It is time.
The winds whispered it, carrying the words down from the Mountain's peak, through the jagged crags of rock which dominated the heights. The trees whispered it, their leaves rustling and shuffling on the lower slopes as they passed on the message. The stones whispered it, grinding and turning when nobody was there to watch, opening paths that had lain shut for centuries.
It reached the ears of the monks, and they readied themselves to receive guests.
The first shrine lay at the very base of the Black Mountain, hidden in its titanic shadow. This was the largest of them, resembling wide-roofed temple, complete with pillars hewn of rough grey stone, an evident contrast to the black rock upon which they rested. Carvings adorned the walls, some made colorful with dyes. Depictions of heroes, warriors, assassins and magi, those who had challenged the Mountain in the past. The centerpiece, however, was no mortal monument. The Shrine itself dominated the temple: a pair of vast winged statues, rendered in pure white marble, eternally locked in combat.
The monks wove back and forth, hurrying about, sometimes quietly muttering to each other. All wore robes, but many bore different colors: red, brown, grey, white, all were present in some quantity or other. They were solemn, and certainly not rambunctious, but their movements betrayed a certain excitement. Finally, the hour had come.
Food and supplies were brought in from a nearby village, and laid out to be taken freely. Though hardly luxurious, these were plentiful, for it would not do to have a challenger starve or freeze on the climb, however unlikely it might seem. The Mountain demanded blood, and the monks were to help ensure it.
Sooner or later, those brave enough to make the ascent would pass through here. Some might pass straight through, intent on their goal, while others might stay awhile, to make final preparations for their journey... or size up those who might oppose it. The monks were on guard, ready to break up any physical altercation- though perhaps not as skilled or strong as those who would soon arrive, they had the numbers to do so.
At the far end of the structure, beyond the great angel statues, lay the first path. A simple dirt road, it was wide and welcoming- but quickly split off into dozens of narrower routes. These were the roads to be taken by those making the climb, each just wide enough to one person. Some might try to follow others, but they would soon find themselves on a different road- for once one reached those sheer and dangerous slopes, no path remained the same for long. It was a well-known rule: climbers always ended up alone.
Until two paths crossed, and two of those ascending had the misfortune to come face-to-face with one another. It was then that the Mountain would demand its blood.
For those brave enough to face this challenge, it was time.
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Lugubrious