Beneath the waning crescent, in the hollowed sanctuary, shadows dance upon the cold stone. A whisper echoes through damp air, the sound of a language long entombed. Vestiges of an era hanging by threads, woven from the fabric of nightmares—time slips, as the ritual begins.
Flickering candles—pale ghosts of warmth—adorn the periphery of an ancient sigil. Their light reveals the runes carved upon the altar, secrets whispered by nameless entities. The air grows thick with the scent of forgotten incense, a beckoning to join the eternal dance of chaos.
Voices rise in unison, a chorus of the forsaken. Harmony wrought from dissonance, each note a thread in the tapestry of the abyss. The ritual calls to those who dare, to witness the convergence of forgotten stars and the awakening of the storm.