One night, as the waxing half moon shone naked in the sky, a Shaman covered head to toe in old and rotten furs approached the gates. There it produced three bones from its pouch. The first, a charred and blackened bone, the second, a bloody and wet bone, and the third, a brittle and hollowed bone. The first bone was ground into dust and scatted upon the stone road. The second bone was inserted into the Shaman's mouth. It ground the bone with its tusks before spitting it towards the city. The third, and final, bone was brought to its lips. There it was blown into as its brittle dust was cast into the air. The Shaman chanted some more in a strange tongue before he finally stood and left west.
It passed the people upon the roads, some staring with disdain and one even being so bold as to spit at him. He ignored their reactions fading into the night.