cult_classic: (Default)
cult_classic ([personal profile] cult_classic) wrote in [community profile] ph_logs2024-06-20 07:14 pm

[Plot Open] Seeing Red

Who: The Cult of Nyarlathotep and YOU????????? (Intended for a somewhat small group.)
What: Weird magic
When: It's complicated
Where: The cabins in the woods
Warning(s): Cult activity, religious ecstasy, ritual sacrifice, blood, unhealthy and probably uncomfortable opinions about madness. Your character will also die by going on this quest, but you will receive unique plot information. And who knows, maybe you can have like a ghost party or whatever.


-I don't need your roses, I like men on their knees.-

It's not long after Tarantulas and Valdis find Linette and her body is laid to rest that further investigation begins. The information forwarded to them about the cult is, of course, useful. But with the knowledge that a strange cult was performing monstrous rituals is deeply alarming.

Information is spread like wildfire, the paper running an article describing the grisly scene of Linette Brenning, a woman who went missing years ago, turning up at the bottom of the Fall's Promise well. The cult involvement and the ties it must surely have to the barrier and to the cursed book retrieved by River and Angel some months prior. The constables fan out across the island, investigating the cabins in the woods and the well in which Linette was found.

But even so, nothing of note turns up.

Until one day, an assortment of offworlders seemingly chosen at random receive a note in their mailboxes. It's written in a tight, curling hand that is unfamiliar.


Gather in the square tonight at midnight. More friends will be there. But bring a lantern anyway, and do not be late. Once midnight strikes, go to the cabins off the path in Lockwood Forest and speak the words upon the wall of the furthest. If you can be brave, you will see the unobstructed truth.


Perhaps not everyone who receives this letter attends, but if you wish to see more, you must be one of them. And so you go. You gather among friends, or perhaps strangers, but ultimately those like you. And from there you proceed into the woods, following first the trails, then the desire path leading to the sodden and rotting old cabins where Linette's locket was first found nearly a year ago. Per the letter's instructions, you go to the furthest cabin from the road, and you enter.


-Praying up to their god, seeing visions of me.-

After much clearing away of natures attempts at reclamation of the building, the words are visible on the wall, etched in a thick white paint that almost glows in the lantern light. Do you raise your voices in unison to speak the incantation, or is it left to just one brave soul? Regardless, the words are spoken:

We are the seekers of forbidden knowledge. We are the witnesses of the vile divine. We are the wanderers of the black dream desert, navigators of starless skies. We beseech you, O Chaos; we stand in your circle and ask in reverence to behold your revelations of bygone days. Grant us your unholy nightmare that we may see. Ia! Nyarlathotep! Eater of Souls! Let your truth be thusly seen!


And once the words are spoken, the world begins to change.

The sensation, for those who can recall, is not unlike wandering the collective dream of Pumpkin Hollow in years gone by, but this time you have arrived here by choice rather than by sleep. The cabin around you dissolves like sand, falling away in particles to reveal... something else.

You find yourselves back outside, still under the cover of night. Each of you is now garbed in a red robe and a black mask, and you are surrounded by others wearing similar garb. The world around you is nearly silent. You are standing just inside what is a manor house, elegantly decorated, somberly making your way into the depths of the house with the rest of the group. You are led into what is apparently some sort of meeting space with a large, round table with a tasteful assortment of charcuterie foods laid out. No one says a word as you enter, but some members of the group seem confident as they file into place around the table and take a seat. You should probably do the same.

Far off in the distance, you hear the clock strike 2AM. One of the members of the group, apparently the de facto leader, speaks as soon as the third chime silences. Based on the voice, you presume this person to likely be a woman.

"Bare now your true faces and forfeit your names to your brethren and to our Dark King."

And so they do. Each of them doffs their mask and lowers their hood, revealing their faces. All ages and all sorts, it seems. They go around the circle, speaking their names, starting with the woman in charge.

