He watches as the ancestors fire coats his hand. Once alight his fiery palms melt the flesh of his cheeks and he unleashes a primal scream to the starry sky. He plunges his hands in to the pit of loose earth and prostrates himself, gurgling his words.
Thank you for the sending your shadows from the world beyond. May they help me bring death to the axe, the fist, the dragon to Grand. All will fall before my strength which is fed by the strength of you who died, and those I kill.
He takes the herb of communing, puts it on the fire, and spends the night speaking to his lost trove through the smokes it produces.
