Within an almost forgotten forest, hidden with a promise, lies an ancient Altar for false gods. Beings that never shall be seen by the eyes of inhabitants, or so it might seem. The gracious decorations were forming pale tint in the dim light. From the bushes a group of freezing spiders were weaving their hive. Breeding, growing and dropping their temperatures. A place where only the strong and ambiguous would pray was guarded by the servants of nature. Long twisted legs with eight beady dark, yet pale eyes. The mandibles weaved the song of ice, freezing the leaves in complete stasis. One step further would mean an attack of spiders. But the silk was fabled to make fine strong fabric for mages. And the poison of the spider was one of the main ingredients on freezing splash potions and bombs.
The spiders stepped back in respect, as he walked, holding an old clay tray in his palms, in it a dead mocking bird was stuck in a rigor mortis, mid flight. It’s wings spread as if to grasp the last remains of freedom. “From the darkness hand does reach.” With slight steps the hooded figure neared the altar of the false gods, as the eight eyed creatures watched the happening. “From the shadows that lurk in each.” Muffled was the prayer of the unknown man. Soon it placed the tray on the altar and knelt, pressing his hands together and lowering his head in an almost gracious manner. Trough the mist and ticking of the legs of the spiders the prayer continued. “The one who taps deep beneath my skull, pour in my dreams until they are full.” The trees didn’t whisper in the breeze, as the spider webbing had stopped them in an almost stasis-like stance. “Come to us and speak your will. Free the world that’s fallen ill. The king of plagues, the lord of rust. Bring to us sinners, what is just.” For a while it prayed. For a while he was there, surrounded by the eight legged creatures, that paid no mind to this figure. The bird began to rot in extreme speeds.
No answer came from the altar, as it never has. The man stood up and looked down on it. As always, the faithful follower turned, not minding the creatures and looked upon the cursed forest. Gods, legends, heroes. All those who deemed themselves just. Never to witness their own malevolence, until it was too late. With light steps the man walked. It was dangerous to be caught here. The critters hissed, letting out a dark song, as they resumed tending to the victims stuck in the webs. Lowly, greedy adventurers and animals, that had gone astray. Dark, vile liquid was dripping down the fangs of these, seemingly, animals. He rose both of his arms and looked up, as the pale light was shining upon the white mask, lightening the expressionless gaze within the dark, tarnished eyes. “A prayer. A prayer for my lord!” It chanted, and lowered his arms. Giving a moment of silence, before turning the head towards the altar and kneeling before it, taking a respectful distance from the disfigured statues. Broken by time, yet still almost breathing beneath the cobwebs. Like priestesses. Looking upon the ground, his head moved as he spoke the words: “It, who feasts on all that is life. The time will come, for what is right. I shall bring you your champions. And they will do your bidding, my lord.” The man then stood, as the crazed eyes looked trough the webs, sounding out the promise. “From the flesh of god you shall rise. From the blood of innocent you shall feed. That day the lord shall open my eyes, and trough the madness to peace it will lead! The unspeakable. The unknown. The false. The god of my ambition. The god of my dreams. We will follow you, till you tear us apart!” An old woman, also masked stepped out from the shadows. Her old, cracked voice responded to his prayer. “We will follow, till you tear us apart!” From another side, a young girl, not as much as age of thirteen, also covered in mask, sounded loudly and proudly. “We will follow, till you tear us apart!” In tandem they spoke, lifting their hands in prayer. “All hail the weaver of deceit. All hail the king of promises. All hail the lord of madness. All hail the unspeakable. All hail our false idol!” They knelt before the altar, which didn’t respond. “He whispers to me.” The girl spoke, and turned her head towards the man who led the prayer. “What does it say?” the man answered with certain inquiry in his mind. “It’s says, that you must be the one walking across the lands, for you hold sword, that resembles hope, the shield that resembles trust, and armor, that resembles stability. You shall be the one to lead the heroes here. You shall be the one to seek the tarnished ones, and bring them to it’s doorstep. I shall lay the book on that place.” The man nodded, and turned towards the altar. “As the lord commands, so shall it be. From your wretched throne, I shall take thine blood, and soak the pages with it. Your word will sound trough those who listen. And the great whisperers shall lead to a new dawn soon enough.” And that point the old woman spoke. “What about the golden plague, brother? Surely…” “Foolish sister.” The main man spoke, and glanced at her, whilst still kneeling. “The shadows will weave, as we grow among them. Sharpening the blades of punishment. They don’t even see, as the paintings in Consequence scream! And many more realms awaken from cursed dreams of the bloodbound.” He then stood up, and the two women followed him. “It is now, that we walk. For this place is for no man kind. We wish not to lure the light dwellers and moon crazed to this sacred place.” He raised his arm towards the small girl.” Sister, you shall seek the demon, our lord has spoken of.” His head turned towards the elderly woman. “You, will speak to the tarnished ones, who are to touch the faces of madman’s will. As for me, well…” He looked up at the altar. “That even I cannot speak out loud. Now let us move, my sisters, for we must not be seen. All hail our lord of shadows. All hail the false king! All hail the unspoken!” The three chanted one last time, before walking back into the forest, untouched by beasts, and untarnished by malevolence, seeping trough the ground. And so, the temple was covered in spiders once more. Almost as if it was abandoned for ages. The rotten mocking bird was lying in the cracked tray. Withering away, leaving no trace of presence what so ever.