In the hallowed and obscure annals of the Olden gods pantheon, one encounters the essence of enigma and the core of the cosmic bedrock itself. All details surrounding this elusive pantheon are steeped in the mist of speculation, with the true knowledge of these deities being primarily lost to the inexorable march of time. The tome dedicated to their worship and understanding hence opens its weathered pages to the whispers of rumors, the tendrils of speculation, and the fragile truths gleaned from artifacts so ancient that the very stone they're carved from seems to pulsate with primordial energy.

The Olden gods, as chroniclers have pieced together, are not merely residents of the firmament, but are seen as the fundamental pillars of existence, their very consciousness woven into the fabric of reality. They do not walk upon the earth or stir the seas; they are the earth and the seas, the sky, the stars, and the dark voids between them.

Their visages and virtues are not depicted in mere tomes or sung in simple hymns, but are felt in the ebb and flow of the world's hidden rhythms. To understand them is to gaze into the abyss of the beginning and the quietude of the end. Each deity is a facet of the universe, be it the inexorable crush of entropy or the boundless vigor of creation. They are the quiet custodians of time, the silent architects of destiny, and the tacit shapers of worlds unseen.

Temples dedicated to the Olden gods are few, often lost to ruin, reclaimed by the very essence of the deities they once exalted. The worshipers seek communion not through prayer, but through an attunement with the elements of existence. A whisper in the wind, the pattern of falling leaves, or the unexplained pull towards a destiny yet unfolded, all might be interpreted as communion with these ancient forces.

The remnants of their influence are found in the cryptic symbols etched onto monoliths that defy age, or in the alignments of stones that track celestial paths unknown to modern astronomy. The arcane relics attributed to the Olden gods bear no inscriptions, for their power is beyond words; their very presence is an incantation, their touch an invocation.

In reverence to these timeless beings, the tome remains open, its pages an invitation to those who have felt the tremors of the divine in the mundane, to those who have witnessed the sublime in the decay. It is understood that the Olden gods do not crave worship, but bestow understanding to those who seek to comprehend the vast, intricate web of existence.

Herein lies the chronicled legacy of the Olden gods pantheon: a myriad of beliefs as varied and boundless as the cosmos, a threadbare mosaic of the human endeavor to grasp the ungraspable, to name the unnamed, to remember what was never known.