A Morbid Dream

[Mescaffier 6197]

Spoiler

 

All art in this post, except for the sigil, is by ptr-sqloint!

Anyone is privy to this post.

 

 

 

You stir in an unfamiliar place,

a cloudy chapel seeped in red light. The air smells strongly of incense – myrrh, frankincense, cardamom, and … rot.

 

The walls tremble with the thrum of a mighty heartbeat, and move like shifting organs. It was damningly hot inside this church, and the moisture stuck to your skin, making it all the worse. You rise, attempting to leave, but the smoke grows thicker. From the smoke, impossibly many figures approach, waving censers or clasping their hands. A chorus of voices reach your ears ...

 

“W h a t   i s   g o o d ?   Everything that heightens the of power in man, the will to

power - power itself,

 

W h a t   i s   b a d ?   Everything that is born of weakness.

 

W h a t   i s   j o y ?   The feeling that power is growing. Not contentedness but more power, not peace but war; not virtue

but fitness.”

 

It would seem that you had interrupted a sermon of some kind …

Their words were inspiring, or perhaps they invoked dread in you. Regardless, a blistering rage made your nerves burn. It was akin to the thrill of a predator catching sight of its prey. You could see it – but it was not yet in your talons, your teeth, your grasp. There was something more. You were on the edge of greatness but teetering above a chasm of ruin.

 

“T h e    w e a k    a n d   t h e  f a i l u r e s   s h a l l    p e r i s h .  The first principle of man.

 

O r d e r   is Tyranny. P e a c e   is Complacence. J u s t i c e   is Revenge. There is only the Self, and its needs.

 

L a w ,   F a i t h   a n d    H o n o u r  .  These are the Three Pillars which uphold a shattered sky.”

 

A figure approaches now,

clad in ruined priestly robes and spattered in blood. They hold a beating heart in hands that are not human – one is chitinous and scaled, demonic and skeletal. It exudes a horrible, horrible energy that makes it feel as though your very soul is being crushed between tongue and tooth.

 

“F o r   H i s   r u n e   I give my blood. 

F o r   H i s   w a r   I give my bones.

 F o r   H i s   w o r l d   I give my soul.

F o r   M y s e l f   I seize the universe.

 

N o - o n e   w i l l   s a v e   y o u. You must save yourself.”

 

They offer out the heart,

the tolling of a bell resounding throughout the room. No matter which way you look, their face is obscured – if they have one at all. Is it even a person, or an avatar? An effigy?

 

“O u r   f a t h e r ,  w h o   a r t   i n   h e l l,

Hollowed be thy name.

 

I   f r e e   y o u , and set loose war,

I   f r e e   t h e m, and set loose their shackles.”

 

It sits in the scaled hand,

hovering in the space between the two of you. It syncs with your own heartbeat, and becomes quicker. 

 

“Know his name,

Know our lord,

G A S H A D O K UR O.

 

We, H I S   H A N D,

We, H I S   B L A D E,

 

We will set you free,

But first, you must free yourself.”

 

 

You wake with a start. Was it real? Or just a morbid dream? The stench sticks to your hair and your heart beats madly, as though it desires an escape from your ribs. It yearns for something you do not entirely know – toward the east.

 

Spoiler

This site is open to anyone curious about

- Necromancy (either wanting to learn or become undead) (this is the main thing!),

- the Black Books of Drauchreim (ibleesian religion),

- or the Gashadokuro eventline.

When you find it and wish to interact, contact me on discord @velkuzat !

 

[ Waiting at this site, like any eventsite, to bandit or attack people attempting to interact is bad faith. You will be taken to Brazil . . . ]