Deep in the halls of Ka’Rhug’s labyrinthine mountain home, a celebration was underway. However, there was no laughter, no food, no alcohol or similar things one could expect at such an event. In fact, the entire mountain was eerily silent, the sounds of rocks being quarried and sounds of warriors sparring were gone, replaced by the ominous hiss of lava far below in the crater of the volcano. A stoic march of all Ka’Rhug’s gogs then proceeded, each gog lighting torches from a small brazier held by an grinning stone imp. The entire tribe of Ka’Rhug was then gathered atop the summit, in the half constructed cathedral that crowned the volcano. Hundreds more worshipers of Kalok stood surrounding the cathedral, straining to see into the epicenter of the event.
Then, Kolgol strode into the center of the raised dais, made for dropping supplicants into the lava. He smiled at those gathered, and raised his hands. As he did, a chant began, building up until the very rocks of the mountain seemed to resonate. The words spoken were seemingly incoherent, not really having understandable meaning, but were rather primal expressions of anger, hatred, and rage. As they did, Kolgol turned to two of his kalokgogs and gestured to them. They dragged forward a badly beaten Ur’Tor, barely able to stand, yet still making a dignified effort to stagger anyways.
As they reached the dais, Kolgol swept his hand in a violent gesture, and the chants stopped. He smiled toothily, his pale fur illuminated by the light of a hundred torches held aloft. He looked at the Ur’Tor, and spoke loudly enough for all to hear,
“You have been accused of worship of the Thunder Gods, a crime punishable by death and permanent removal from Kalok’s light. You will now become a reminder to all who the true god of this world is. You also have the singular honor of becoming a harbinger for our great lord, although you do not deserve it.”
He then leaned forward and began carving symbols into the gog’s flesh with a shard of obsidian, freshly broken and razor sharp. The Ur’Tor had no fight left in him, and was almost submissive to the action, offering only muffled complaint and moaning. When he was done, Kolgol picked the gog up bodily, and heaved him screaming into the volcano. A wild cheer went up from the crowd, but Kolgol silenced it.
“Now, let us begin the summoning my brothers and sisters, quickly while we have the chance.” He said, and knelt before the yawning pit of fire. Others began to surround the pit, and began to join in his brooding, focusing their faith, hateful and malicious as it was. The rage in the air was palpable, the flames from the torches seeming to grow and move impossibly.
Although they didn’t know it, Kolgol was using their combined anger and faith, using it to shape something, something that would be their god. He didn’t truly know what he was creating, but he knew something would happen. Kalok had foretold this to him in the visions he had, amidst the overwhelming volcanic gases that he inhaled and breathed each night, and he knew he couldn’t be wrong.