Once the twilight fell over the hills they came, as if called by some song only the full moon can sing. The Keeper greeted each of them by name as they filed into the stone ring like a slow procession of ghosts. The keeper then gave them to drink of that potion known only to the secret rites of the Druids. And when he was done, he handed the cup, along with his flint knife, to the one who would follow him in the succession of The Order. They formed a circle within the stone circle, like a wheel within a wheel. The standing stones began to glow with a spectral, inner light as world started to spin. As the openings between the stones passed through his mind's eye, the Keeper looked into worlds strange and outre' beyond imagination. In one, odd insectoid beings were building hive-like cities under a blood-red sun, their geometries impossible to comprehend by any being whose senses were limited to only four dimensions. In another, star-headed and tentacled floaters with cylindrical bodies were at war with some unseen subterranean creature in a hexagonal temple under the light of twin suns. In a third, pink fleshy slug-like creatures with multiple mouths seemed to be sending an urgent warning.
The Keeper felt a pull from the space between the Trilothons.
As he let his (astral body) drift towards the opening, he seemed to be looking down upon a great arena filled with millions of bird-headed creatures. In the center of the arena was a great mound, at least a thousand feet high. At the base of the mound were a bewildering array of alien creatures dressed in a military fashion and holding weapons. At a signal from the king of the bird-headed creatures, the warriors all began to rush the mound, leaving a trail of gore as they fought their way viciously to the top. Eventually only one warrior remained. The bird-headed creatures cheered as the champion raised his weapon in victory, and then became strangely silent. The top of the mound, which suddenly seemed horribly organic, slowly opened up and a long, gelatinous tongue whipped out and around the victor, pulling him slowly down into the interior. Oddly, he did not seem to resist. The Keeper gasped and reached for a small five-pointed star made of greenish stone that he kept in a leather pouch on his belt and hurled it into the opening between the Trilothons. As it passed through the opening it became a flaming green fireball that fell from the heavens down onto the world of the bird-headed ones. Where it impacted became a tidal wave of thick, green ooze that slowly covered their world in a new and smothering sea.
The Keeper began to shake as he staggered back to the flat stone alter. The long cycle was completed. He had managed to perform the duty that the Elder gods required, but not before he had caught the fleeting-est glimpse of what the long, gelatinous tongue really belonged to.
As he lay upon the alter, he called out to the earth goddess to take him back into herself. And as he waited for the flint knife to finally come down, the cool night wind softly caressed his face.
" Here oft, when evening sheds her twilight ray,
And gilds with fainter beam departing day,
With breathless gaze, and cheek with terror pale,
The lingering shepherd startles at the tale,
How at deep midnight by the moon’s chill glance,
Unearthly forms prolong the viewless dance;
While on each whispering breeze that murmurs by,
His busied fancy hears the hollow sigh."
-quote from Stonehenge by T. S. Salmon