The last two surviving disciples of The Saint were beginning to think their god was dead.

It was a warm muggy day in Olfyeld's market district. Olfyeld was one of the last ancient capitals left standing that was once dedicated to a god of the old pantheon. It had not yet been razed to the ground by the Warmaiden's army -- heavy emphasis on the yet. 

Standing grandly north of a bustling city square was a tall temple turned indoor market. Only one tall arched window held the original stained glass image of an angelic figure clad in pastels and adorning a crown of wings and candlelight --the only hint to what the building origins. Behind the window was nothing more than a dusty attic filled with dyed fabrics and spare muslin, occupied only by the two disciples in question. It was the only place the buildings owner had allowed the eccentric cultists inside to set up shop. 

Wiping sweat from her brow, one groaned and sat back to take a look at their work. She, like her companion, wore a layered set of pale robes in colors of lilac and rose, yet where her companions arms were bear she wore an additional longer sleeved shirt underneath. If it was warm outside then the stagnant heat and humidity in the attic was beyond uncomfortable with all the layers. 

She had thought it was funny the shopkeepers below had gawked at her and her companion when in her good opinion the entire city looked like a walking fashion tragedy.  It wasn't like they were any cooler under their layered hoop skirts and heavy bustles. They were all backwards anyways for obsessing over the frivolities of fashion trends and not, you know, the impending threat of war and conquest.

Her companion, a shorter robed cleric with rich dark skin and a shaved head of russet hair was admiring their work while standing to the side. "It looks good, Sancha." they said as they nervously fiddled with one of the many bronze earrings that framed their ear.

Sancha nodded but was still skeptically evaluating what she had created. "Thanks Asa."  Her skin was a lighter shade of tan and her own hair a golden chestnut. It fell in tight waves until her shoulders where it was crudely cut.

For how uncomfortable the attic was, Sancha barely noticed the heat in her work. What she looked upon was a spell circle carefully drawn out with spare tailor's chalk scavenged from the attic. At the circle's edge lay an assortment of unlit old candles already half melted away, ribbon, lace, and dried wildflowers. 

Asa, still twirling an earring between their fingers, shifted anxiously. "Do you think this will work?" 

With false confidence that was completely transparent to both of them Sancha dusted off her hands. "Of course!" 

When that didn't fool either of them she added "Well, we've been trying for weeks and the only next step is..." Sancha trailed off.

After another elongated silence Asa repeated "The next step is...?"

With a sharp crack Sancha smacked flint together as she began to light the candles "...that we try one more time." she said after a brief pause. "Help me with this, please." 

Asa stooped down to help light the candles from the opposite side of the circle, both walking slowly clockwise in a kind of dance as they tread the circle's edge, careful not to step on the chalk. As they worked Asa began to ramble in a desperate attempt at reassurance. "We've done this tons of times before, it's such an easy spell. Hard to get wrong. The geometry is really basic and honestly, only serves to help amplify the spell anyways. Using physical symbols that represent who we're contacting is a plus. You could have drawn the circle wrong and it will probably still work!"

Sancha's head shot up. "Gods, did I get it wrong? Does it look wrong to you?" It looked like perhaps the best contact spell she had ever laid out but Asa's rambling made her second guess herself.

"Oh, no! I'm just saying that in theory of course. It looks fine!"

They both took a shaky breath in unison. They were wound up pretty bad, and if they didn't start the spell soon who knows what would happen to their nerves. 

The physical symbols carefully laid across the circle were those that could be associated with their god, The Saint. The handmade candles with warm wax now pooling around their bases were a symbol of light, warmth, and home. They were the kind that seemed to forever burn bright while looking half-spent. The wildflowers could have come from anywhere, plucked from roadsides, meadows, or the dilapidated windowsill of abandoned cottages. The kind that against all odds can grow from between stone in a place over trodden by feet. The ribbon and lace were well loved and worn. Pieces of fabric and thread from homespun clothes or children's toys.  The Saint was love and found family, safety and security, compassion, mercy, and protection.

And She had gone Silent while the world was burning.

They were finally done. Sancha gave one last look over her work, double checking everything in her head. Surrounded by a circle of what admittedly looked like complete garbage she took a clean stride towards her place in the circle's center and kicked back the long train of her robes as she fell to a kneel. Asa who had been pacing over the worn attic floor finally decided to leap upon a crate of spare fabric which kicked up a puff of dust. 

Sancha had gone the extra mile. She made sure to pick flowers and fabrics in The Saint's favorite colors. She had even used pieces from her own robes. She used candles and flowers gifted to her by those she helped in The Saint's service --the only kind of payment they accepted. The spell would have worked with much less, but she wanted to eliminate any possible error.

She was so nervous she felt sick. The uncomfortable heat of the attic almost took on a chill. She didn't dare put to words how wrong everything had felt. How wrong everything had felt for weeks since they lost contact with their god. The dread that something terrible was about to happen sat heavily upon her. She knew Asa already worried about her tendency to bottle everything up but she hadn't wanted to scare Asa by confessing her darkest suspicions. She cast one secret glance towards Asa to gague how they were feeling only to catch their attention.

