The Gloomy City, Curse City, nicknames for a coastal United States city simply known as Hexington City. An old city founded back in 1699 by European Colonists, but the land it rests upon is much older than that, with a dark and hidden past. However, tonight's tale is not about the city but instead about one of its inhabitants, an ordinary man, a simple man, a man named Joseph Taylor. An employee at his local hardware store, he arrives everyday on time, does what he is told, clocks out, goes home to shower, eat, and finally to repeat the process all over again. He keeps to himself at his job and while he has no ill will towards his coworkers, and vice versa, he doesn’t extend his friendship with them outside of the work place.
Joseph was born and raised in Hexington, grew up relatively normal, as normal as a family can get in Hexington. Joseph is nothing and no one special, that is the point that is being driven home here, if he were to die, he wouldn’t be missed by anyone. Maybe a small funeral would be held and attended by family members simply because they are related to him. Within the week he would be forgotten by the world. These things are what make him the perfect target for kidnapping and murder and here in Hexington he will become another statistic, another cold case, another body for the morgue.
Ordinary Joseph’s sad tale begins on a Tuesday, three quarters of the way into his shift, a coworker approaches him, a really chummy fellow by the name of Brian MacOlsen. A white male, early thirties of Irish descent, short shaggy hair, close to 6 feet tall with a stout build, years of tossing around cement bags and other miscellaneous objects for the hardware store. He approaches Joseph and tosses his arm around his neck as any good friend would do, he and Joseph are both similar in height. Joseph Taylor is an African American man standing at an even 6 feet tall, short buzz cut hair, also in his early thirties and in relatively good shape. This mundane job has its perks for living a healthy lifestyle.
”Joseph, man! What are you doing Friday night after work? And DON’T say going home!”
Joseph just stares at him and lets out a sigh, moving himself away from the arm slung around him so he can continue moving empty pallets from an earlier shipment of items.
”I’m doing nothing.”
”Great! So that means-”
”It means I’m doing nothing, Brian. I want to go home and rest after a long week of work. Maybe I can catch you on Saturday or something.”
Brian rolls his eyes and lightly punches Joseph’s shoulder playfully as he leans against a pillar, painted yellow so forklift drivers and the like can see it better. Despite the paint there is still damage done to it due to a few light collisions with it.
”Come on man, I don’t ask you to go out often. What do you do at home, man? Play games with people online? I mean I’m not making fun of you if that's how you socialize.”
”Nope.”
”Huh?”
”I don’t play online games, and I don’t socialize online. I have an old console from when I was a teenager but if I’m not in the mood to mess around with that I just watch movies. So my Friday is occupied by pizza and whatever is new on one of the many streaming services I’ve talked myself into.”
Brian shakes his head and starts helping with the moving of the pallets. He seems down about Joseph rejecting his offer so bluntly and with such a matter of fact attitude. The two men work in silence for a while before Brian circles back to what is going on Friday.
”Look man, a party is going on with some of the other guys that work here, a few from First Shift too. It’s going to be a chill time and there will be girls there. You like ladies right or are you still a-”
”I don’t see how that is any of your business bud. But no, I ain’t a virgin, getting laid just isn’t a priority or concern of mine. I also doubt I’m going to meet a girl made of wife material if she is willing to party with you loons.”
The two men share a laugh and continue working, Joseph could sense Brian about to continue the conversation so when he stopped to get a drink of water he gave him a more definitive answer.
”I’ll swing by for a bit, maybe about an hour or so then I’ll head home. I’m looking forward to that end of week pizza.”
Brian fist pumps with glee like some sort of teenager who finally roped their best friend into something stupid. What ends up happening Friday night goes beyond the realms of simply stupid. Joseph won’t be getting that end of week pizza he is fantasizing about…
The week passes and before anyone knows it Friday is here. Everyone constantly commented on how fast the week went as if there were some flux in time speeding them ahead. No one complains, the sooner the weekend arrives the sooner everyone can relax from the work week. The shift at the hardware store also speeds by, hastening to the time of the party. Gray clouds turn dark as the sun sets, the light pollution of the city illuminates them. They roll like the ocean waves beneath them, no one in Hexington takes note of them since cloudy skies are the norm for them, had the skies been clear then cause for concern may have washed over them.