"Chloe Albright."

"Ingmar Strömberg."

"Nora Winterbottom."

"Christopher Larkin."

"Archie Brenning."

"Maude Brenning."

"Brahm Aberdeen.

"Richard Pirnach."

"Lucy Calloway."

Before you have time to take in these names, it is clear from the expectant glances that all of you are meant to introduce yourselves as well. But once this is done, the woman whose name is Chloe speaks once more.

"Thank you all for your offering of identity. And thank you, Christopher, for once again allowing us to take our meeting within your lovely home. And of course, we thank all of our intrepid new inductees for joining us tonight. We appreciate that the lateness of the hour will take some... adjustment. As we await the blessing of our Master in his hour of greatest strength, that we might perform our ritual to bear witness to the vile divine, let us take a simple meal together in fellowship. Both to know each other and to speak of more mundane business, as well as to educate our new siblings. Shall we, brothers and sisters?"

All at once, your true mission becomes clear. Speak to the members of this cult, learn more about their identities, rituals, and crimes, and bear witness to this so-called "vile divine", then return to your own time with the information you receive. It's unclear how you'll get back, at the moment... but surely it will make itself apparent when the time comes. Hopefully.


-Say I'm your favorite preacher.-

[The thrilling conclusion to the cult gathering will appear in the comments over the weekend! For now, focus on talking to the cult members, or to each other. Maybe you can even sneak away to look through the house!]
spaghettification: (laughter)

Dr. Siebren de Kuiper (Sigma) | Overwatch | OTA

[personal profile] spaghettification 2024-06-21 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)
It's funny. There's a world in which Siebren was a sort of abyssal cultist himself, but it's not this one. Still, the thematics are there. The mentions of the black dream desert and navigators of starless skies resonate with a man who stared into the deepest, blackest reached in a pinprick of space and lost something to it forever.

It's funny, right? That he ends up in the circle with the cultists, asked to offer his identity? He speaks the name "Sigma", because whatever this cult is, they might know the mad prisoner, Subject Sigma, rather than the doctor he was before being exposed to void the Iris eternity nothingness.

It is almost a comfort, being surrounded by people who worship something that feels adjacent, tangential, related to what he experienced and has never been able to relate. That's funny, too, right?

It's all so very funny, he feels like he's stifling laughter, bubbling mad laughter, with any word he speaks. Vile divine or not, there's a manic smile on his face through conversations and through dinner.
theydrewfirstblood: (fear{ i'm not prepared to run away)

John Rambo | FIRST BLOOD/RAMBO Franchise | OTA

[personal profile] theydrewfirstblood 2024-06-21 05:28 pm (UTC)(link)
When he reads the paper, hears all the talk...when he gets the letter...

He's ready to disregard it--but he thinks of that poor woman, Linette. He thinks of Serranai and his promise to her, and his hand drifts to the bead that hangs around his neck.

He can just about see Edgar and Radar getting mixed up in this kind of stuff, they're just the type. Too brave and noble for their own damn good...

He doesn't have a lot of time--but he trusts the local postman if nothing else. So he sends out a few notes and he heads out.

Almost immediately, he wishes he hadn't.

The words sit like rotten food in his mouth. Vile divine, granting unholy nightmares--and when they meet the others, they want names?

He's ready to say nothing when he recognizes a couple. He thinks of the dream, so hazy and indistinct that it's lost to him now, and he wonders if he's seen these people before.

His hand drifts to his mask, he removes it...and takes a deep breath, because the name he gives isn't one he ever wanted to wear again.

"I'm Raven."

Covey Leader calling Raven...identify Baker Team...

He's been back to the war once. Maybe third time's the charm.
theydrewfirstblood: (side{ paying attention)

[personal profile] theydrewfirstblood 2024-06-21 05:32 pm (UTC)(link)
Hearing the name makes John feel better about the one he's given, and he recognizes the man's face when his mask comes off. Was it Merrymeet or the potluck thing? Or was it before?...

