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The Dawn of the Veiled God

As the sun began to shine across the eastern side of the Histwald, a figure could be seen. At times travelling on four legs, other times on two, the creature climbed up the ancient hillock which had in æons back served as a burial ground for civilizations of sometimes benign fellowship, and other times... rather demoniac ritual. At times, the green grass was disturbed by the protrusion of stone boxes, the graves of the priests who had been buried there so many years ago. As with all things, the land had changed, causing some of the burial sites to begin to poke out where the eastern flank had been eroded. The creature now approaching the crest of the hill appeared to be a strange hybrid between a human figure, and that of a species of fox. The springtime wind gently ruffled her fur, which she enjoyed greatly. Using her keen sense of smell, the creature quickly found its quarry. On the northern slope, amidst an outcropping of blue-grey rocks stood a solitary door, the entrance to some archaic vault. Standing up on two legs, the creature inspected the ancient entrance. Rusted though it was, the grey door seemed in otherwise workable condition. The scenes depicted upon it were roughly familiar to the creature, depicting the civilization which had once dwelt there, along with the usual visage of their transformation. It seemed that these people were the very first in the land to fully master the art of shapeshifting into beasts, and thus it had become an integral part of their cultural identity, some even believing that man itself was simply a state of transition for the souls of beasts, and that the true nature of Man lies therein. However, through her past investigations, she had discovered that one sect of the culture had apparently split off in their insane pursuit of something that would allow them to remain as beasts in perpetuity.

The fox-creature wrapped a paw around one of the ancient handles, and pulled. As first, it would not budge. However, after several moments, she was filled with an inexplicable sense of dread, and she recoiled. Whether my magic, or by some unseen mechanism, the door slid back soundlessly. Staring into that menacing darkness, her ears perked forward. It almost seemed like a thousand voices teemed within, like those of a multitude of fell sirens, drawing her inward. He claws tapped on the stone floor as she crept into that dark, ancient cell. Amidst the voices, she heard the sound of distant running water, as from an underground spring. As her eyes adjusted, she saw what appeared to be a crystalline pool, lined by many crouching idols with the body of humans, but the heads of various beasts. Some were recognizable as boars, bears, tigers, wolves, and other creatures. However, some had grotesque faces of creatures that were not only alien to her, but altogether unearthly. And so it was that in that forgotten, nameless tomb, her true ancestry at last was pieced together. There in that vast, swirling pit were the insane, rambling voices given hideous form before her very eyes. For countless ages had they slumbered there, doomed never to rot, to die, to dream - and they were rising. Hideous creatures they were, with horns protruding from their skulls that split off, only to grow back together, or legs or feet where none should be on any sane creature. Beneath it all, a greater fear lurked. This unshakeable dread which would often haunt even her waking hours, that unspeakable horror which the tablets had said the Sahkrine had awoken in their blind pursuit of fulfillment. If she stretched her mind further, giving into the wild, necrotic fancies which this tomb seemed to spread, she might just see it. There, lurking beyond the veil that separates our worlds, or there yet again, as the shadow lurking behind the empty-eyed statues. It was hungry for the blood of its children, hungry for that blood which would allow it to once more wreak havoc on this world. She stood paralyzed, with only the slight twitch of her tail to hint that she were still alive. For there in the blackness, a face was taking shape; a face indescribable by anyone of sane or reasonable aspect, and yet horrifyingly real. It was then that the demoniac thing that her ancestors had once called their god slithered out, reaching for her with slimy tendrils like those of a thousand dead snakes, writhing, and pinching. As she felt her lifeblood leak out, she heard a singular voice. This voice was alien to the chaotic, insane rambling of the chamber, it was too fair. This voice was very distinctly human, and it whispered "Go. Leave, now.". Her head pounding, she clawed at the beast, whimpering desperately. What her eyes beheld then she will remember unto her dying day. There, in that pool, where once had stood the unspeakable half-formed creatures now stood the specters of what were beginning to look like real, living human beings. On each face was the look of pure, unrelenting horror, and their arms were outstretched, as if using all their power to keep some invisible, intangible thing at bay. Suddenly, those fell tentacles went slack, dropping her to the floor with a yelp. Her heart pounding, she ran, and ran as fast as her feet could carry her. After what seemed like ages, she reached the door. Sparing herself a glimpse back for just a moment, she saw the pillars holding that ancient tomb up fall. She then beheld a scream unlike anything that dwelt on this earth might produce, and then silence before she forced herself to close the door to that damned tomb of the unhallowed.

It is said that that fear never left her, fully. That thing had gotten a taste of the blood that it sought, and whether it had been enough, she dared not dream. Ever after, she feared what lurked in the shadows, and in ancient places, jumping oddly at approaching footsteps. Even after she returned to her people, it is said she took on a frightened, nervous temperament. Not able to stand even the sight of her brothers and sisters, she hid herself away. It is said also that one summer morn, she flung herself, screaming from a high city tower, yelling ere she died, "It's coming, you fools! Narkerion comes! Fly!", and though they knew not why, that name inspired sickening fear, for they knew that he was coming. As the strange aeons passed, he would rise again.