"I'm not nervous!" Sancha defended herself before they could say anything. 

"Well that's great, because I am." Asa muttered. 

Closing her eyes and lowering her head, Sancha began to pray. 

Magic is holy. There is no magic that does not come from the gods. If you are so blessed to have a patron who shares their great power with you there are so many gifts you may wield. All you have to do is look for that holy piece shared within yourself and draw upon it. But that piece was missing. It had never been strong for Sancha, but it felt like a warm flame within her that could never blow out. The Saint was old and Her powers fading. Forgotten as most of the gods of the old pantheon were. But a gift was a gift no matter how small.

Because of The Saint's weakness if she tried to contact Her through prayer Sancha could only just barely hear Her speak. Yet through the amplification of a contact spell like this one she could even see The Saint's image before her. Normally it was with complete confidence that Sancha sat in this circle but now more than ever she felt like some charlatan preforming fake tricks. Yet she tried anyways. She reached out to her patron's connection, feeling that imagined road where the magic would flow between her, and tried to go to its source.  

At first nothing happened. All Sancha could hear was the softest flickering of candles and the far off murmur of patrons shopping far below. The stained glass cast the room in a warm glow that shifted through The Saints colors as the trees outside swayed in the spring breeze. Dust caught the warm light and glittered as it drifted around her. Eyes squeezed shut she tried even harder. Slowly her senses began to shirt.

It was like a palpable empty hole, but worst of all it only felt a little empty. With further rising dread she sensed a presence.

 The spell took hold and she felt the vision become corporeal. While that imagined road was no where to be found she could see the empty space where it had once been. In fact she saw herself walking down a forest path, almost identical to the real one she had first met The Saint in. Yet while her memory recalled a lively summer forest bursting with berries and flowers this one was dark and foreboding. The twisting gnarled trees blocked the sky and vicious undergrowth was so tangled there was no immediately clear pathway underfoot. But there was room for her to walk, the grass beneath her feet was trodden and the vegetation cut back just enough for her to follow the dark and empty path to its destination. 

She was driven forward by the spell almost at a pace she wasn't comfortable with. The connection had been established and the spell was doing its job by bringing her to the end of the line. She saw the cottage now before her all dilapidated and dark, the flowers around it dead and wet. The ground warped beneath her almost sucking her feet into rotting earth yet it did nothing to halt her progress. 

She wanted to yell out and tell Asa to push her from the circle but the vision felt too real. She could no longer feel her body sitting on the floor in the suffocation warm dusty attic. It was cold and wet in this place, and far before her was the sagging cottage with its broken and open doorway.

It was seconds until she would be thrust into the gaping dark maw of the cottage and suddenly with absolute certainty she knew that while The Saint was not there it was not empty. Something else was pulling. It wasn't the communication spell anymore, it had been overridden by some other magic. 

She was flung through that gaping doorway into a huge dark space and was met with she sheer thrill of vertigo as if she had been shot off a cliff. She was hurtling forwards but in the absolute dark of the space she could have been flying in any direction. All she could sense was there was a thing and that was where she was going. 

In the dark far before her a figure began to form, barely distinguishable from the void surrounding them. It was a face not human nor animal, taut in a delighted grin as the shadows crept from its form revealing more and more grotesque flesh. It was only the silhouette of some skeletal thing with the gaping holes for eye-sockets sitting upon its head but it radiated a horrific miasma of euphoric glee as the distance between Sancha and itself quickly dwindled away. It was a horrible thing born from some grotesque atrocity and Sancha was powerless to stop herself as she was brought closer and closer to its looming form.  

Suddenly she felt like was walloped by a sack of bricks and violently torn from the vision. Asa was sprawled across from her and they were both covered in dust and calk. Asa had clearly body slammed into Sancha in an attempt to throw her from the circle, and they now scrambled up and dragged her further and further away from what remained of it.

The wax of the candles had turned black and tarlike, melting forwards and creeping towards the center of the circle in what looked like petite skeletal figures formed from the wax all reaching for where Sancha had just been. The fabric, flowers, all of it -- rotten and black. They rotted away to nothing at the edges. She was breathing heavily in panic, and Asa grabbed her and tried to talk her through it. She could barely catch Asa's comforting instructions, her body spasmed with fear and she was chilled to the bone. For a short while she just sobbed as Asa held her and tried to make sure she slowed her breathing. 

For the first time in so long Sancha felt completely overpowered, scared, and helpless. Her body ached and she felt sick to her core. Her and Asa furiously kicked at and destroyed the remnants of the contact circle but she still couldn't shake off the sick terror possessing her. She wanted, no needed, someone to come step in and help her because she knew in that moment she wasn't strong enough to do it on her own. Selfishly, there was only one person in particular she thought of, and not only were They not a person at all but They were somewhere far and beyond her reach.