He edges his way over to the man as everyone starts to mingle, and he looks...

He's not sure about that smile. He knows it, he fears it...and he's the tiniest bit grateful for it.

When he reaches the man's side, he resists the urge to reach out and touch his arm to get his attention.

"Sigma?..."
spaghettification: (Default)

[personal profile] spaghettification 2024-06-21 05:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"Raven." He'd heard how Rambo introduced himself, committed the name to memory. There's a sidelong look and a nod. "Have you come to bask in the 'vile divine' as well?"

There's a sardonic twist on the word 'bask', as Siebren raises his glass of wine (red, of course, it suits the occasion).

"They reach out to a power so strong, so vast. Like the crawling ants drawing a circle in the earth and chanting a person's name, in hopes that they might descend from on high to feed them sugar or crush their enemies." The metaphor was Sheogorath's, and Siebren's not wholly unaware that he is in many ways an ant before that one. But it fits here, too, doesn't it? The vast chaotic void does not care who cries out a name for it. It does not care what it destroys.

He knows that better than most.
mindflayed: (Default)

[personal profile] mindflayed 2024-06-21 07:25 pm (UTC)(link)
"Friends." The word laced with venom, and he mutters something else in a language with too many z's and th's. The letter gets crumpled up and tossed to Sir Radishly the Oddish who promptly eats it. But the more he thinks about it, the more curious he is. It's obviously a trap, it must be. But he keeps stewing on 'see the unobstructed truth' the truth of what?

Considering overconfidence is what got him killed in the first place to end up here, he really should be a little more tactical about this. But he's not. Nearly two centuries being the dominant lifeform around makes it hard to remember that might not always be the case. With no preparation other than what he has on him normally he arrives at the designated location. Though he does not show up with a lantern, because he has dark vision and has never used a lantern in his life.

The robe gets a pleased hum, the words Vile Divine get an intrigued clicking noise, but the situation he finds himself in with so many people in a strange place, darkened rooms and silence all around him, now that gets an almost sinister laugh of amusement. Oh this is excellent. Granted they're all sitting right now, but he dredges up memories of clandestine dinner meetings and knows at some point there'll be time to stand up and have smaller discussions. He's pretty sure the word is 'mingling' and then there will be plenty of chances to get one of these people alone in the darkness beyond this room.

He only has to bide his time. Or wait for a distraction.
lovethyneighb_or: (Default)

father mulcahy | M*A*S*H

[personal profile] lovethyneighb_or 2024-06-21 07:43 pm (UTC)(link)
my breath’s gone cold [approach]
Mulcahy is called upon. Not by the letter, but by his friends—so he goes.

It is dark. He brings his crook, hangs the light from its horn.

He doesn’t speak much on the way.

a kiss from the coal [introductions, mingling]
The moment the mask goes on, he understands.

Oh, he understands.

His hands go still. His steps go light. His head tilts slightly downwards, just so, and his breathing becomes nondescript. Mulcahy packs himself away, tidy and neat, and does his very best to hide in plain sight. To become an invisible man before their very eyes. If there is one thing that the last few years have given him, it is this: how to stop existing.

(Quietly, he hopes that whatever infernal influences encroach tonight will burn under his feet.)

When Mulcahy discards the mask, his eyes are creased just so, his mouth turned so slightly upwards. His expression is perfectly tempered and made-up, as if he hadn't taken it off at all.

"Hello. I am--" say something else, say something else, please come up with anything else-- "--4077." He clears his throat. "Ah. That is, Fauro Saven-Saven."

...

See? He's very good at this. He didn't even throw up.


a blanket of snow overhead [exploring the house]
But he doesn't say. Certainly not enough to make too much of an impression, he hopes.

He needs air. Oh Lord, does he need air. Number 4077 is waiting, waiting, waiting, until the right moment comes for him to slip away from the room and into the rest of the house.

