Quote:
You hurry out of the library and follow a series of corridors which end at a large antechamber. This domed hall is decorated with tapestries which depict Cenerese legends, ignoble and infamous deeds that were perpetrated during the Age of the Old Kingdoms, when, for nearly a thousand years, the Cenerese tyrannized Northern Magnamund.
A single heavy oaken door in the opposite wall offers the only exit from the antechamber. As you approach it you notice that it is slightly ajar. Suddenly you hear the doleful sound of chanting emanating from beyond this door. Curiosity coaxes you nearer. You approach and peer through its narrow opening, and a chill runs the length of your spine when you see what lies beyond.
Beyond the door lies a secret Cenerese prayer hall, a chapel of evil where the druids worship and make sacrifice to their foul gods. Kneeling in pews before a blood-red alter are dozens of figures. They chant a soulless dirge as they read from books bound in black cloth. Around the walls hang grim decorations: skulls, flayed skins, tattered baffle banners, and other ugly tributes to the power that is worshipped and coveted here--the power of death, disease and decay.
You look with loathing at the congregation. In the main they are Cenerese, but there are others among them, old adversaries whose origins you recognize immediately. Acolytes of Vashna, Drakkarim, Vassagonian outlaws, Hammerlanders, and even a few Giaks. No doubt the remnants of the Darkland armies found sanctuary here after their masters' demise.
A noise in the corridor behind warns that someone is approaching the antechamber. To avoid them, you slip inside the prayer hall and hide in the shadows cast by a column which supports the roof. Moments later, three druids enter the hall and close the door before taking their places among the congregation.
In case there are any among the congregation who have the power to sense your presence, you draw upon your Disciplines of camouflage and mental defense to minimize the risks of being detected.
A few uneventful minutes pass until another druid enters the hall, ascending from a circular stairwell to your left. He is a tall, imposing figure, dressed in glittering blue robes edged with black velvet. The congregation rises as he walks to the altar, where he turns to face them.
'Be seated my brothers,' he commands, in a voice that is deep and resonant. At once you suspect that he is Arch Druid Cadak himself, but his opening address soon dispels this idea.
'The battle against the Slovians goes in our favour. We have repulsed their puny attacks and our defenses along the Storn remain intact. The Slovians are beaten. They are too weak to threaten us again. I, Kadrian, have seen the great river running red with the blood of their slain.'
Upon hearing this the congregation screech their approval until Kadrian calls for silence. Then, from a tome lying on the altar, he begins to read the opening passages of a service dedicated to Xuzargha, the Cenerese god of pestilence. The gathering fall to their knees, raise the hoods of their robes, and close their eyes in reverence as they listen devoutly to Brother Kadrian's sonorous voice.