Kasala nodded. Directly outside, the orcs could be heard chanting raucously. "She seems to be rallying her forces in the main hall. I believe if we take this door, we shall emerge into a side hall, where we would not immediately intrude upon the ceremony."<br/><br/>The elf quietly opened the indicated door, which did indeed open to a side corridor, from which the group could view the proceedings. Dorokor's warriors, dozens of them, were crowded around the roaring pyre in the main hall. The Bloodchief herself stood out prominently, Claw held in one upraised fist. The sword flashed and glinted in the firelight as Oregg kneeled before his chief. The scarred orc drew his own weapon—little more than a long shard of sharpened steel with its lower end wrapped in crude leather— and cast it aside.<br/><br/>Dorokor nodded at Oregg, and began to intone something in orcish. It was a strange thing to witness. It was undoubtedly the orcish tongue, harsh and guttural, and yet Dorokor seemed to impart a level of solemnity to it. There seemed to be a rhythm to it. Now and then, Larissa could swear she even heard the occasional rhyme. If Dorokor was chatty in common, then she was clearly a poet in her native tongue.<br/><br/>The Bloodchief's oration rose to a crescendo and then the room fell silent. Oregg rose to his feet, and Dorokor held the sword out in both hands, as though prepared to strike Oregg down. The lieutenant stepped forward, and wrapped both his hands around the blade. Larissa could see blood ooze between his fingers as Claw's magically honed edge cut him. Then he lowered his head until one tusk touched the blade, and ran it slowly along Claw's length like a whetstone. He turned his head, and ran his other tusk back down the blade. There was something almost intimate about the motion, the way one might nuzzle against a lover's neck.<br/><br/>When at last Oregg's tusk touched his fingers once more, Dorokor released the blade. There was a pause, as Dorokor's lieutenant stood grasping the weapon's blade, sweat running down his temples. Then, in a swift motion, he removed his right hand from the blade and gripped the hilt. In that split second, Claw cut deeper into Oregg's left hand. But then it was done. He brought his left hand down to grasp the hilt, and made an elaborate two handed flourish, crying out in exultation. The gathered orcs cheered wildly at what was evidently the rite's conclusion.<br/><br/>Dorokor raised her arms, basking in the adulation of her tribe. She cast a glance in Larissa's direction, grinning broadly.<br/><br/>