Long ago, before today’s civilizations ruled the land, the cult of the bat god was respected and feared. The followers of Glaksigul gathered into small communities in the shadows of mountains, and outsiders came to them for wisdom born of the dark earth. The bat worshippers were considered caretakers of the subterranean harvest, or even keepers of the gates that forbade monsters from rising up to the surface.
But the ancient world has long been ground to dust beneath the sands of time. No longer is the bat-god’s gnarly visage so welcome in the cities of mankind. In this age, it is seekers of isolation and vengeance who flock to Glaksigul in equal numbers. For it is the power of the gods that attract followers now. Few are seekers after divine knowledge or oneness with the
universe. The lure of heaven has been soiled in this fallen age.
But the bat god seems to care little. He takes beneath his membranous wings those who would come to him, regardless of their reasons. Perhaps he must, so as not to fade away, just like the world of the ancients did. Is this the age where even the gods are beggars, not choosers?