...

And he keeps wandering on. More distance, he needs more distance. More distance...
Edited 2024-06-21 20:07 (UTC)
thaumatophage: (So done with you // hollow_art)

Kitty Callahan | OC | OTA

[personal profile] thaumatophage 2024-06-21 08:00 pm (UTC)(link)
a. hold my hand
It's a bad idea. She knows it's a bad idea, and she goes anyway. The words on the wall only reinforce that it's a bad idea. Bad decision, stupid...but she's come here and she's going to see it through. Is it partly because she resents being kept sheltered? Maybe. Is it partly out of curiosity? Yes. And that old saw comes back to her, curiosity killed the cat...

...and satisfaction brought it back,
she thinks fiercely at it.

When asked for her name, she'd already scraped something together, a long time ago. She's not going to give her real name, because she knows how easily names can be used to control people. These guys don't look much like fae, but she's going to keep her real name close to the vest without lying. She introduces herself as 'Minou Trovinskaya', because, well, it's not technically a lie - minou is Beck's Cajun nickname for her, and so what if she borrowed Alec's last name anyway? She's basically his kid now, it entitles her to certain privileges of the office.

She's likely the youngest one at the table, too. She makes herself as innocuous as possible, smiling genially at the people who she definitely doesn't recognize and raising her eyebrows at the people she arrived with.

b. it's a long way down to the bottom of the river
When she gets an opportunity, Kitty slips away from the distressingly 'normal' party to look for...well, she doesn't know what to look for, but she's looking for something. Some kind of rite like what's going to happen here needs to have tools and equipment, right?? An instruction book? Anything??

She knocks over a stack of books by accident and holds very still. Hopefully nobody heard her.

c. it's a long way down, a long way down
[Wildcard! Plot with me on the PH discord or [plurk.com profile] Chatvert, or just jump in!]
not_the_last: (Default)

Cassandra de Rolo | Critical Role | OTA

[personal profile] not_the_last 2024-06-21 08:29 pm (UTC)(link)
The thing about cults --

Well, the thing about cults is that when you spend five years as the captive and guest, the tool and pawn and foster-daughter, of two people who consider a cult merely another tool? You don't find them frightening in quite the same way afterwards. Alarming in their existence, yes; indicative of someone here who has use for such a thing. But in themselves, no more to be feared than a pack of hunting dogs.

Though, like such a pack, to be reasonably wary of. Cassandra steps carefully along with the group, seats herself with all the grace and poise instilled in her by the family's old dancing-master, regards the others in the group with her head high. By no word or sign does she indicate anything but assurance in her right to be here.

When masks are lowered and names are spoken, she doesn't hesitate. The face she reveals is coolly proud, set in a faint and meaningless smile. "Anna Klossowski."

And as the meal begins, she turns to the man named as Christopher Larkin. "I'd like to add my thanks," she says, "for your graciousness in hosting us tonight."
not_a_traitor: (pensive)

Felix Gaeta | Battlestar Galactica | OTA

[personal profile] not_a_traitor 2024-06-21 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)
welcome to the second reel [approach]

He's kept to himself since Lieutenant Tayrey vanished. No vistors accepted; a politely apologetic note sent to the head librarian explaining he'll be absent for a while; no venturing out for food. (Tayrey mentioned she'd taken to stockpiling food in case of an emergency, when they first met. One more similarity that made them instantly comfortable around one another, as if they'd been friends for far longer than a couple months.)

He's not expecting anyone to send him a letter, and Gaeta certainly doesn't expect how it ignites something dormant in his head.

Unobstructed truth. He let himself get too complacent, hadn't he, accepting magic and goddesses and -- how does any of this work, really? How is it fair, that he can lose and lose and still keep losing everything that matters to him, even after he's dead? He wants answers, godsdammit. He wants to grab this entire island by the scruff of its neck and shake it until it tells him everything.

