The walker stopped walking for the first time in about as long as he could remember. He shook his scraggly mane of dirty grey hair, bone-beads rattling, letting out a howl of triumph. In front of him, the Godstones stood at last. His quest was nearly at an end. The grueling pilgrimage had taken it’s toll on his body and spirit both. His erstwhile flab and pronounced gut -the mark of high living in the pampered priesthood in the Gilded City- were but distant memories. In their stead, knots of wiry muscles moved under the streaks of grime and filth caking his wrinkled skin. What once were silken robes were now ratty, blood-stained tatters around his waist. His feet, once coddled in fine stockings and soft slippers, now long since naked to the ground, hardened by every last step, jagged toenails jutting out from blackened toes.

How long had it been since he first had unfurled the scroll he happened upon down in the dusty archives? When he heard the dream-voice speak to his very soul for the first time? The dream-voice that had given him purpose and kindled the luminous path before his inner vision? Oh, how the other clergy all had laughed at him when he told them! How they had mocked his vision and jeered at his prophecies! Your scroll is gibberish, they said. Try to trick us into going on a fool’s quest with you? To wake a god? You’re lazy and useless. You couldn’t even find rocks in the mountains. You won’t last a week out there. Go alone. You go to your doom.

He had spurned them all, as he left his old life. He knew the path! He would show them!

At first, the long walk was an arduous burden and he was all alone in the wilderness. Still, he kept walking the luminous path. Pangs of hunger would gnaw at his insides, his parching thirst would demand tribute. His legs would scream the agony of the relentless march. At these times, he would feel his resolve faltering, feel himself be on the cusp of giving up, of failure. And the dream-voice would return to him; an insistant, comforting whisper, pouring will into his mind and strength into his body. Rekindling the luminous path before his inner eye. Presenting him with something to eat along the way. These windfalls are yours to drink, the dream-voice would whisper. At first it was some worms, a slow turtle, a friendly dog. Easy to catch. Easy to drink. Their life’s blood quenching his maddening thirst for a while. But the thirst would return in time, would grow stronger. As the thirst would grow, the dream-voice would provide more; travelers, bandits. The dream-voice in it’s infinite wisdom made the food and drink come to him. Good men, bad men, no matter. He drank them all as he walked. Their sudden terror as the truth of what they were to him dawned on them slaking the dream-voice’s thirst as surely as their life’s blood slaked his own.

Through it all, the dream-voice would whisper, would push him forward. So he walked, ever moving. Walking through day and through night, through summer and through winter, year after year. Leaving behind a trail of empty husks drained of life and blood, cast aside without a thought. Like a force of nature; he would not, could not stop. Unresting. Unrelenting.

But now, he walked no more. He stood before the Godstones and saw them with his own two eyes, even though his vison blurred, eyes watering at the sight. Touched them with his hands, though it was difficult to follow the strange curves and angles that seemed to fold in on themselves.

Real! The Godstones were real! Just as the dream-voice had told him. Just as the luminous path had promised. Just as he had believed so fervently all these years. Everything was true! In the depths of his soul he knew he had reached his destination at last.

Here by the Godstones he would at last rest for a while and the dream-voice would tell him what needed to be done. He alone was chosen, brought here for this task! When the stars are right, the Sleeper must awaken!

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The mini is Zogar Sag from Conan the Boardgame by Monolith (2015). The character Zogar Sag is the evil shaman from the story Beyond the Black River by Robert E. Howard.

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These are “Ancient Relics” from the Creatures of Cromsfall kickstarter by Spare Oom Studio. This was an .stl-kickstarter with lovely Cthulhu and mythos minis back in march 2020. Most of them are a bit intimidating to print, to be honest. This one was very simple though, and is delivered both hollow and bottomless.

These minis were finished on Dec 9th, 2020.

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Painted so far this year:   (Miniatures:  325 / 365 goal // scenery and terrain: 14)

January: 32

Feburary: 19

March: 45 / 10

April: 41 // 1

May: 9

June: 20

July: 19

August: 30

September: 36 // 1

October: 21

November: 45

December: 9 // 2