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ph_logs2024-07-07 02:14 pm
[Cult Follow-Up] Well, That Was Weird
Violence with religious overtones, cult activities, gore featuring eye trauma and glass shards.
Well, That Was Weird
Once the chaos of combat ends, the members of the Cult of Nyarlathotep stand tense for a long moment before letting out sighs of relief. The dead are dragged aside and piled against the wall while Chloe sits on the stairs and picks glass out of her wounded face with her bare fingers. Nora Winterbottom brings her a few towels from Larkin's bathroom, much to the mayor's dismay.
"What a waste of blood," Lucy muses, tutting.
Pirnach moves toward the center of the room, rubbing his hands together, eyebrows raised, releasing a stressed breath loosely. "What a way to end a party, huh? Well, it's a shame our initiation ceremony went that way, but we appreciate the patience for the rest of you. Now that we're done dealing with those interlopers, let's say we get this show on the road for real, eh?"
Looking back to Chloe, Pirnach arches a brow and gestures vaguely and broadly at the room. She waves him off.
"Yes, fine, you do it." Another chunk of crystal glass hits the floor with a clink.
Ingmar brings Pirnach the book from the altar. The thinner, paler man is now shirtless, revealing a massive web of tattoos forming a collar around his neck and extending down over his shoulders, back and chest. He is covered in ceremonial designs, runes and sigils. He wears the locket brought here by Archie and Maude Brenning, the wedding locket which belongs to Linette, and stands in the center of the circle while the rest of the cultists go around to the new initiates. Pirnach speaks once more, clearly able to translate the alien text on the page with little trouble.
"O Bloody Tongue and Caliban Storm, we summon you. Up from the ageless depths of the starless void, we call upon you. We speak the words with blood on our tongues, O Soul and Messenger, that you might bear your Message unto these bodies yet uncorrupted by the vile divine. As they offer their minds and their flesh to you, Dark King, may your greatness unfurl within them, crawling up their veins like venom and spilling forth from their mouths as black bile and red death, as foul as your creeping mist upon the minds of the unworthy. Welcome them into your many obsidian and splendid arms, let their bones decorate your wicked teeth, their meat hot on your fetid breath, and let us be venerated one and all for this feast which shall empower you to wrap your broken lips around this blighted land."
As the words carry on, the final confirmation that this was never an initiation clicks into place. But there is nowhere to run now. Your body feels frozen, your feet rooted to the spot. You feel as stiff as a body in a casket, and can almost feel invisible vines coiling around you from below, immobilizing you in their embrace. Against your will, your eyes train on the circle below as one by one the cultists come around the room with blades and slice the throats of everyone who remains.
As you bleed out, you manage to have enough awareness about you to witness the last bit of the ritual. Sacrifices exsanguinating, blood flows to the center of the room in uncanny little rivers not guided by gravity and soak into the stone circle like a sponge, flowing through its carvings and up around Ingmar's bare feet. He is breathing heavily, almost panicking, as the blood climbs up his chest and neck and into his mouth. By the time he feels the desire to scream, he no longer can.
"Father of Bats, let the blood of these sacrifices serve as a vehicle for your corruption as we create an anchor with which to prepare your greatest sacrifice," Pirnach continues reading. "Once your venom permeates her pitiable flesh, her tears and her screams will stain the ground and claim this rock in your name! We name her conduit, we name her Linette! Ia, Nyarlathotep!"
Your vision swims as your own choked gurgles drown out any further words. You are left with a blurry vision of the stone hoop in the center of the room filling with black pooling liquid from which dark tendrils reach out for Ingmar... before everything fades away.
When you come to, you are back in the forest where the cabins are now dilapidated once more. You are a ghost now, with a day to discuss with your companions what you just witnessed. Once dawn comes the following morning, you will wake in the woods, strewn about the perimeter of the cabins, and you will be able to return home with a vision of the strange and morbid events which helped to put the barrier into place.
no subject
Not that he's sure how anyone would lock up a ghost, or why she would want to, but it's the biggest fear in his chest right now. To be put into isolation again, as Subject Sigma was before.
no subject
Simultaneously straightforward, firm and a touch warmer than CT has let her voice be in weeks: "I'm not going to lock you up. Not now, not later. You have my word on that."
Not that she always feels like her word means much, but she wants and intends it to. She resents the way she had to become a liar and a snake to do what she had to do, back home, even as she can't entirely let go of the defensive instincts.
no subject
"Thank you, Ms. Diaz."
Sorry, he's clung to the name he heard.
no subject
She chews the inside of her cheek for a moment, but decides against 'correcting' him right now. She'll deal with that later.
"I'll come to talk more after we're all alive again, if you'd still like me to."
no subject
There's a definite subtle desperation in there, whoops.
no subject
Even far, far outside his experiences, she knows a feeling close enough to that. The amount of days and nights she spent unable to talk to anyone honestly after some world shattering revelation about the program...
"Alright, then. I will. As soon as I can."