Joseph heads home before going to the party, he wants to get cleaned up and have a small meal before heading out. His nerves are on edge for one reason or another, looking over his shoulder because just on the fringes of his vision he swears he can see the shape of a person, a man. Black pinstripe suit, not a hair on his body and jet black onyx skin and yet not a single African American feature on his face. Joseph looks down at his sandwich and has to think, how come he can describe him so clearly in his mind but barely see him on the edge of his vision? Everytime he opens his mouth to call out to someone who isn’t there he loses his voice, the ability to string the right words together to pose a question. He looks back to his food and continues eating only for the cycle to repeat again and again until he leaves for the party, not a single shred of a memory left in his mind of the strange Onyx man.
Traffic on Friday night is abysmal in Hexington, despite how glum the city is the youth are out in full force, out to clubs and parties. Joseph has joined their numbers, a part of the mass of people out for a good time. He arrives at the site of the party, an old warehouse to those privy about what lies on the inside. Its old rundown appearance on the outside turns unneeded eyes away from it, but those in the know understand that this place can be rented to host any sort of party they want. Innocent things like birthday parties or more debauchery flavored activities, you know the kind. Joseph may be plain and ordinary but he isn’t ignorant, he stays in the know of some things, mainly through people he knows. Because of his demeanor he is trusted with all sorts of secrets and information from people, information and secrets that are forgotten until the owner of said secret brings it back up to him. After double, triple, and quadruple checking his car to make sure it's locked and secure he heads inside. It's a short walk down a hall, the thick walls padded to ensure the sound of nightly activities never escape into the night time air.
He opens the final door and the heavy thud of bass hits him in his chest, rattling his organs. The music is loud, not deafening or ear piercing but enough to feel it in the body to elicit movement. Joseph bobs his head a bit, the infectious tune is hard to resist, pop music at its best.
”Holy shit! You actually showed up!!”
Brian shouts and jogs over to Joseph, giving him a handshake and pulling him into a one armed hug.
”Yeah I said I was going to come, but only for about an hour. I don’t want to waste my Saturday sleeping in.”
”Hey, all good man, just happy to see you outside of work for once haha. Let me go grab you a beer, some of the boys from work are right over there.”
A blessing if there ever was one for Joseph to have a host of familiar faces to mingle with while at a mostly unfamiliar place. Mostly unfamiliar because he knows about it but has never been inside it before. Brian comes back with an already open beer for him, they toast and drink up while listening to a co-worker from first shift talk about an irate customer he had to deal with. After the first beer Joseph looks at the lights and they seem blurry, he rubs his eyes assuming them to be tears from laughing but the blurriness doesn’t fade. He doesn’t have astigmatism so he doesn’t understand what is going on. He isn’t that much of a lightweight and he ate two sandwiches before coming here to make sure he had something on his stomach to soak up the alcohol. He turns to head to the bathroom and then everything goes black…
He regains consciousness, an abhorrent smell lingering in the air all around him. The smell of cold decay. He moves an arm to cover his nose but realizes his right hand is bound to something, in fact his entire body is bound to the floor by forces unseen to his mundane mind. No sense for dramatics in this regard, it is quite plain to tell that it is magic holding him down. Purple candles burn in a circle around him, the crunch of dry blood is heard each time he shifts trying to resist his unseen restraints. Hooded individuals approach him and ignore his pleas and questions. They are wearing purple robes with an insignia on the front of it that bears a resemblance to the letter A. Of the various twists and swirls in the design the shape of the letter A is the only thing that stands out to him because everything else on the emblem seems so… Alien. One hooded figure approaches and speaks to Joseph.
”Sorry buddy, but a sacrifice is needed and I’ve been raised since birth to become The Key. I will succeed where all the others have failed by awakening Him.”
The hood falls and it is Brian, shortly after the hoods fall for the other figures and it seems like everyone at this “party” is involved in this twisted game. Joseph can’t find the right words to say, he is so panicked and taken aback that fear grips his throat like a vice. All he can do is let out strained sounds with his vocal cords. Then he sees him, in the corner of his vision, the Onyx Man, it appeared as if he raised his arm to look at a wrist watch. Joseph blinks and the man is gone. Brian then begins speaking to the rest of what Joseph can only call Cultists.
”Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity, our boundless god: the daemon sultan Azathoth. The fact that we dare speak his name aloud means that the stars are finally right for us. He who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes, bless us with the power to become your Avatar!”
Madness, that's what this is. Joseph can put things together rather quickly and understand that these lunatics are going to kill them for some sort of made up god.
”Let me go! I won’t tell anyone! I’ll leave Hexington! Just don’t kill me!”
His cries go unheard as they begin chanting in some strange dialect, a tongue unheard of, a language not meant to be spoken by humans.
”N'ghaa y'ha tiesh zul'ka dreph, sahn mi gorth. Y'ha shubac to'khash, lash'na m'kaiith suya n'khul.”
”Our trumpets turn and blare in synchronicity with your own. Your dead ignorant gaze, we call upon it to bless us with your sight.”
They begin playing trumpets that are absolutely ear splitting, they have no rhythm to them at all, it is just absolute noise. The sound is so potent, so piercing that Joseph's eardrums burst, blood leaking out of his ears. The scent of the candles is enhanced, the noxious smoke harming his eyes and nostrils, he is being made to bleed against his will all without laying a hand on him.
”N'ghft chul'ra y'hotro. N'gha, n'gha faht, n'gha q'thul. D'rel ep'nh, zoth'ga r'ryth, ofta'rh ep'n'ha.”
”Death for the Dead One. Yet he is not dead, yet lives. Born of death, risen in death, steeped in death.”
Joseph begins coughing, blackened bile spews up from his mouth and for a moment he swears he could see an eye open then close within the bile. He screams, his voice cracks, his vocal cords strain, fear in its purest form. Yet his screams pale in comparison to the blaring of trumpets.
”Thulhu, nen g'haru, yoth, yth'rah. Oh zhul'th, k'tharnog thal-gnoth, sath'ra z'lye.”
”Grant unto us, the Avatar, your mark, your blessing. Oh sleeping one of nethermost creation, let us wake you.”
”HELP ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
Brian turns with a ceremonial dagger in hand, the handle riddled with decorative eyes and the pommel adorned with a singular massive eye. The blade is slick and dark, appearing to be more like a tendril made of flesh rather than metal.
”Primordial Demiurge, Achamoth, Vach-Viraj…”
Brian raises the dagger and buries it in the heart of Joseph, speaking only one singular word to finish the blasphemous chorus.
”AZATHOTH”
He raises the dagger and the blade is nowhere to be seen, now nothing more than a useless trinket he tosses it aside and raises his arms. Blackened portals begin to open, like splotches of ink suspended in the air around Joseph’s dead corpse. A singular tendril slips out of the inky stain on reality and pulls the cadaver into a different dimension. The ritual is done and Joseph Taylor is no more. Due to his mundanity in life he will not be missed…
Brian looks at himself trying to see if he feels any different, opening and closing his fist and even casting a magic spell at the cost of his own sanity to do so. It was a simple spell, conjuring a tendril to grasp a cup. He feels no different and can’t understand why. That is when the crowd hears clapping in the back of the room, a sarcastic clap full of condescending energy. The crowd turns to look at him, to look at the Onyx Man.
”My oh my, I haven’t seen someone mess up an Avatar Ritual this badly in quite some time. Not since you humans first started doing it anyway. So many dead failures.”
”Who are you?! How did you get in here?”
”Poor choice of words. I am-”
The name is spoken, Brian drops to a knee, his mind shattered from the mere utterance of the beings name. If spoken by a human it means nothing but names have power. For an Eldritch name to be spoken in true native tongue has effects humans can scarcely comprehend. A spell in its own right but highly considered to be a very low level one.
”How… Wha… Why? Why are you here? What have we done? Az-”
”Do not speak his name again, unless you want me to so I can truly rend your mind from soul and body. I am here to witness the birth of a new Avatar as it has been foreseen by- Ah, I have to be careful how I speak, I almost said the name of the gate.”
”Yog-Sothoth?”
”Yes, do not speak it again. Ah, it is time! The new Avatar is about to arrive, I shall watch him from afar, enjoy witnessing the birth of a new Avatar, you ignorant human.”
