The last cultist fell, wide eyed, blood flowing onto his formerly blue robes. The dull thud echoed into the cavern. The cave was not particularly large, the cultist's having made there camp where it came to a dead end. They must have thought that the cave would be the perfect hiding place, and why wouldn't it? It was located deep within the woods where little would tread. They thought wrong. Rukker had heard rumors about strange chanting and hooded figures. It fit with the job Rukker had been hired for.
It was a mother who had brought this group to his attention. They had sacrificed her son as a part of some ritual. She didn't seem grieving, just filled with a cold rage. He could relate.This cult of the self had been making its rounds about the land. Rukker knew this was only one splinter group, but it didn't matter as they were the ones who caused his employer suffering. The fight had been quick and to the point. They had attacked in a frenzy, coming at Rukker with knives. All he had to do was cut them down as they ran into reach of his sword. It was clear they were mad as they didn't even think to change tactics.
Looking up from the last cultist Rukker noticed something on the wall of the cave. He grabbed one of the torches off of its platform and moved closer. There were markings, very, very old markings. He realized they were all around him, depictions of strange creatures staring back at him. They gave off a sense of old power that Rukker had never experienced before.
Perhaps isolation wasn't the only reason the cult chose to call this place home, Rukker thought.
