For the better part of the day, you hike toward your goal, finally slipping through a screen of scrub trees and up a low rise. Winding its way through forest a mile or two off, you see the path ends where it meets the base of the mountain and the settlement spreading beneath it. Straight-edged roads of cracked flagstone run between huge buildings of timber and stone. Many of those structures have collapsed, but the inhabited core of the temple grounds has the appearance of any northern village. No slaves or prisoners can be seen here. Though groups of cultists train with sword and shield, no guards or apparent overseers can be seen. Only folk in the black garb of the cult—children among them—are visible as they go about frontier life.
At the base of the mountain, an oversized avenue leads to a wide flight of immense stone steps. These rise to a portal open in the mountain’s face. Firelight flares from within a wide hall running into the mountain’s heart.
