"Mix it like this," said Rakhal. She ground wet clay and herbs beneath her pestle with rhythmic strokes. "The very act of creating the paint is a prayer." Yashirr grasped her own stone pestle, pulled her bowl closer and imitated the Priestess. Pound! Lift! Scatter a handful of herbs into the bowl and pound again! The Orcs sat close together, knee to knee, bowls held in curve of their bent knees. Rakhal chanted softly, swaying with her movements. Gradually, as the group's rhythm strengthened, her voice gained matching volume. "Mauloch!" Pound! "Witness ..." Lift! "...our deeds!" Scatter!