The bogs poisoned them, the winters froze them, the beasts hunted them, and the orcs forced them from their lands. So, they turned to the deep woods. To the hag Brujeria. The people made a covenant with her, and she bore their chieftain three children. Children to lead. Children to teach. Children of power. Now the bogs bear them herbs, the winter’s wrath is calmed, the beasts obey their will, and the orcs fear their wrath. All praise Brujeria! Mother of our people, ruler of the wilds! Grandma Bruja’s due when a hunt is successful, we leave the heart and liver. They are our gift to Bruja. When fortune smiles on us, we leave bread upon the step. It is our thanks to Bruja When we are in want, we leave sweets under a tree. They are our petition to Bruja. When the new moon comes, we raise our voice in song. It is our love for Bruja.