[b][u]Gutch's Joyous Offering:[/u][/b]
Gutch scuttled to the backdoor. He peered out. When focusing on the sky, it is fairly easy to spot the twin moons of the world. Though they were somewhat old, Gutch had only been a young man when they appeared. He had greatly enjoyed the first eclipse, and was actually disappointed when the Sun came back so quickly. By now he was used to them, and had actually spent long nights enjoying their company and studying how they behaved.

He figured  tonight would be the night he had about half the day to prepare the offering and trappings to justify his word. He knew what he must get until then. He would steal what he needs from the steady flow of travellers entering the valley. Gutch looked around in the field behind Gatehouse. The winning cockerel had been ushered out and tethered. Good. Gutch was rapidly scheming. 

He matched away from the Gate, away from the edge of the valley. The field transitioned into a shady forest with a main road cut through it. One side was dense and wild, and the other quickly gave way to a sheer drop and unknown world. He watched the road. No one was coming. He waited. Sound. He did not move. When the cart was in his view, almost in the meadow. He glanced at what it was carrying. People, supplies. Not what he cared for, too many people. He waited again.

He looked around him, some mushrooms. He took them. Various herbal plants. He recognised most. He took some. In a tree above him he saw a clump of vines hanging. He climbed up and picked some vines with white berries. He dropped them into his pile of forage below him. He looked out of the tree and down the road.

A cart. This cart had people following it on foot. No good. The shadow hung still in the tree till the cart had long passed. One of the men pointed it out to the other in passing. 

Another, longer wait. He moved his pile of forage into the edge of the meadow.

Darkness was nearly falling and a mist was quickly drawing from the wood. This cart. Two people. One turned to Gutch. He was busy lighting a lantern. The simple cart had a ground cloth tied onto the bed. Gutch let the humble wagon pass. He got up, nearly silently. The bored duo chatted about how close there were. A shadow slunk behind them, no one noticed the silent hooded figure. A sliver of the night-time cut the rope and the ground cloth was snatched from the back of the cart before Gutch melted back into the dusk meadow. Wrapping his forage up in the ground cloth. 

Tonight was the night. It was a fortunate coincidence that it seemed today was a busy day in the valley and people were getting to bed on time. Only the busiest parts of the valley were making any degree of noise. Still the Gatehouse was alive with some chatter. It wasn't too late yet. Gutch looked at the moon. It was obvious the smaller white one would cross the pale sister tonight. Excellent. Some people on foot had passed the gatehouse. No wagons in sight on the road. He laid out the ground cloth. 

Gutch went into the Gatehouse. Though the crowd wasn't as busy at night, men travellers were spending their evening here at least. He approved a pair of slightly drunken men, chatting, leaning over a pair of large skin drums. One of the many implements he had seen to make noise. Gutch had seen that people liked it and how it could draw a gathering. He nudged the pair of men and shook his large pouch of coin. He beckoned them. They didn't consider they hadn't seen his face under the large hood. 

They followed him out with their drums and turned into the road. Gutch was holding the sack of coin, standing in the middle of the road and pointing up. The men looked up and noticed the white moon beginning to cross the larger moon. They heard Gutch hiss "Our joyous offering, play." The men walked to Gutch, setting their drums down. Gutch began to produce a gravelly chat which was quickly followed by a lively drumbeat. Gutch poured the sack of coins between the three of them. A few people looked into the street to see what was going on. They walked up. One man shouted to the others "The Offering!" The newcomers nodded. One reached out his hand-drum. They continued Gutch's simply droning chant in time with the drums. 

Gutch scuttled off behind the Gatehouse, the group continued. A few more people trickled out. Gutch grabbed the sleeping cockerel. It squawked but couldn't escape the firm arm crook it was trapped in. Gutch returned to the pile of coins, a larger group, a slightly larger pile of coins. The chant was nearly as loud as the drums. The flow of people into the small crowd was steadily increasing. As they joined the crowd, the only explanation required was someone saying "The Offering!" Some would toss coins into the pile, a few had drums, all of them joined the monotonous chant. Gutch forced the stunned rooster to eat a handful of the berries and some other woodland forage. He himself consumed a handful of the unknown, and then passed out the remainder to some members of the central crowd. 

The large gathering occupied the center of the road, the drumming and the Charing continued gathering more and more people. When asked faced with explanation members of the crowd simply answered: "The Offering." Some people threw coins into the steadily expanding pile. Gutch stood motionless, resting the cockerel under one arm as he resonated the chant in the center of the crowd. 

He looked up. The moons were at the apex of the convergence. The drumming sped up, so did the chanting. Gutch raised the bird above him and cut it's throat. The noise collapsed into cacophony. The blood spilled onto the coins. He hissed out three wretched words. [color=003471]"Wealth over justice."[/color] Three matching symbols glowed with embers across his long tongue. He screeched as he brought the deceitful bond into the world. He had collated the right influences in the right way at the right time, and he had made his word true. 

As the rooster blood landed on the coins it sizzled away, leaving rust splattered permanently across the pile of coins. The crowd imploded on the pile, a massive of hands smashing and clawing and tearing at eachother to get a handful of coins. Gutch slipped away from the melee, discarding the dead rooster. He skulked around for long enough to witness the initial chaos, the large crowd fighting for whatever of the stained pile they could. 

A malicious grin crossed his face. No one had taken notice of the hooded figure that slipped off into the night. He wandered down the forest path, away from the invisible force in the valley.

[hider=Summary]
Gutch gathered a small fortune of coins and stained them with blood in a ritual. He used the energy from the ritual to cast a magic spell meaning that wealth holds more value to the people than justice. The coins used in the ritual are stained with a foreboding rust and are highly coveted by all.
[/hider]