Cryomania

"I don't usually leave remains when I go hunting," he stated. "But oftentimes some meager creature will wander in close and before they know it, their blood has frozen right through their bones. They make quite the easy meal of themselves. Most are still out there, like crystalline statues against an ivory backdrop. I rarely eat living beings from this plane."

"There was a time when food was brought to me." His face took on a dark expression as he continued after a short silence. "I've tried putting an end to those times."

Zulema looked at him, momentarily stunned by his frightening expression. She decided not to press him about it. Whatever he had meant, she wished not to know. The priestess looked back toward her former prison: a door embedded into the giant roots of an enormous tree. It stood out as colossal among all the other trees in the forest—a root alone bigger than her entire body. She wondered how no one had spotted it.

"This land is deep in the mountains, and almost completely ignored by humans. There is nothing out here but untamed wilderness, for what reason would anyone have to come? Certainly, the tree is a seemingly apparent landmark, but the main body lies hidden among the clouds. It's true shape shielded to most eyes."

"You've never run into anyone up here?" she asked.

"No one has dared come up this far. It is usually I who has come to them."

"That seems like it would be an unpleasant experience for them."

Derleth didn't say anything. Instead, he turned toward a silent path among the forest and motioned for the priestess to follow him. A few feet in, he stopped at a large mound of snow.

"What's this?" The priestess circled around it, debating whether to touch it. "Some sort of snowy cairn filled with a magical cache of frozen food?”

“Not exactly.” He huffed and blew away the large pile of snow revealing a flash frozen ciervid, still standing upright in the snow—its lack of antlers revealing it to be a doe.

Zulema jumped back before scoffing. “So, this is what you meant. You cannot be serious.” She inched toward it and knocked a few times on its body, every bit of its flesh was frozen solid. She knocked a bit harder. It seemed the tissue had solidified, down to the bone. The priestess shook her head.

“Is there a problem? You wanted food, did you not?”

“Well, yes. But iced game wasn’t exactly the first thing that came to mind when I asked. I was thinking something simpler like a sandwich or maybe some oatmeal. I trust you don’t have a microwave out here.”

"I am not as critical with my sustenance as you are. I need only consume things raw to get what I need from them.”

“Most people are known to cook their food. What are you?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You never gave me a proper answer. You’re not from Kuranes, are you? Rather, you’re some kind of hermetic warlock that lives off the land? The antlers are a nice touch, I’ll admit.”

“It is a long story.”

---

Zulema had made a makeshift fire pit together with the enigmatic Derleth. The priestess had tied together a few pieces of wood to form a cross and had her eldritch captor string up the animal to hold over the flame. She watched as the ice slowly melted and dripped off its flesh into the fire. The thought that it still needed to be skinned to even be edible made her hang her head low in exasperation. There were times during certain missions where survivalist tactics had to be employed and temporary camps had to be made but things usually proceeded a lot smoother with the help of her Sisters. This was just troublesome. She groaned.

“I have… so many questions.” Zulema scratched her head, standing in front of the fire pit and trying to keep her thoughts straight. “First off, who are you, exactly? And please be clear.”

“I am what your kind would consider a god. An elder one, who once existed beyond this plane. I once surveyed the actions of this universe, but have then since vacated my post.”

“Vacated? Why? Was the work too boring for you?” The priestess held up her arm as her other hand supported her face.

The man let out a grunt in response, in what seemed to her a tone of annoyance.

Zulema smirked.

“That is no longer relevant.”

“Okay, maybe I believe you. In my studies of Ontotheology at the Scarlet Church, certain ideas do posit that lesser gods can exist, though I’ve never seen one myself.” She held her chin quizzically. “And what does an ex-god need with me, precisely?”

“There is an alien presence on this planet that has been left to run rampant for far too long, causing devastating consequences that have slowly been rotting the aura of this part of the universe. My contemporaries have failed to notice it in all their millennia of observance, but having spent so long toiling down here, certain etherical disturbances have come to my attention. For so long, I have been powerless to affect any change. But your history of connection to this Old One’s influence may be just the power I need to stop this virus from within.”

“My history of connection…? Old one—Wait, are you referring to Macha?”

“That is how you’ve come to know it as.”

“And you believe,” stated Zulema, knitting her brow, “the power of my faith is the antibody required to fight off this intrusive, otherworldly presence?”

“Not your faith. Such a thing is but a hindrance now. The presence tainted you with its corruption. I have extinguished that connection,” he declared gravely. The flame of the pit appeared to reflect off his ivory gaze. “It seems you were mistaken on one point. The presence we seek to pursue is the very Old One itself. Your Macha.”