In the heart of the decayed Eldritch Ruins, a pit yawned open like a wound in the earth, its depths filled with a roiling, viscous black liquid that pulsed with an eerie, malevolent glow. The stench that rose from it was unbearable—an amalgamation of decay, sulfur, and something far worse, something that twisted the stomach and clawed at the mind. Any creature that dared look upon it for too long felt their insides churn, their very souls recoiling in instinctive horror.
Encircling the pit, a congregation of black-robed figures stood in solemn reverence, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods. Each bore the mark of the Black Church, their garments inscribed with dark sigils that pulsed faintly in the corrupted air. Their chants, a low and droning hum, reverberated through the ruins, weaving an oppressive tension into the atmosphere.
