Nothing. The troll waited, his indigo crest of hair and intricately beaded beard shone glossy in the candlelight. He breathed slowly, rhythmically, emptied of thoughts and emotion as the silence and the dark pressed in on all sides, testing his barriers, probing. Other things had heard his call and now crept around the rings, just outside the bounds of the candlelight. Hollow, lost things, they would speak, they promised. Some even tried, tested the salt rings with unseen arms, fingers groping for him like blind spiders. The troll fought to maintain his focus; they could not enter and he would not engage. He had one purpose here.
An untold amount of time passed in the sunless depths. The candles burned low, the incense and herbs smoldered. The unseen throng’s assault became frantic, perhaps sensing the ebb of the rings’ power. They whispered and gibbered; promises, deals, pleas, inanities soon became threats. The troll remained perfectly still, outwardly calm. The tiny flames sputtered and winked out one by one. The host squealed with glee as they slunk and slithered forward, anticipating, reaching, promising.
As the first wretched arm reached toward the salt, to caress its prey, blue flame erupted from the rotting stone, a gout at each site that had held a candle. The unseen things screamed, droves consumed in an instant by the lick of the ghostly fire. The rest fled back into their pits and crevices, again lost, again forgotten. Only now did the troll open his eyes.
Before him, the bone-white powder from the second bowl swirled as if caught in a whirlwind, slowly taking shape. It coalesced, wraith-like, above the altar, taking the form of a skeletal troll, half decomposed and ragged. At last the tusks took their place and the eyes blazed with the same ghostfire that encircled the troll. The entity towered over him, looking down with obvious scorn and annoyance. “Ya dare tink ta keep me out with dis?” He pointed to the salt with a long, crooked finger, “Ya lucky I didn’ let de filt’ take ya…”
Bwon’samdi stepped down from the air and paced around the outermost ring, his unreadable face severe, but his tone lightening, “Interestin’…Vrak’nal was it? Ya have become a bit more…persuasive…since de last time ya tried ta call.” If a skull could smile, that’s what the loa did now. He indicated toward the shrunken kaldorei head laying in the third bowl, “Such pretty baubles…I be listenin’, start talkin’.”
The Shatterspear eyed the loa impassively; as imposing as he was, this was not the first of his kind the troll had met. He picked up the head, looked it over, then tossed it to the towering entity that prowled outside his protective rings. “I have heard datchya followahs send de soulsa de ones dey be killin’ directly your way…” He let his words hang for effect.
The Loa of Death caught the head in one skeletal hand, grinned again, then peered at the troll more closely, “Aye…one a de ways dey be showin’ deference fa me gifts. Ya soun’ int’rested.” The loa traced the jawline of the purple head, stroked its silky emerald hair, feigning non-chalance “I could be persuaded ta bestow a few a’ me lesser gifts…ifya got anyting ta offah.”
Vrak’nal laughed internally at his candor and shifted his body to face the loa, the countless piercings and fetishes hanging from his skin and gear rattling softly. He fingered a carven bone idol that hung from his waist: the shrouded visage of a female troll enveloped in a downpour. He kept his expression flat, “No gifts. Ya grant me de means, an’ I send 'em ya way. Simple as dat.”
Bwon’samdi’s gaze fell upon the carven idol and hardened. “Zelaji’s boy….very int’restin’.” He continued his pacing, trying to find the catch in this offer. It was too simple. There had to be more. Finally, he turned to face the cross-legged troll, “I grantchya de powah ta send me de soulsa ya enemies. You mine whenya go.” His eyes blazed with the blue fire, enjoying the process.
“No, mon. You grant me de ability, I send 'em ya way. Dat’s it.” The Shatterspear slid two smoothly curved and ornately decorated blades out of their concealment among his gear. Clearly, they were of kaldorei make and of the highest quality. Lunar imagery danced along the wicked steel.* “How many night elves ya got 'round ya way? Could be a lot more.” He eyed the flaming eyes flatly, “A lot more.”
Bwon’samdi stopped mid-stride and peered once more at the troll before him, then laughed. Vrak’nal cowered despite himself: if the entirety of the catacombs had tumbled down then, stone grating across stone, ancient bones cracking and splintering beneath the weight of the ancient soil, the effect would not have been more terrible. The loa snapped his rotten fingers and the head vanished in a flash of azure flame. “Ohhhhh, Zelaji’s boy…you be a fun one. I accept. But de deal seem lop-sided. Ta even it out, you be callin’ an’ I listen. I look fahwad ta whatchu come up wid…” With that he turned to go, then paused, “Next time you see her, you tell Zelaji I got my eye on 'er boy….or maybe I tell her meself…” He took a turning step and vanished into the shadow of the stone plinth. The flames winked out immediately, leaving Vrak’nal alone in the crushing, soundless dark.
If you’ve read this far down the comments, maybe it’s time to give us a chance! Soooo much has changed and Shadowtusk Clan is an amazing place filled with fantastic folks. I’ve definitely made some lifelong friends in this guild. 
