A towering stone statue of a forgotten pagan god, half-buried in the ground and covered in creeping ivy, stands at the edge of a misty autumn swamp, the water below it reflecting the crimson sky above, a lone satyr stands before the statue, his hands raised as he communes with the ancient power within, strange ethereal lights dance in the mist around him, the air is cool and damp, filled with the sound of rustling reeds and distant birds, the vibe is somber and mystical, a place of lost worship and ancient magic.