Molok and the Long Night

He was keeping the group together as best he could. Snow had fallen from the sky all day. Not unusual for this time of year, but it made the trek to Dathgocha, the Bloodravine, long and arduous. Molok’s feet were already numb even though he had worn his best pair of greased leather boots, with the fur lining to keep his feet warm on the trip.
The motley collection of Kal Dinardran, The Swiftfang clan, snaked back through the heavy wet snow. Those in the rear followed Molok’s path as he navigated out of pure instinct and memory toward the clan’s holy place.
Already the sun was hanging low in the sky. Not that it rose all that high this time of year, but Molok was keenly aware that he would have to hurry along the members of his clan if they were to make the Bloodravine by sunset.
They needed to do so. At sunset on Okanars, Long Night, the clan would perform their yearly duty to their totem god, Ta’an - the Jackal.
Molok, the clan’s Soulkeeper, goaded them through the wet snow. You could fall into it if you didn’t know where the Dathgocha was. There was no warning, no feature on the northern plains that would warn you of its existence. One minute the ground was beneath your feet, and the next, it wasn’t.
The gash in the earth that was the Dathgocha fell away into the ground five paces deep. Stumbling into it without paying attention could cost you your ankle at best and your life if you weren’t careful. It is also four paces wide, so it is impossible to cross without going into or around it.
And if you chose to go through it, you had to contend with what the Blood Ravine actually was. The Dathgocha was a magically warded place where the bodies and spirits of both friends and foes alike were interred. The Jackal Tribe kept them until they were called on to fight for the tribe once again using powerful and chaotic necromantic magic.
After being interred there and not being allowed to move on, many spirits became enraged. You took your life into your own hands when you went anywhere near a Mirat Ker Egan, a Jackal Tribe Place of Bones.
That, of course, was where The Soulkeeper, Molok, came in. Molok was the person in the tribe responsible for the internment, placation, and calling back of spirits bound to the Bloodravine. It was a job that required much training and practice, something that Molok had in his forty-two years. Treading in the Dathgocha was still dangerous, but no one was safer than when Molok led them.
Tonight, the night of Okanars, Molok was doing what he did every year on this day for the last fifteen years. He led his clan to the Dathgocha to release some spirits back to Ta’an. It was a ritual act of appeasement and nourishment to the god of death.
It was also an act of sacrifice on behalf of the Kal Dinardran. These spirits were called upon during battle to aid the clan. Letting some of them go Gub Ta’anve yeshak - To the Jackal’s Rest - gave the group fewer resources to fight with. They always fought, but Ta’an would honor their sacrifice by filling the Dathgocha with their clan’s and its enemies’ spirits to replenish those it had given up on Okanars.
At last, Molok knew the Dathgocha was right ahead. He slowed his clan down and motioned them forward at the very edge of the magical wards he had placed around the twisted combination of graveyard and prison.
Almost immediately, flashes of light began to suddenly appear and crash forcefully against some invisible barrier in blue and green flickers of dissipating phosphorescent light. Though it was dazzling and beautiful, much like the lights that lit the northern sky on these long winter nights, the clan also knew those lights to be deadly.
Molok could feel their essence; he knew each soul as it merged in light and crashed into the magical warding. It would then dwindle and flicker into the darkness like a candle snuffed out in a strong wind.
The clan formed a line to either side of Molok, and with the sun nearly set, Molok began the ceremony as he had for several years. He produced a string of jackal teeth from a special pouch. Each of them was carefully and beautifully scribed with dark magical runes that bound a spirit to it.
Molok had chosen each of them carefully from his collection and from the people of his clan. He needed a good pool of souls from which to choose. Tonight, both the living and the dead would plead for their release, and it was Molok’s calling to decide which went to Ta’an and which stayed to fight for the clan.
He carefully untied the knot at the top of the string and slid the first Jackal’s tooth from the strand. He held it aloft, whispered a few words to the tooth, and then shouted, “Togor.”
The runes on the tooth glowed an unnatural blue as though something from within was trying to escape. When Molok called his name, a bluish-green light formed in front of them and materialized into the ethereal shape of a Tordai or Predator.
“Achtov, Togor!” The clan said in unison, greeting their fallen warrior.
A woman stepped forward, facing the spirit. She was wrapped in pelts and shivering against the night.
“Achtov, Vathaba!” She heartily greeted the spirit, her father’s father.
She turned to Molok.
“Sagor Togor Gub Yeshak Ta’anve!” She demanded Molok free Togor to the Jackal.
She then recounted Togor’s accomplishments as a warrior. This was meant to establish Togor’s worthiness to be released to the Jackal, for Ta’an would only accept the worthiest warriors to strengthen him.
After a long claim, she stepped back. The spirit of Togor bowed his head and hissed back at his granddaughter, “Pri Apella.” Well-spoken, Well met, thank you.
All was silent as Molok deliberated the fate of Togor’s spirit. He had served Kal Dinardran well in life and also in death. Molok had called upon him many times, and Togor had answered and fought ferociously, met Ta’anve dranan “with the Jackal’s teeth,” as his people said.
Molok drew his knife and proclaimed to the clan: “Togor Yeshak met Ta’an,” and made a slash in Togor’s tooth. Togor rests with the Jackal.
“Yesh, Togor,” the clan intoned. Rest, Togor.
Togor’s spirit broke into thousands of tiny lights with the slash across the tooth. It blew away on the wind, dimming with each moment as it was carried away into the chill night.
The night wore on, and Molok went through the chain of teeth he had selected as potential souls to release to Ta’an on this Okanars. Rolda was released, as were Chor, Peldiva, Mun, and Krod, all from Kal Dinardran. Two Mammoth Warriors, whose names Molok never knew, had fought bravely against his people and by his side after their demise. They were also released to Ta’an.
Molok retained Burd, Vogol, and Sak because He felt their time was yet to come. “Adkava Adath,” he would proclaim after their family spoke on their behalf and even after hearing from the spirits themselves. “They fight still.”
The procession back to Kal Dinardran’s camp was somber. The clan was tired after having marched through the snow and back from the Dathgocha. Fires greeted them, warming them and giving them strength. Food had been prepared, and after a few hours of sleep, the clan would arise and celebrate the year’s victories.
The clan would eat and celebrate all day, recalling the deeds of the warriors sent to Ta’an. Games meant to teach hunting, and combat skills were played with the children, all part of the Okanars’ festivities.
In the evening, as the sun set again, the warrior leaders and Kal Dinardran’s mystics would gather and begin their year over again by planning their first raids.
It was always a cycle with the Jackal Tribes. A time to fight and a time to die. A time to fight again and be released to Ta’an. Everything returned to Ta’an, but not before they fought ferociously in his name.
As Molok sat around one of the large fires, he closed his eyes and thanked Ta’an for the bounty of souls. He had released many tonight, but he was excited, for tomorrow began preparations to add more teeth to his growing collection.