When I, Vizir VoLesh of House RaGona in Kitor, visited the barbarians in the southern reaches of the territory under the rule of the Satrap MoraLatap "who was once a woman may his name be praised" I had the opportunity to participate in a Humakti ceremony in which an ambitious second cousin of mine was raised to Sword status in the cult. I had seen a similar ceremony for the much more civilized Yanafal Tarnils cult in more comfortable environs, but was unprepared for the magnitude of bloodshed in this ceremony.
First the initiate came into the clearing dragging a huge cross on his back. While he and his cronies were erecting the cross the visiting Swords annointed the hearth and the cauldron with aromatic oils, scented water, an unusual wood that I've never before seen that must have come from an elf forest, and blood from cuts on their own arms and legs. Then they sacrificed a hawk, alynx, bull, pig, trollkin, and a hideous eel from the Esel. After collecting the blood from the sacrifices in the cauldron they lit the elf wood fire and began to stir the contents of the cauldron with an enormous shinbone. That shinbone was as tall as I am and it was quickly coated with a scalding mixture of blood and oils. All the celebrants (even I) were required to pass by the cauldron and cut themselves to contribute their own blood to it. The initiate's cronies nailed his hands to the cross and put his feet on a block of wood with sharp stones set in it, and then the Swords splashed everybody at the ceremony with the scalding hot blood mixture they had been stirring. It hurt terrifically and at first I shouted with pain, but when I noticed that everyone else was enduring it silently I bit my tongue and held my mouth shut.
The initiate had been silent up until now. Now the Swords interrogated the initiate about his life, asked if he had turned back from death at any time, asked if he vowed to serve death faithfully while he was able, and he answered appropriately, or so it seemed to me. They certainly seemed to be satisfied. They spoke blessings to him, and those who were not of Sword rank were banished from the clearing.
In a little while we were brought back. The initiate was standing at the base of the cross, his hands and feet still bleeding, and his weapons were beside him. Unarmored he fought five of the Swords in succession, with each bout being little more than an exchange of blows lasting no more than a minute, twice with sword and shield, twice with greatsword, once with daggers. He was wounded once, on the arm, and wounded two of his opponents. At this a great cry of acclamation was raised, and a string of dogs was led into the clearing. He was told to sacrifice them, and he killed them silently and efficiently, draining the blood into the cauldron. Then they led my own beloved steed, Dances on Steppes, into the clearing and as I was held back he treated it likewise. This blood was then passed around and we were all forced to drink it. Later I heard that the dogs were his own hunting dogs, his personal favorites, and that their sacrifice and that of Dances on Steppes symbolized the severance of ties with his former life.
I have been bound to silence on what happened next, but at the end of the ceremony, after dusk had darkened the sky, the bloodsoaked celebrants were joined by Ulerians who had been waiting for this moment, and all were consoled.
Though I enjoyed the aftermath of the ceremony, I can honestly say that I miss my steed and would not wish to ever attend another one. I also came away with a profound respect for the extent to which the Humakti are prepared to sacrifice everything to their stark, cruel god of death.
Hard to imagine that a Zorak Zoran ceremony could be worse, isn't it? But I'm sure that ZZ is far bloodier than this. Stormbull too, for that matter. Probably the effete cousin would have been the sacrifice instead of his horse.
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