In the mountains of central Appalachia, blood runs as deep as these hollers and just as dark. Since before our kind wandered into these hills, hearts of unknowable hunger and madness have slumbered beneath them. These are the oldest mountains in the world. How dare we think we can break the skin of a god and dig out its heart without also calling blood and darkness?
Gather round, Family.
Long before anything human roamed the Earth, the Appalachians towered tall and menacing. The mountains’ might was made a prison and tomb for beings of immeasurable malice and incomprehensible madness. A place to hold them; to keep them, perhaps forever, from dimming the light above.
But time shows no mercy, not even to mountains, and now they lay bare and worn like an old man’s spine. The walls of the prison grow thin, and those that have slumbered soundlessly for millennia begin to stir.