Brian blinks and the well dressed man is gone then there is a howl behind him, the howl of air being pulled out of the room. He grasps his neck as if to keep the air in his lungs. A black splotch returns, a portal to a place no human should witness with their mortal eyes. A being steps through, humanoid in appearance but it too is hooded. Slick, slimy, and organic, a freshly birthed thing. What little sanity Brian has left struggles to remain. This thing is wearing a suit but it looks fleshy, organic, living. Veins writhe and move along the surface, dark black accented with purple, they reconfigure, the purple taking the appearance of boots, gloves, belt and accenting the rim of the hood. The rest remains black, save for the emblem on its chest, embedded in the body like a birth mark. It's the same symbol they had sewn into their robes, the symbol of Azathoth.
The portal closes abruptly and Brian is left standing in silence with this being. He staggers to his feet quickly, pulling out a gun and firing at its head, dropping it instantly. He knew that its flesh was still soft and decided to strike before it had time to adjust.
”FUCK!”
He exclaims while running his hand through his hair. He looks around at the mess made by the portal, broken class and booze all on the floor and pews. He knows he’ll have to start over, rebuild his following, find a new sacrifice. But he doesn’t fret, he is still young and the moment he gains the power of Azathoth’s Avatar he’ll simply restore his youth. He walks over to a closet and pulls out a few canisters of gasoline and starts dumping it over everything, especially on the newly born dead thing. He moves on to the rest of the room when he hears a sound, something sliding on concrete. His eyes fix to the only abnormal thing in the room with him, the dead thing. He only sees a black tendril sliding up the wall, he drops the gas which pours out at his feet as he waves his gun around.
WOOSH!
A large object flies past him and crashes into the only exit of this ritualistic chamber, then again and again. Gasoline soaked pews pile up at the door and the sound of a solitary spent bullet hits the ground, compressed as if the metal collided with something much stronger than it.
”What… What happened? What did you do to me? I can see… Your mind…”
Then it is lowered down from the ceiling by a mass of tendrils protruding from its upper back. This black and purple thing looks into the eyes of Brian who trembles with fear.
”I died, I think… I remember my eyes, ears and nose hurting so much before something slipped into my chest… Then I saw stars, so many stars… Then it-”
Brian screams and shoots his gun, the bullet ricochettes back and strikes his shoulder, causing the gun to drop and misfire, igniting the gasoline. He quickly catches fire and runs to the exit, the one blocked by pews, also soaked with gas. They ignite, the entire room is set ablaze all except the newly born thing. The tendrils set it down on its feet then enshroud him, spinning and turning into a ball until that ball is gone. Brian casts a spell of protection on himself, but it may be too late for him…
Joseph is next seen walking to his car in a strange hypnotic state, he opens the door, sits down and begins his drive home. Despite the horrors he witnessed he seems relatively calm and that concerns him. He knows he should feel scared, panicked even, but something within him has fled, something that should be driving his fight or flight. If only Joseph knew what world he was stepping into now, a world devoid of Sanity. Joseph Taylor has become the Avatar of Azathoth and before long he will call himself: The Occultist
Joseph was born and raised in Hexington, grew up relatively normal, as normal as a family can get in Hexington. Joseph is nothing and no one special, that is the point that is being driven home here, if he were to die, he wouldn’t be missed by anyone. Maybe a small funeral would be held and attended by family members simply because they are related to him. Within the week he would be forgotten by the world. These things are what make him the perfect target for kidnapping and murder and here in Hexington he will become another statistic, another cold case, another body for the morgue.
Ordinary Joseph’s sad tale begins on a Tuesday, three quarters of the way into his shift, a coworker approaches him, a really chummy fellow by the name of Brian MacOlsen. A white male, early thirties of Irish descent, short shaggy hair, close to 6 feet tall with a stout build, years of tossing around cement bags and other miscellaneous objects for the hardware store. He approaches Joseph and tosses his arm around his neck as any good friend would do, he and Joseph are both similar in height. Joseph Taylor is an African American man standing at an even 6 feet tall, short buzz cut hair, also in his early thirties and in relatively good shape. This mundane job has its perks for living a healthy lifestyle.
”Joseph, man! What are you doing Friday night after work? And DON’T say going home!”
Joseph just stares at him and lets out a sigh, moving himself away from the arm slung around him so he can continue moving empty pallets from an earlier shipment of items.
”I’m doing nothing.”
”Great! So that means-”
”It means I’m doing nothing, Brian. I want to go home and rest after a long week of work. Maybe I can catch you on Saturday or something.”
