Hunting Grounds

[Nozgoth 2897]

Spoiler

 

 

 

[!] A letter, addressed to who?

(This letter is intended for a specific demographic, however I do not mind if people assume knowledge of it IRP.)

 

“Are you the root of it all? The great evil who has befell this place?”

 

HUNTING GROUNDS

---

 

To embrace God is to embrace All. You cannot create without destroying something else. You would know this if you truly served the red hand of Ylk’mesh. For today, we serve His hand. No longer do we listen, and worship His ears, nor do we ponder, and worship His mind, nor do we preach, and worship His mouth. I think we all know deep down that the duality is paradoxical. That nothing is created from what we destroy.

 

“Eternity.”

 

My brethren, 

 

The time grows near. There are many who know of our deeds. A deal has been stricken with the Omen Prince, and we are to aid in his design. The place once known as Du Loc is a dilapidated shell of what once was and what could be. It is a reminder of the sin that plagues us. What is your favorite flavor? Man? Elf? Dwarf? They are all there.

 

You know of our purpose, of what I am calling you to do. By the eye of the wretch, I hereby initiate a feast. The sheep have grown fat and many. The flock must be culled. We need no excuse.

 

“No more hiding. I want to see… the Palebeasts - outside their skin.”

 

~ The Red Hand of Ylk’mesh

[Child Neglecter 2134]

 

One cannot raise walls against that which has been forgotten.

 

So too did something tremble upon it's crucifix, metal bolts affixed unto flesh that had reformed countless times, only to hang for an eternity in a state of grotesque slumber. Thoughts had long since departed what mind it had remaining, leaving only a husk of a beast, or a man. Something in between; a duality. Yet, it's flesh did yet shiver, and so too did echo the clinking of fetters, shackles borne of cold iron, that had brought the first sound to deaf ears in what had been years.

 

Maidens three had gathered upon a hillside, manifesting within marionettes that had long since succumbed to the illness that came in the wake of the deviant thing. A thought infiltrated it's head, a drop of water upon the driest of mouths, and like the first rains upon the desert, eyes be-speckled with sand and soot opened - bloodshot, gray, and a hand reached out unto a forlorn illusion, only to grasp nothing.

 

Burned with scars, the tower of flesh began to struggle against his chains, and attempted to free himself from what he could not. A resounding sigh - and then, a return to thought, for a while.

 

The everlasting mound of flesh shook with a fury unlike had been seen for days on end, and yet, he could not break the fetters that lay upon his flesh, the chains that bound him so, until many a week later, when rust had ravaged the medium of endless agony. With hands and feet that were now one with the iron of the fetters and the crucifix itself, he began to crawl.

 

The knells call unto a return of something more.

[Acostrob 254]

The Wolf stalks the Hare.

 

A crazed flagellant readied his arms.