Location: Arthos

Date: [REDACTED]

The wind blew through the mountains, twining amidst the peaks of the fallen snow. It spun, whirling clouds of frost borne in its wake as it descended towards the nested valley below. There, huddled inside a cold church, was a motley group of individuals. Some of them had a look of desperation, others, a face full of burning desire. Another few stared off into the distance, mumbling as though talking to someone who could not be seen. Around a small fire pit they huddled; their ragged furs providing small comfort from the cold.

A small door in the back opened, and a wizened figure emerged. His hands were as curled as his hunchbacked spine, and as he entered the group deferentially cleared a space for him. The old man lifted his face from the floor, and the white orbs of his eyes seemed to look through each of them in turn.

His mouth opened, and a breathy whisper emerged. Whether it be by skill or magic, his voice seemed to filter through the church and reach the ears and hearts of everyone present. He said,

“Gather close children, constituents, brethren. Huddle round the fire while I speak the words of wisdom to you, handed down from the past.”

The group exchanged nervous glances, they had heard of the mad prophet in the mountains. “Piercing eyes, that saw everything,” were the rumors.. Some of them had fought hard to even gather the information leading to this place, hidden as it was. An adventurer stepped forward, the muscular bearing and broad scars on his chest revealing his status as a warrior,

“I’ve not come to play games, old man. I was told you had knowledge I seek. Now… tell me how…”

Before he could continue, a mocking laugh filtered into the relative silence of the church.

“Hehehehehehehe…”

The warrior's hand trembled as his hand went for the sword in his scabbard. White knuckled, he gripped it as his teeth clenched. The others present were likewise alarmed, their eyes scanning the small confines, trying to determine the source of the maddening noise.

For many of them, the search was a familiar struggle. A fight that they knew they would lose.

The laughing whispers caressed their ears, filtering in through cracks in-between the boards of the church. It slithered, creeping into their hearts. A collective shudder went through the group gathered there, interspersed with exhausted tears falling from their cheeks.

The old man spoke,

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“I know why you came.” His sightless gaze pierced the crowd,

“I know why you all came. For I was like you once. I removed my sight so the visions would stop. I removed my hearing so the whispers would cease.”

A woman raised her voice questioningly, “But then how…” her voice trailed off, the question hanging silent.

A grim smirk twisted the old man’s lips. “[Tremor-Sense] and other sensory skills, taken all the way to max. It allows me to function, day to day. Aside from the dreams of course.”

There were a few grimaces at the last, a few shaken heads, as through trying to dislodge a bitter memory. The old man continued,

“But enough about me. Let us gather in fellowship here. I have the knowledge that you seek, for I am one of his last priests on Arthos.”

The old man, no, the priest clenched his trembling fists. His eyes glared at an unseen foe as he raged,

“We will not say their name here. No, that would draw their attention. But you know who they are. The Six. They rest in each of us, in the world itself, pretending to be part and parcel of everything.”

The priest leaned forward, and the group was hanging on his every word. He then spoke with utter finality.

“They have LIED to you.”

The sheer blasphemy rocked more than a few back as the priest continued.

“Remember the sermons when you were young?” His voice began mocking,

“And infinite chaos reigned eternal, until creation split the firmament, perfect and finite. From there sprung the [system] and the gods, who protect reality from the evil without.”

The old man’s hands rose high and his yell shook them all,

“PERFECT THEY SAY!”

The others recoil at the sheer vitriol in his voice,

“Well then why are there so many errors? Why is level one hundred an almost insurmountable place to reach? Why is it the closer you get to that final goal, the more evil begins to taunt you?”

His head turned to the mumbling man, his eyes unfocused and flickering. The other’s regarded him, the signs all too evident. The priest continued,

“Why is it that the more power you gain, the more you are tempted?”

The priest had them now, he could see it in their eyes. There were some of them who he might be able to help, it was true. But most would probably fall within the fortnight. He said,

“Stay awhile and listen. Hear the true story, hidden from you by the gods and their sycophants.”

The muttering stopped, and everyone’s attention was drawn back to the doddering fool. A crazy glint was in his eyes as saliva dropped from his lips. Weapons were drawn as a familiar sensation crawled over their skin.

Evil had arrived.

The fool spoke, a thousand voices melding into a single question,

“And who are you to tell the truth?”

The priest drew himself up, lifting a hand that began to thrum with power. The hum both comforted and unnerved everyone there, almost raw in its intensity. It wasn’t mana that the priest held, no, it was something else. The power warped the space around it, somehow both real and unreal. The priest spoke, his voice pounding with authority,

“By my will I command thee! SEAL!”

A shockwave erupted from the priest's hand, knocking almost everyone to the floor. Ethereal chains materialized from the floor, locking the enemy into place. The corrupted man stood stark still, a twisted grin growing on his face. His head began to cock, turning grotesquely as his jaw unhinged.The evil spoke, his tone almost sensual amidst the sounds of his dislocating joints and tearing flesh,

“How unusual. I haven’t seen one of your kind in ages. And on this little planet, Arthos was it?”

The rest of the group had regained their feet and began to close in. Regardless of the creature’s strength, there were too many enemies here. It wouldn’t be able to survive. As weapons were raised and magic prepared, the enemy stared the old priest down. Before the battle began in earnest, the corruption managed to give a last taunting jibe,

“I’ll remember you… [REDACTED] Priest.”