For the first time in several weeks, he starts to ask around. Make quiet appearances. John Jay got a letter, too, it turns out; Father Mulcahy didn't, but agrees to come along when they ask.

Together, they gather, and together, they go.



we're glad that you could make it [mingle]

He recognizes a few of the names -- Brenning, obviously, from all the news articles and gossip, Aberdeen and Calloway and Winterbottom from the general comings-and-goings of the library. Some of the other offworlders, including John and Mulcahy, give false names when asked.

Gaeta doesn't. Callsigns aren't for CIC officers. If you're calling a bird home, that bird needs to know exactly who it's talking to.

"Felix Gaeta," he says, low and steady, when his turn arrives.



we thought your fate was sealed, it's not what we expected [wildcard]

[You know where to find me to plot!]
Edited 2024-06-21 21:11 (UTC)
mindflayed: (Can be a badass)

In the house

[personal profile] mindflayed 2024-06-21 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)
"Should you be out here alone?" Says the shadows, a voice that sounds both rough and sharp at the same time. There's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness to go with the voice if Mulcahy looks that way on his quest for some more distance.
not_a_traitor: (hm?)

a blanket of snow overhead

[personal profile] not_a_traitor 2024-06-21 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Gaeta clocks the movement of Mulcahy's departure. He does his best -- for whatever that's worth -- not to be too obvious: he doesn't stare afer him, and forces himself to return to the conversation around him for a few extra moments.

When the next opportunity arises, he slips away as well to follow him.

"Sir?" he asks, low, once he's caught up to Mulcahy.
not_a_traitor: (say again?)

[personal profile] not_a_traitor 2024-06-21 08:58 pm (UTC)(link)
In the moment, John gets a faintly startled glance from Gaeta. He does his best to cover by glancing away just as swiftly.

But once the introductions are complete, and the conversation has turned to a genial milling-about of many small groups overlapping at once, he leans over to ask, in a murmur, "Raven?"
misbegottendreamer: (pic#17152867)

Drelasa Veloth | Morrowind OC | OTA

[personal profile] misbegottendreamer 2024-06-21 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Arrival

Perhaps her travels in Morrowind and her confrontation with the Sharmat's worshippers have made diving into matters like this second-nature. When she arrives at the cabin, waiting until she can approach alone, she does so without her mask- she knows that the face she wears is far more recognizable than the one she has been given formed of flesh and blood. The only people who would know her identity with that countenance showing are people she would trust to keep her deepest secrets. Even those who might have seen her aboard the Stag Beetle likely did not understand what they saw, in the utter chaos and confusion that unfolded that day.

The incantation turns her stomach, reminding her far too much of the Sharmat's prayer.

Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten.
Here do we toil, that we might remember.
By night we reclaim, what by day was stolen.
Far from ourselves, he grows ever near to us.
Our eyes once were blinded, now through him do we see.
And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers, that world will cease to be.


The feeling of walking through a dream is at once unnerving and incredibly familiar to her, and she feels coldly at ease when the world settles again.


Introductions

When she's asked to unmask, she does so. Her "face" is an odd cluster of flute-like structures, not quite trunks and not quite tentacles. She could easily be mistaken for a mindflayer, or something tangentially Cthuloid.

As for an alias, well, she already has one- her name from the House of Ashes, an Ald Chimeri monniker that has clung to her heart for more than two hundred years.

"Dagoth Drelsea," she offers, confidently.
ss_buttcrack: (righteous indignation)

[personal profile] ss_buttcrack 2024-06-21 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)
If Cass is going then so is he. She doesn't get to do dangerous investigating stuff without him. That said, the incantation read out from that wall fills him with more than a little trepidation. This is how horror movies always start, people! Come on!

But it's already too late to turn back, no matter how disturbed he is by the surroundings melting away to become something and... somewhere else. When he looks down at himself to discover the robes, he has to choke back a gag of disgust. Oh, frell. Not this.

