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If you wander trough the mountains and become lost, you might find a path where no paths should be. It is a thin line of worn-down grass, winding between lichen-covered rocks and little cold-as-ice streams. You follow it, since you have no idea where you are and figure there must be something at the other end of the path.

No trees grow here. It's too cold, too high up; lichen, tough grasses, heath, moss and many other small plants grow instead. The snow have yet to fall -- where you are right now, the snow can be seen on the highest peaks, but in this valley the ground is bare. It is cold, though. There is frost in the air and the wind howls around the rock walls. Cold mist -- no, you think, clouds -- whirl around you.

After a long, cold walk, you see some kind of structure in the distance, on a hill in the end of the valley. It seems to be a ten minutes walk away, but as you begin to go towards it, it does not seem to come closer. An hour, one and a half; your sense of time is lost -- but at last, you are almost there.

You now see that the structure is some kind of great cathedral. Its high belfry seem to pierce the sky and the statues above the great entrance stare down at you with cold unseeing eyes. The doors are made of wood, weathered and old and grey. Large iron handles and decorations adorn them.

You stop for a moment. Why is there a cathedral in the mountains? No people lives here. Who built it and why?



The questions makes you hesitant to go in, but even if the cathedral seem to be void of any warmth you probably would get some respite from the wind there. You put one hand on the large iron handle and push. The door is not locked and slides open silently without a creak.

It is dark inside. The grey light from the outside barely manages to shine trough the dusty, high windows, but you can see parts of the interior quite clearly. The building almost seems to be bigger from the inside than the outside; the ceiling is somewhere very high above you, supported by great columns.
There are no pews or chairs; the floor is empty. It has that special shine stone gets when it has been walked on for a very long time. Away from you, at the back of the building, stands a great altar and behind it many statues. Some of them are rough, some are very finely cut, and others are something in between. The biggest of them looks very, very old, and it goes halfway to the ceiling. You cannot really see what it is, but you think it depicts some kind of humanoid figure. Over the altar and the statues, the ceiling is built like a dome.

The air smells of stone, cold, and old books. It is very quiet.

Your curiosity grows. How? Why? For whom? The questions begin again. Slowly you make your way forward, admiring the intricate frescos on the walls, or at least what you can see of them in this faint light. Suddenly you stop. Did something move over there, before the altar?

You slowly walk forward. Yes, your eyes did not betray you. There is someone kneeling before the statues. The person is almost invisible against the dark stones -- he or she is wearing black clothes, and the only thing making them discernable is the faint shine of their hair.



When the initial shock of seeing another living being is over, relief washes over you, but in its wake there is a vague feeling of uneasyness. What is he or she doing here? Another lost wanderer?
The person slowly rises to his feet. He (for it is a man, you realize, even though he is wearing a long black skirt) bows his head to the statue and then turns around. He looks directly at you and you get the feeling that he knew you were here the whole time. He does not speak and makes no move towards you.

You walk forward. Perhaps he knows where you are and how you can find your way back. When you come closer you see that his hair is very long and black and worn loose. You also notice that he is very, very tall.

"Excuse me", you say. Your voice echoes faintly against bare stone walls -- even though you did not raise your voice much, the sound still manages to fill the whole room before fading away and leaving you with a vague feeling of should-I-really-be-here. Maybe it is just your imagination, but you suddenly notice a deep, droning, humming sound resonating from some place deep down, deep within.
"Where am I?"

The man still looks at you, and he is still silent. You are not sure if he understood what you said -- maybe he doesn't speak your language. A heartbeat later he slowly makes his way down the stairs before the altar.

You are cold and tired and irritation clicks its teeth in the back of your head. "Please, could you tell me where I am?"
When the man comes closer he towers over you; he is over seven feet tall. He gestures to you with a pale, long-fingered hand; he wants you to follow him. You do, albeit a bit hesitant. His bare feet makes no sound against the stone floor.

He leads you towards an unknown goal somewhere in the building's left wing. By now, you are sure the cathedral is bigger on the inside than the outside. After a while a door stands before you, heavy, silent, old... and waiting. The man caress' the wood and it swings open quietly. A winding staircase waits behind it, leading upwards.

"Where are we going?" you ask. He does not answer and you realize you are not surprised -- you did not expect him to. You wonder if he is mute or just very unwilling to talk.

The stairs come to an end and another door awaits you. It is open, and you can see faint light from within the room.

Welcome, says the man and bows his head.
You stare at him in disbelief. His voice... it sounds -- no, it feels -- like stone scraping against stone, screeching black iron, great cities crumbling by the hands of earthquakes and behind it all the echo from the great void, the cold and silent universe of black stars.

You swallow and wait for the horrible things you know will come... but they do not. The man simply smiles, a sincere smile, maybe with a hint of embarassment. He walks into the room before you, turning once and gesturing to you to follow.

You do.



The interior of the room is... minimalistic, to say the least. There is a small fireplace in the far end of the room and there is a fire crackling on it. Otherwise the room is almost empty. A thin grey blanket in a corner and an old wooden chair in the middle of the room.

High windows let the faint daylight in. Stone floor and stone walls makes it hard for the fire to produce any significant warmth, but it is a bit warmer in here than it was in the first large hall.