The wizened old man chose his steps carefully, the wind biting and howling like a thousand demons around him. He stayed calm as he walked up the old worn stone steps in the dim light of the stars. The sun should be coming up soon, and he needed to reach the top before then.

  People used to come up this way, the old way, often. Now though, it lay nearly forgotten much like the man now picking his way up each ice slick stone.

  No one seemed to respect the old ways anymore, much like that

  Blind man a few weeks back, heedless of the tribes warnings.

  The old secrets of the Kh'orrs seemed destined to disappear into the ice from which they came.

  The elder shook his head. What was his name? Pender something? The name was foreign to his tongue. The Southerners had started to come up here more often, spreading word of their Goddess. They didn't know that the snows had their own divinity, one that should be feared and respected, but now, forgotten.

  The world is forgetting too much these days, he thought, his fur wrapped feet steady on the slick ice. The young hunters are trading away their knowledge of the way of the bear and snowdeer for the promises of riches and prestige from battles in wars that are not their own.

  Not many were left to fight the battles of their clan, battles not of flesh and blood, but of will and spirit.

  The old deity stirs, and if she awakens, she won't care what civilizations are crushed beneath her footsteps. Titans never do.

  He pulled his fur cloak closer around his face, the cold was getting worse, the ice reaching ever a little farther each year.

  Ahead where the mountain trail turned, a little carved piece of rock jutted out of a snowdrift.

  It really is a pity, the elder thought.

  The shrines were never buried when the old ways were respected.

  He bent over and kneeled, his bones audibly cracking as he cleared the snow away from the shrine.

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  Imagery of a tribal warrior facing a many armed woman was carved into the stone of a little structure with a stone jar inside.

  “My apologies master, the Clanmoot kept me late this year,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracking from age. From a small pouch he pulled out a candle and placed it in front of the jar, from another he pulled a gemstone that seemed to glow with it's own light and placed it in the jar.

  “Hak Venir, kh’orrdanam” he prayed, “Give me wisdom for the paths I hunt” and lit the candle.

  His hunting days were long behind him, and soon he too would take the long sleep and his ashes placed in one of the shrines to protect the world from the Titan She’leio above.

  He would need to find one of the hunters with some decent sense in their heads, so that he would not be the last to take this journey. She could not be allowed to roam free.

  There was a small tremor in the mountain, he had to get there in time.

  The elder stood up, a small light echoing behind him as he continued his trek up, calm but with a sense of urgency.

  Step after step, the stars slowly turned above him until he crested the top, a triangular rock and indentations rose up from the mountain.

  Right on time, that was good.

  He began to sing the old chants.

  He sang of the time when the world was new, when fire reigned over Earde.

  He sang of the cold and frost that calmed the fires passions.

  He sang of light as the sun rose over the horizon.

  He sang of water giving life and of old things creating new.

  He sang of people going forth, of the journey of the Kh'orrs north, far away from the tyranny of the dragons.

  He sang of the keepers who guarded this spot.

  He sang a song of sleep, a sweet lullaby in his harsh tongue.

  When he was done, the dawn was full, the sun arisen.

  He sighed in relief, the tremors in the mountain had stilled.

  He put his hand on the triangular outcropping, from an angle you could see two holed that delved deep into the rock.

  He patted the outcropping fondly “Sleep well Sheo’leio, I will see you again next month.” He began his slow descent back down off the Titan's face.

  There was a loud crack in the ice in front of the elder, a hand blackened with from reached out, pulling their way out. A head with bandaged eyesrose from the crack, and a second hand holding a book helped pull this walking corpse from the ground.

  The Elder gasped, “What kind of abominiation have you become?”

  The bandaged eyes of the Lich turned towards him. “Wiser, and more powerful, no thanks to you. Now everyone will know of Penderghast the powerful!”

  The Elder began to pray.

  “What? Do you think your goddess will save you?” Penderghast sneered.

  “No, not my Goddess, them” the Elder said pointing at the shrine, glowing with an eldritch light behind the lich.

  Ghostly figures arrayed for the hunt, hounds baying at the ready, transparent as the light of the sun shining through them.

  They charged with the might of the Kh’orrs behind them. The thing that once was Penderghast fled, the elder fell to the snow, clutching his chest.

  “Thank you kh’orrdanam” he whispered, and one of the ghostly hunters gave him a nod.

  The trip down just got much more important.

  The Forbidden Tome was no longer sealed.