Deep in a dark, emerald green forest, footsteps can be heard. A girl is running along an ancient path, rough cobblestone overgrown by centuries of moss and foliage. Tree branches stab the old, musky overcoat she is wearing, cuts and splotches of dirt and ash littering the rough, brown fabric. Her long, blonde hair desperately tries to straighten itself against the wind, but it is unkempt, individual strands knottet together, at parts glued together by mud and sticks. Her once innocent face is contorted in fear as she struggles barefoot against the foliage of the undergrowth, her bare feet barely finding purchase on the mixture of path and plants.
The smell of ash and fire cover the path she came from. Pillars of smoke bellowing into the sky behind her, only barely visible through small open splotches in the dense canopy of the woods. Sounds of screams and carnage permeate the horizon, distorted by the wind that carries them after her, fleeting evidence of the horrors she is still fleeing from.
Three men chase after her, clad in similar but not equal styles of armor made of strong leather. Swords dangle from their hips, only slightly hindering their movements. One of them uses his sword to fruitlessly cut away at various foliage, but the blade is made for flesh, not vines. Lucky for them, the forest soon breaks away into a clearing, allowing them to close the distance a little. Unlucky for them, the clearing also contains a single building for the girl to run towards to.
A crumbling mess of stone and rotten planks, yet the shape is still recognizable. The tall walls, high, broken windows and crumbling tower in the back easily distinguish it as a church, but no one alive can tell you what God it once belonged to. But for the girl, it is the only place she can go right now, so she throws herself against the crumbling wood of the front doors. And even though she does not weigh much, the old, aged planks quickly give way, flinging the door open with a mighty slam, only to crumble under their old age, finally allowing them to rest forever on the floor in a heap of molding splinters.
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Having nowhere else to go, the girl runs to the altar, passing rows upon rows of broken pews and rubble, getting closer to the symbol that this church once stood for. She quickly arrives with her pursuers in tow, collapsing at the end of her road, and with the last of her strength, she looks up tho the altar in front of her as time itself seems to slow down for her and her only.
A massive wooden sculpture looms over her, a simple shape similar to an upside down teardrop. Despite it's simple materials, it shows no signs of decay, and there are no further details on it. Unremarkable, in the grand scheme of things, if it weren't for the circumstances. Because where other implements of wood are in the process of rotting, and in stark contrast to the refuse left behing by natures critters and nature herself, a pristine, unblemished piece of wood in this situation is extremely unnatural.
Having nowhere else to go, she huddles behind the altar, making herself as small as possible. Looking up at the flawless installation, the immaculate shape of wood, she can hear her three pursuers barging into the old ruin after her. While she may be hidden behind a slowly crumbling stone altar, it does not take long for the bandits to spot her, the partially collapsed roof letting in enough sunlight to properly illuminate the entire room. Swords drawn, they quickly make their way towards her, cutting of any possible escape routes.
The girl, in the face of her impending doom, does the only thing that she can do, the only thing there is left to do if you see your life ending.
She prays.