The Death Cult

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

The hot sun has fully set and now only the stars and moonlight guide the traveler's feet home.

Suddenly, all thoughts of the day dissipate as whispers faintly arise from a nearby copse of trees.

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

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

Soon shadows of many slowly swaying bodies can be seen flickering across the leaves surrounding them.

The traveler's eyes widen at the scene before them.

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

A voice all too familiar whispers...

"Death is a journey..."