He follows the others inside, but when it comes time to take his seat... he stays standing behind his chair. His fists are clenched so hard at his sides that he's beginning to tremble. It's not from fear. He's straining to hold himself back.

"Frelling cults..." he growls under his breath. "Wonder if their robes are fire-proof..."
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2024-06-21 09:32 pm (UTC)(link)
A cold hand touches his: Cassandra, in the seat beside him, still looking straight ahead.

"Steady," she murmurs behind her mask, for his ears only.
mindflayed: (Default)

[personal profile] mindflayed 2024-06-21 09:37 pm (UTC)(link)
They never are. Usually they burn spectacularly if one is so inclined.

Thoughts spoken directly to Crichton, though the voice is familiar. And unlike the previous time they'd spoken, Imbros is having a great time right now.

Unfortunately his telepathy only works in one direction, he can talk to people, but unless they also have telepathy they can't speak back in form.
thaumatophage: (C'mon it'll be funny // hollow_art)

[personal profile] thaumatophage 2024-06-21 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)
"Only one way to find out," Kitty says under her breath, her voice cheerfully singsong as she passes on the way to a seat of her own. Then, just as quietly, though actually serious, "You'd better sit, they're gonna get suspicious."
ss_buttcrack: (pout)

[personal profile] ss_buttcrack 2024-06-21 09:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Crichton jumps in place at her touch. He shouldn't do anything rash. He knows. He knows, but...

"We're not seriously going to sit and listen to this?" he hisses back just loud enough for her and maybe the person beside him to hear.
not_the_last: (Default)

[personal profile] not_the_last 2024-06-21 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
"We are if we want to know what they're saying."

She presses his fingers. "Please sit?"
lovethyneighb_or: (o sacrum convivum)

[personal profile] lovethyneighb_or 2024-06-21 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Not too stiff, not too frantic, 4077’s learned how to walk that line. He turns, all calm pleasantries, and responds quietly in kind.

“Ah, Gaeta. May I help you?”
Edited 2024-06-21 22:01 (UTC)
lovethyneighb_or: (o sacrum convivum)

[personal profile] lovethyneighb_or 2024-06-21 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
4077 does not flinch. He does not jolt, or whirl around, or freeze, or show any other manner of weakness except to still for only a moment.

He sends his gaze about placidly. when he meets those yellow eyes staring from the dark, he turns to face them, and slightly bows in polite greeting. “I have not been made aware of any reason not to be,” he offers. “I needed a bit of space from so much socializing.”
Edited 2024-06-21 22:01 (UTC)
ss_buttcrack: skeptical look (are u mad)

[personal profile] ss_buttcrack 2024-06-21 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Cassandra has only just convinced Crichton to finally sit his ass down when a sudden voice in his mind has him leaping back up out of his seat and ripping down his mask to look around for whoever has invaded his privacy this way. His glare closes on Imbros. Oh, yeah, he knows that voice.

"Maybe I'm more inclined to try it on you first, Squidward. Stay the frell out of my head!"
mindflayed: (Not interested)

[personal profile] mindflayed 2024-06-21 10:25 pm (UTC)(link)
"There's likely many dangers in an unfamiliar place. Unless you are familiar with it?" A probing query to find out if this is someone from the town or someone from this religious order or whatever it is. He probably should have paid more attention to the people at the cucumber festival, but that would be like noticing the color of your livestock's eyes: ultimately irrelevant.

"Where are you going, away from the truth?"

Vile divine is how they'd put it, but the note had definitely said something about truth. Maybe he shouldn't have let Sir Radishly eat it.
ss_buttcrack: (pout)

[personal profile] ss_buttcrack 2024-06-21 10:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Still whispering angrily, "They won't have anything to say if I barbeque them first..."
ss_buttcrack: (dubious)

[personal profile] ss_buttcrack 2024-06-21 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
"Getting some mixed messages here," he whispers back to her. "I usually cast better standing up."

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