At the banks of the Reed River, gray sparrows chirped and hopped among the branches in the early morning. Golden sunlight pierced the dense canopy, casting dappled light upon the Rot Moss Tribe's camp.
Unlike the usual morning bustle, the bonfire pit at the center of the camp was surrounded by Lizardmen today. They were witnessing a young Lizardman prepare for the Shaman's trial.
The bonfire in the pit had long since been extinguished, leaving only dark red embers. All the tribe members wore solemn expressions; even the usually noisiest hatchlings were now quietly staying by their mothers' sides.
In the center of the crowd, the elderly Shaman, Shazak, was performing a sacred ritual.
He chanted an ancient, arcane prayer, crushing several specific types of leaves in a stone mortar. He worked the pulp until it produced a deep green juice, then used his fingers to carefully paint simple yet mysterious patterns onto a young Lizardman's face and bare chest.
