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This is the beginning of Clan Mordok, a history written right from the very start.
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Gleefully, the green, scaled creature tore the feather from the dead human's hat and ran its long tongue over the soft strands. What sort of creature wore such a terribly tacky decoration, anyway? Only the soft, squishy races would do such a thing.
"The last ingredient I need," the troll muttered under his breath, tucking it away in a pocket he had sewn in the skins he wore. "With this, I, Varad Mordok, will finally be able to take control of the clan. The shamans are weak, they will have no way to stop me. I will have control."
Grinning insanely to himself, Varad retreated to his lair, where he began the preparations for his ceremony. Gathering all the ingredients he had collected, hair, cloth and other items from his fallen enemies, he piled them all together in the center of his thatch hut. As quietly as he could, he began the fire that would be necessary to complete the ritual, and began feeding the ingredients to the hungry flames.
"gorod Mordok mov merdekh mit'chan," he intoned as he fed the chicken feather (humans were such cheap creatures) to the fire. The flames turned a bright blue and began to sing with the power of the magic around him. He traced a jagged symbol in the dirt, the symbol that would represent his clan. With one wicked claw, he tore open the vein on his wrist, letting his own blood drip into the flames. He would rule, and he would rule under his own name, under his own banner. The clans would flock to him, and he would unite them under one name.
Mordok.
He tore open the skins that hung loosely on him, ripped the wooden beaded necklace from his throat, baring his chest, shoulder and neck. The flames leapt up, burning the symbol that was drawn in the dirt onto his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the pain, knowing that to cry out now was tantamount to suicide.
"gam barod kha'lai, mod darkh toreda!"
The flames went out.
All was silent.
Varad Mordok, a happy grin upon his hideous face, lay unconscious on the ground, the black and red symbol that would soon strike terror into the hearts of his enemies emblazoned upon his skin. His magic had done its job. Soon, he would rule, and all of the troll nations would come under his banner. Those who stood in their way would die.
The beginning of Clan Mordok was forged in blood.