The Death Cult

A weary traveler is stumbling down a path back toward camp after a long day of fighting in the hot sun and drinking at the pub.

That hot sun has fully set and now the stars and moonlight are the only things guiding the traveler's feet home.

Suddenly, all thoughts of the day leave the traveler's mind as whispers faintly arise from a nearby copse of trees.

The whispers seem to grow into quiet chanting as the traveler's feet start moving toward the sound of their own accord.

A faint glow expands from within the thicket with each step.

Soon the traveler can see the shadows of many slowly swaying bodies flicker off the leaves surrounding them.

The traveler's eyes widen at the scene they are now taking in.

Unbidden words suddenly spring to the traveler's mind and lips.

The traveler hears a voice that is all too familiar whisper...

"Death is a journey..."