Each one of the cultists held a candle, the only lamination
in the darkness of the temple. Their droning chant echoed through the cavern in
a dark parody of the ceremony taking place in the church above. Their magus
raised his hands and the chanting stopped, but continued to echo throughout the
chamber for several minutes more, slowly dying away. He slowly descended the
carved steps, his candle waving, until he stood before a pool of still, black
water. The feeble light of the candles failed to penetrate the obsidian surface
as he raised his voice in a new drone.
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