Once they were brought up to speed and satisfied that she wasn't going to do anything deceptive, she removed the bottle of green Liquid she had taken from within the scrying pool and poured it carefully into the silver bowl.

“I think it might be best if you provide your own force to this effort," she told them.

“I do not wish to have any influence that might be brought into question at a later time.”

Kozash didn't seem to relish the idea of involving his own magical energies with those that inhabited the murky liquid in the bowl. It had already begun to bubble with apparent annoyance at the purified container in which it found itself. With a snarl of disgust, Urgin reached out to place a gnarled hand over the bowl, and his example forced Kozash to follow his lead.

With everyone's gaze focused upon the bowl, no one noticed Borika quietly stepping up behind Valise and placing her hand upon the elf's shoulder. The female shaman closed her eyes and focused, causing Valise to draw in a gasp as she felt power begin to flow through her in waves once again. Only Urgin flashed his gaze toward the women, and saw his former apprentice offering her own power to the elf. Thankfully, he held his tongue on the matter and allowed Valise to begin the ritual.

The magic began, and the participants began a low chant. Chanting wasn't usually necessary in magic, and in Gregory's experience there were no "magic words" that needed to be said. Understanding of magical energies was more an exercise of will and focus, and as such it was often better to practice such things in silence without any noisy distractions. It was only when several practitioners needed to combine their power that chanting became useful, as it provided them with a singular rhythm in which to focus. This enabled them to work together more efficiently, and didn't seem entirely unlike tuning several radios to the correct frequency in order to hear the music properly.

As such, the actual words of the chant were often meaningless ones. In this instance, that was not entirely the case, as Valise had led the chanting with the simple repetition of a name.

“Dal Gahlla, Dal Gahlla, Dal Gahlla..."

The patron dragon of the orcs. Their oldest friend and ally. A being that they trusted entirely. Not only would the repetition of that name keep them focused, but there was comfort in its mere mention to anyone in the vicinity with green skin and extended Lower canines. Even though the great dragon had not been seen in centuries, his memory was still enough to give strength and resolve to any orc

The vile Liquid began to bubble as if brought to the boil, and spat up at the hands held over its surface. All four of the practitioners flinched at the reaction. Even Borika, who was not directly involved in the ritual, bared her teeth at the struggle.

As they chanted, the liquid began to evaporate to send up green vapour into the air that burned to the touch. The chanting was disrupted, as all the participants began to choke on those fumes and struggled to maintain their focus. Valise used her free hand to reach inside her white robes and remove another vial of yellow Liquid and smashed it open upon the table. Upon contact with the air, the Liquid immediately vaporised and mixed in with the miasma generated by the contents of the bowl. It seemed to neutralise the effects, and the chanting returned with Valise's voice growing clearer and stronger

The call of the dragon encouraged others in the hall to join in. Though they didn't participate in the ritual directly, they did maintain the timing perfectly. Grolfir himself was soon chanting, and even Ulag joined in before the end. Gregory listened, and the singular focus on the chant brought about the sensation of his own strength returning to him before he too began to utter the name.

His world flashed with white-hot light, and a blaze of pale fire consumed him. It was a fire that did not burn, but its power was unmistakable. The vision lasted only a few seconds, but in those moments he was the fire, and he burned like a beacon. When his sight returned, it was to see Valise take another potion from within her robes. This one was a clear shade of sky blue, and carried its own faint glow before it was poured into the bowl to mix with the green liquid.

The chant was then interrupted by a horrific screech of agony emanating from the silver bowl. Bubbling and shifting in ways that were slightly alien to watch, the Liquid finally seemed to splash back into the bowl and the glow of Valise's skin grew brighter. Her hair began to lift about her as if she was submerged in water, and her eyes shone brighter than the torches Lighting the hall. The Liquid beneath her hand settled into a clear pool of gleaming, mercurial silver that carried no reflection.

“It is done," Valise said.

With the scrying liquid apparently overcome, quite a few nearby orcs scooched forward to see inside the bowl. Upon the shimmering surface, a face came into view. Wren's image looked out at them, as he had once peered into the scrying pool.

“My master," he said. "Your forces have been successfully transported into the south via ship. They Landed ashore in Uldrin three days ago under cover of night. I have prepared a means for them to enter the camp that will be traced back to the human diplomat. ALL goes according to your design.”

The image shimmered slightly, and then Wren appeared once again.

“Master, there is a problem. A human has appeared in the camp and our fool of a war-chief is harbouring him. This human apparently wets the cunt of his niece, and is to be granted our hospitality." Wren paused to spit upon the ground.

“He has even been granted property, and the right of challenge! This closeness with the war-chief cannot be tolerated. It's about time my son cut his tusks, and so I have charged him with sabotaging the human. I have taken great pains to isolate the human influence in this camp, and will not allow this upstart whelp to interfere. The orcs must be independent, and free of human contamination."