The God of Mysteries is old, almost as old as the Earth Mother and the Sky Father, and older than any of the gods of this late age. He is the god of wild places and wild things, of growth and dying and rebirth, and of the knowledge that is lost with learning.
He has many servants, especially among creatures so fearsome that man comforts himself by saying they are mere myth.
There are the furtive Phyrgian cyclopes, who come from the near east, where they live in tunnels beneath the Atlas Mountains and mine emeralds and turquoise, which they trade for great bolts of yellow cloth whose color reminds them of the sun which they have left behind.
There are the huge Agatean cyclopes, who live on one of the countless islands of that sea. It is said that they raise cruel sheep, feed on blood, and that they will serve for a month and a day any man who pledges loyalty to the God of Mystery.
There are the Minotaur, who dwell in the labyrinthine forests or deep caves, who keep the shrines of the God of Mystery. The most powerful of these are the shamans of his worship, the keepers of the deepest mysteries, gifted with prophecy and familiars.
There are the Barbagia, the near-men, who speak no tongue but sing long and wordless chants around their cave fires, drawing great paintings in crude pigment of animals and humanoids.
Sometimes these races band together to go to war, for purposes known only to themselves and the God of Mystery.