[Deep underground. No instrumental yet.]
[Footsteps descending stone stairs.]
[Chains dragging.]
[Dozens of Orcs breathing slowly together.]
GRIMEPRIEST — WHISPER:
Close the gates.
Kill the torches.
Tonight…
we wake the drum.
[Stone doors grind shut.]
[THE INVOCATION]
[One ancient drum hit.]
BOOM.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Who carried the rhythm?
ORC CHOIR:
OUR FATHERS.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Who buried the rhythm?
ORC CHOIR:
THE HIGHBLOODS.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Where does the rhythm sleep?
ORC CHOIR:
IN THE STONE.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Where does the rhythm live?
ORC CHOIR:
IN THE BLOOD.
[BOOM.]
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Then blood…
wake stone.
[CHANT I — GRIMEPRIESTS]
[Slow stomping begins.]
GRIMEPRIESTS:
Stone remembers.
Blood remembers.
Bone remembers.
WE REMEMBER.
Stone remembers.
Blood remembers.
Drum remembers.
WAKE.
[BOOM]
WAKE.
[BOOM]
WAKE.
[BOOM]
[VERSE I — GRIMJAW]
[Distorted sub-bass slowly appears underneath the drums.]
GRIMJAW:
Three hundred winters with our mouths sewn tight,
Three hundred years hiding drums from the light.
They burned every skin,
broke every frame,
Killed every priest
who remembered the name.
But you can’t hang thunder.
Can’t imprison sound.
Can’t bury a rhythm
when its roots own the ground.
My grandmother whispered these patterns to me,
Tapped beats on the table where guards couldn’t see.
One-two—
pause—
then three against four.
Said:
“Boy, when you hear it…
you’ll know what it’s for.”
I hear it now.
Deep under my feet.
Something ancient down there
been waiting on me.
So if thunder got gods—
If the old tales true—
Tonight I ain’t praying.
I’m calling on you.
[CALL AND RESPONSE]
GRIMJAW:
THUNDER!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
HEAR US!
GRIMJAW:
STONE!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
FEAR US!
GRIMJAW:
BLOOD!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
BIND US!
GRIMJAW:
ANCESTORS!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
FIND US!
GRIMJAW:
GRIME!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
AWAKEN!
GRIMJAW:
GRIME!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
AWAKEN!
ALL:
GRIME!
AWAKEN!
[THUNDER CRASH]
[THE FIRST GRIMECAST]
[Drum pattern doubles.]
[Low Orc throat choir enters.]
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
GrimJaw.
Give the drum your anger.
GRIMJAW:
It already got it.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Give the drum your pain.
GRIMJAW:
It knows.
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
Then give it…
your voice.
[silence]
GRIMJAW:
Gladly.
[VERSE II — GRIMJAW]
I cast with the wrath of the ones without graves,
With the names scratched deep where they once kept the slaves.
I cast for the mothers that swallowed their cries,
For the children taught young:
“Never look Spirefolk in the eyes.”
I cast for the drums they threw into flame,
Every rhythm erased,
every forbidden name.
Come storm.
Come shadow.
Come old crooked sky.
If thunder still hears us—
THEN ANSWER MY CRY!
[MASSIVE THUNDER]
I don’t need scrolls!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
THE BODY’S THE TEXT!
I don’t need wands!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
THE RHYTHM CONNECTS!
I don’t need crystals!
GRIMEPRIESTS:
THE BLOOD IS THE SOURCE!
Then open the earth—
AND GIVE GRIME ITS FORCE!
[DROP — GRIMECASTING RETURNS]
[Everything stops for half a second.]
GRIMJAW:
Wake.
[An enormous distorted 808 drops simultaneously with six war drums.]
BOOOOOOM.
GRIMEPRIESTS:
GRIME!
[BOOM-BOOM]
GRIME!
[BOOM-BOOM]
GRIME!
[Thunder]
GRIME!
GRIMJAW:
From the Hollow!
CHOIR:
WE RISE!
GRIMJAW:
From the darkness!
CHOIR:
WE RISE!
GRIMJAW:
From the silence!
CHOIR:
WE RISE!
GRIMJAW:
LET THE SPIRES—
ALL:
HEAR US!
[VERSE III — GRIMJAW]
Now the walls got a pulse,
feel the tunnels inhale.
Iron screaming in rhythm,
hear the underground wail.
Every torch turned blue
when the bassline struck.
Every chain on the wall
started shaking itself up.
Something moving through me
that ain’t only rage.
Feels older than kingdoms,
older than mage.
I can taste every footstep
three tunnels away.
I can hear dead voices
inside what I say.
[Whispers appear behind GrimJaw’s voice.]
ANCESTRAL VOICES:
Grim…
Jaw…
Grim…
Jaw…
GRIMJAW:
Who said that?
[HIGH GRIMEPRIEST]
Don’t stop.
[GRIMJAW]
There’s something in the drum.
[HIGH GRIMEPRIEST]
There always was.
[THE THUNDER GODS]
[Music becomes slower and enormous.]
[Deep voices appear beneath the Orc choir—too deep to sound mortal.]
GRIMEPRIESTS:
Kar’Grom…
Father of Storm.
Vorak…
Breaker of Stone.
Morga…
Mother of Thunder.
Your children have remembered.
GRIMJAW:
Morga…
If you’re listening—
We kept the beat.
Even when they broke us.
Even when they burned it.
Even when they made our children ashamed to hear it.
We kept…
the fucking…
beat.
[BOOM]
[FINAL RITUAL]
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
WHO OWNS THE RHYTHM?
ORC CROWD:
NO KING!
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
WHO OWNS THE THUNDER?
ORC CROWD:
NO COUNCIL!
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
WHO OWNS THE VOICE?
ORC CROWD:
THE ONE WHO SPEAKS!
HIGH GRIMEPRIEST:
AND WHO SPEAKS TONIGHT?
[Hundreds of Orc voices]
WE DO!
[BOOM]
WE DO!
[BOOM]
WE DO!
[BOOM]
[GRIMJAW + GRIMEPRIESTS]
GRIMJAW:
Raise the dead