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You hesitate, your fingers hovering close to the bloodstain. There’s a power to this statue, something that may already have started to seep into the workers here – and perhaps even Lucian himself. Yet, you feel certain that you have nothing to fear. These other men are of weak moral character, and that is why they’re vulnerable, but you’re made of sterner stuff.
And besides, there’s something special about this Lesson, something that calls out to you – or perhaps there’s something within you that resonates with it, like the sound of your own voice echoing back to your ears. Others may fall and fail, but you can master this power.
With your mind made up, you press your hand against the white stone and open your mind to-
THE TALE OF THE STONE GODDESS.
It is the long night, the long dark. Your people have lived in this haunted land for generations, never truly knowing peace or comfort. By day, you wage war over scraps of land and scavenge enough food to last through the night. By night, your dreams are stalked by the cries of night owls, ancestral terrors drawn from the depths of race-memory.
Giants walked this land once, but no more. The ancient remnants of their great cities of white stone still dot the land, although men know to avoid them, and their other secrets are well buried.
But sometimes, something is unearthed.
-
It was Bleddyn who first found the statue. Bleddyn the Wolf, one of the best warriors in your clan. Bleddyn, who so recently led your clan to victory in one of the frequent skirmishes with the neighbouring clans. And so, when Bleddyn announced that he owed his victory to the unearthed goddess, his words were met with caution. Your people have always worshipped the beauty of the full moon, the vastness and terror of the night sky. Why risk drawing their ire with the worship of strange new gods?
But slowly, insidiously, Bleddyn extends his reach over the rest of the clan. With each victory you claim, more and more of the young warriors join in with his ecstatic rituals and celebrations. Even some of the priestesses are swayed, sensing some kinship with the moon in the statue’s unearthly white stone. Even those who lacked faith were drawn to the results, swept up in the thrill of victory and seduced by the decadent rites held each and every night. Soon, barely anyone remains who remembers the old ways and honours the full moon.
Yet despite the victorious battles and the promise of pleasure, you remained aloof. You sensed something sinister in the rites, sensed that your people were becoming something animalistic and inhuman. When Bleddyn defined a virgin priestess, using her maiden’s blood to anoint the statue in preparation for some grand rite, you decided that something must be done.
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