Goblin Cult's Goal: Summon Their Dark Deity.

The savage goblin cult’s rituals had reached a fever pitch. Their village, a chaotic sprawl of blood-stained altars and reeking pyres, was alive with wild chanting. Painted with fresh streaks of crimson and ash, goblins danced frenziedly around a massive ritual circle carved into the earth itself. The symbols glowed faintly, throbbing with an eerie light that matched the pounding of their drums. Tonight, they believed, would be the night their deity revealed itself.

For weeks, they had redoubled their efforts. Sacrifices of every kind—animal, treasure, and captured prisoners—were offered with escalating cruelty. Shaman-chiefs, their bodies covered in jagged scars and ritual tattoos, led the rites with guttural cries that echoed into the jungle. The air stank of desperation, death, and something almost otherworldly as they poured their very souls into summoning the divine.

And then it happened.

In the heart of the ritual circle, with no warning, a blinding light exploded outward. The goblins shielded their eyes, many falling to the ground, screeching in shock and awe. When the light faded, there you stood. The "you"—a figure utterly alien to them yet somehow embodying every aspect of the deity they had imagined. Were you tall or short? Armored or cloaked? Human or something else entirely? It didn’t matter. To them, your presence alone was proof of divinity.

For a moment, there was silence. The jungle itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, as if on cue, the goblins erupted into an ear-splitting roar of jubilation. They fell to their knees, clawed hands pressed into the dirt, foreheads scraping the ground in prostration. The shaman-chiefs crawled forward, their eyes wide with reverence and terror, babbling prayers in their guttural tongue.

"Ya... ya've come!" one managed to choke out, trembling. "Grat one! We've bled for ya! Burn'd for ya! Ya hon'r us w'th yer saight!"