Dev for Iosefka

It's been a long time coming. She'd given her word to it, but duty took her everywhere between the Crafthold's borders and Gehenna, nigh constantly. And, after the large sacrifice that was needed to bring elder Keaka back into the world, it is likely best she waited to give another offering for another purpose.

This, she hopes, will see similarly spectacular results in the long run, albeit it's of a different nature to call the spirits of nature, and ideals rather than that of a lost person. Thankfully she is not unprepared.

Ohtli crouches in the familiar dark oasis cavern, far below the Crafthold's bustling market streets. She couldn't have designed a more fitting place for the ritual in question. Quiet, serene, surrounded by the grasses and wildlife that, against all odds, grow in the utter dark.

The ritualist begins arranging her space first and foremost, taking objects of significance one at a time and arranging them. Though the ritual itself hasn't even begun yet she is no less methodical and practiced in her movements.

'Significance', of course, is relative. Whereas some might see a helter-skelter collection of twigs, bits and bobs and detritus, Ohtli sees something much more, a tether to some concept or key component of the natural world- a tether she can use to call out to the spirits themselves with an earnest request.

When the satchel's contents are emptied she's wreathed in concentric circles of items. Twigs, bits of fur, claws, leaves, and what look like simple metal trinkets are all aside one another in no clear sense of organization. It is only clear to the shaman herself; in her minds eye it all makes perfect sense.

A deep inhale and the ritualist puts the final piece into place. She draws the feathered raiment over her head. The situation grows only more clear. What were once whispers in the wind through the cavernous depths become outright voices. Any shreds of worry or uncertainty dissipate. There is only the task at hand.

With frightening calm and ease she draws her knife, dashes open her wrist, and begins liberally sprinkling blood over the gathered objects all around. As she does she chants and prays, replying to the voices on the winds. Her request is simple to all the spirits that will hear her:

Sustenance to those that answer and fulfill the request, along with honor and respect. Protection for the people of this land against those that would seek to do them harm, to be given physical forms in time of need.

Blue fire erupts from each of the items as blood touches their surfaces and the shaman is encircled in all manner of watching spectral effigies of what each item represents, from long limbed bipedal tress, jungle cats, wild dogs, rodents, flowers, and creatures made of nothing but piles of stone.

They watch and listen, but as she chants several of them begin to fade, the spirits unwilling to remain and lend the one who called them aid for this endeavor. One by one the visions of nature leave. Their respective objects go inert and remain speckled with blood.

When her prayer ends three figure are all that remain. A stalwart wolf from the plains of the Crafthold's north; a quick witted raven from the western forests; and, surely she should have expected, a shrewd, venomous serpent from the swamps and jungles to southwest.

They touch their talismans with scale, claw, and talon. Blood sizzles and dries, lifting from the surface of the token and infusing them each with a part of their essence. With their acceptance of the initial offering they seal a simple contract of cooperation with the summoner and then fade like their brethren.

All the dazzling light brought into the cavern is gone with their passing and Ohtli is left in darkness. Even her torch has been extinguished.
(Ohtli Tezcacoatl)