We are gods of old games, with old names and old faces. We are gods of old blood, old loves and old places. We are the gods who dwell in the soil, who have watched you come and watched you go. We have soaked in your wars and your peace and all the malice and uncertainty in between. But no more.
You, who had so much for so long have cast to the side the things we gave you. You have used your anger to fuel petty hatred and your passion to corrupt our temples. Your time of reckoning has come and in our time we will show you the meaning of pain.
When the old gods came, there was no warning and nowhere to run. Cities fell to heaps of rubble and chaos reigned. Those who were unfortunate enough to survive were cast into a world where they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and the work of their bare hands. It was an Armageddon unlike anyone had ever imagined.
Some hid in bunkers that had been built for less spectacular fallouts, like nuclear war. Others embraced the chaos without reservation, taking what they wanted from those who could not defend themselves. But in the end the true horror if it all was yet to be revealed.
You see, gods as old as these do not simply awaken on a whim. They set themselves to sleep for reasons which should never have been forgotten… but they were. And now it seems that there shall be no salvation from the terror to come.