch yer right arm in. You butch yer right arm out. You butch yer right arm in, and you shake it all about ..."