❓ If the dead step aside to let you pass…
are you still the intruder — or already expected?
The monastery gates stood open
long before they reached them.
No chains.
No wards.
Only stone worn smooth
by centuries of kneeling.
Inside, the skeletons of monks rose from the walls —
habits still clinging to bone,
rosaries fused into their fingers,
mouths forever caught mid-prayer.
They did not attack.
They watched.
Only when the investigators spoke the names
they should not have known —
only when the sigils were shown —
did the dead step aside.
Allies recognized.
The halls beyond bent strangely,
as if the monastery remembered other shapes.
Other purposes.
Then the visions came.
They saw the Kalistiri as they were born —
not monsters,
but offerings.
Men chosen by hunger and faith,
given to the Maw
so the valleys below might survive the winter.
The Maw did not bless them.
It hollowed them.
Left behind bodies that learned to hunt warmth
because they no longer remembered being alive.
The cellar doors burst open beneath their hands.
Undead surged from the dark —
bodies dried tight as parchment,
faces collapsed inward like empty masks,
moving with ritual precision.
Guardians.
Not beasts.
Behind them, a stone pedestal burned with cold light.
And on the far wall,
cast by that light alone,
coiled the shadow of something vast —
a colossal, cobra-like form,
patient, ancient, watching.
The dead did not fight to kill.
They fought
to buy time.
🜍 Tomorrow… the truth beneath the monastery is revealed.
🎭 Empire of Masks — Pulp Cthulhu
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