Deep within the enclaves of spindleton, a bit farther from the periphery of the hive, a splint could be seen through the shrubs like a candelabra in a smog of darkness. As one approaches the light, they could make out rune symbols carved into tree backs, charm sacks and talismans hanging via ropes strapped to the brunches of the trees around the premises. No one would have to tell you, it was convincing enough that this was a covenstead.
As one progresses further, they will notice a clearing in the midst of a dark and foreboding forest. The air is thick with the scent of burning herbs and incense, and the sound of rhythmic drumming can be heard from within. Ones you step through the archway of twisted branches, you will find yourself in a circular space, surrounded by tall trees.
In the center of the clearing, a small fire burns brightly, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the gathered worshippers. A voodoo shaman stands before the flames, his face painted in intricate patterns and sigils of white and black. He wore a headdress adorned with feathers and bones, and his voice rises in a haunting chant that echoes through the clearing.
The ground beneath his feet is covered in moss and wildflowers somehow thriving amidst rough stones and scattered bones, and the air is alive with the sound of rustling leaves and the cries of nocturnal animals. The atmosphere is both eerie and powerful, with an otherworldly energy that seems to permeate everything around.
The shaman begins to dance around the fire, his movements wild and frenzied. His voice rises a haunted melody, his words becoming more and more unintelligible as he calls upon malevolent spirits. The air shimmers with a strange, pulsing light, and the power of his magic could be felt coursing through the air.
This is a place where the veil between worlds is thin, where the ancient powers of voodoo and magic converge. It is a covenstead for magic casters who prefer to keep anonymous, a sacred space where the shaman and his followers gather to honor the spirits of the land, the ancestors, invoke demiurges and to work their spells and rituals under the watchful eye of the moon.
The voodoo shaman, Houngan Balthazar, known to all absentees of their fraternity to be a myth, closed his eyes in deep concentration. His hands were clasped together, fingers intertwined as he continued to chant in a low, rhythmic voice, involving the essence of malevolence.
""Hear me, O demon and obey. For I besiege you with that which binds you - 'The-Seal-of-Amon'. Lend me thy ruthless pulpits, O magma lord, that I may utilize yee for that which disheartens me. And as a reward, let thy will be done. Appear O blood-spawn-of-Mephisto.
Appear Amon!!! ""
Around him, the ominous covenstead wafted with scent of earth and foliage. The flickering flames casted eerie shadows on the floor, and the air was thick with a palpable sense of energy and spirituality.
As the priest continued to chant, dried bone began to levitate with incessant vibration. The tongue of fire flickered and danced ever so vigorously, and the incense smoke swirled around him in a hypnotic dance. The surrounding grew wild as the chanting reached a fever pitch.
Suddenly, crimson engravings of a strange seal began to appear etched into the dump floor beneath the priest, he came to a staggering halt, as his eyes snapped open, he then raised his hands to the sky. Bolts of lightning flashed across, illuminating the enclaves with a bright white light.
The priest's voice grew louder and more intense, and the objects on the altar began to glow with a fierce ambience. The energy in the covenstead crackled and hummed, and the air seemed to vibrate with power. Balthazar knew what this meant since he had tapped into the malevolence powers of the netherworld, and from the seal, the veil between both worlds grew thinner and thinner as the ritual unfolded; and as it struck midnight, the veil was at its thinnest. Dark, bulbous clouds with lightning flashes, bellowed over the covenstead as though to conceal the ongoing ritual from hidden eyes.
Balthazar swayed out of the concentric seal as the flickering candles lights bordering it, grew into seven pillars of flames. The veil between the worlds has successfully been breached, creating a new world that connects both. The enclaves began to tremble as an avalanche of immense negative energy from the sacred seal burst up to high heavens.
A member of the covenstead fell dead, and as though on cue, another followed. They bit the dust one by one no matter how high they uplifted their voice in utterance, for there was no such thing as a protection spell that could shield one from the curses of hell. The durability of a protection spell was tied to the durability of one's spirit, therefore it takes tenacious followers who can fortify his spirit to keep the spell intact, or else, it's ephemeral. The dozen or so followers of Balthazar were down to a half, with unbreakable spirits.
With a final burst of energy, Balthazar lowered his hands, and silence triumphed. The candles flickered and died, and the incense smoke dissipated into the air. All but the crimson glow of the concentric seal had died down as though time had hit a limiter. It was the time of reckoning they've all been preparing for.
*****