The sun had set on the empire of the Serpent Men, where once towers of scaly jade had pierced the sky only shattered moss grown stumps remained, their science turned to sorcery and then to mysticism meant to placate the reptilian gods who had long forgotten them. Their proud sinuous forms turned blunt with thick scabrous scales more suited to crawling the deep caves they had made their homes.
And man, that hated, jabbering, hairless ape, dwelt full in the sun. Through some jest of the gods they had been made masters of the surface world. But the sons of the serpent were still wise in their way, and if they could not take the world by force, they would take it by craft. If the gods had given the world above to men, then they would become men for a bit, and when the time was right they would tear down the temples of man to be replaced with the fanes of Yig and Saatha. They would spill the blood of men to please the serpent gods while foolish men would shout and swear it was holy, so long as the blood spilled was not their own.