Brian rolls his eyes and lightly punches Joseph’s shoulder playfully as he leans against a pillar, painted yellow so forklift drivers and the like can see it better. Despite the paint there is still damage done to it due to a few light collisions with it.
”Come on man, I don’t ask you to go out often. What do you do at home, man? Play games with people online? I mean I’m not making fun of you if that's how you socialize.”
”Nope.”
”Huh?”
”I don’t play online games, and I don’t socialize online. I have an old console from when I was a teenager but if I’m not in the mood to mess around with that I just watch movies. So my Friday is occupied by pizza and whatever is new on one of the many streaming services I’ve talked myself into.”
Brian shakes his head and starts helping with the moving of the pallets. He seems down about Joseph rejecting his offer so bluntly and with such a matter of fact attitude. The two men work in silence for a while before Brian circles back to what is going on Friday.
”Look man, a party is going on with some of the other guys that work here, a few from First Shift too. It’s going to be a chill time and there will be girls there. You like ladies right or are you still a-”
”I don’t see how that is any of your business bud. But no, I ain’t a virgin, getting laid just isn’t a priority or concern of mine. I also doubt I’m going to meet a girl made of wife material if she is willing to party with you loons.”
The two men share a laugh and continue working, Joseph could sense Brian about to continue the conversation so when he stopped to get a drink of water he gave him a more definitive answer.
”I’ll swing by for a bit, maybe about an hour or so then I’ll head home. I’m looking forward to that end of week pizza.”
Brian fist pumps with glee like some sort of teenager who finally roped their best friend into something stupid. What ends up happening Friday night goes beyond the realms of simply stupid. Joseph won’t be getting that end of week pizza he is fantasizing about…
The week passes and before anyone knows it Friday is here. Everyone constantly commented on how fast the week went as if there were some flux in time speeding them ahead. No one complains, the sooner the weekend arrives the sooner everyone can relax from the work week. The shift at the hardware store also speeds by, hastening to the time of the party. Gray clouds turn dark as the sun sets, the light pollution of the city illuminates them. They roll like the ocean waves beneath them, no one in Hexington takes note of them since cloudy skies are the norm for them, had the skies been clear then cause for concern may have washed over them.
Joseph heads home before going to the party, he wants to get cleaned up and have a small meal before heading out. His nerves are on edge for one reason or another, looking over his shoulder because just on the fringes of his vision he swears he can see the shape of a person, a man. Black pinstripe suit, not a hair on his body and jet black onyx skin and yet not a single African American feature on his face. Joseph looks down at his sandwich and has to think, how come he can describe him so clearly in his mind but barely see him on the edge of his vision? Everytime he opens his mouth to call out to someone who isn’t there he loses his voice, the ability to string the right words together to pose a question. He looks back to his food and continues eating only for the cycle to repeat again and again until he leaves for the party, not a single shred of a memory left in his mind of the strange Onyx man.
Traffic on Friday night is abysmal in Hexington, despite how glum the city is the youth are out in full force, out to clubs and parties. Joseph has joined their numbers, a part of the mass of people out for a good time. He arrives at the site of the party, an old warehouse to those privy about what lies on the inside. Its old rundown appearance on the outside turns unneeded eyes away from it, but those in the know understand that this place can be rented to host any sort of party they want. Innocent things like birthday parties or more debauchery flavored activities, you know the kind. Joseph may be plain and ordinary but he isn’t ignorant, he stays in the know of some things, mainly through people he knows. Because of his demeanor he is trusted with all sorts of secrets and information from people, information and secrets that are forgotten until the owner of said secret brings it back up to him. After double, triple, and quadruple checking his car to make sure it's locked and secure he heads inside. It's a short walk down a hall, the thick walls padded to ensure the sound of nightly activities never escape into the night time air.
He opens the final door and the heavy thud of bass hits him in his chest, rattling his organs. The music is loud, not deafening or ear piercing but enough to feel it in the body to elicit movement. Joseph bobs his head a bit, the infectious tune is hard to resist, pop music at its best.
”Holy shit! You actually showed up!!”
Brian shouts and jogs over to Joseph, giving him a handshake and pulling him into a one armed hug.
”Yeah I said I was going to come, but only for about an hour. I don’t want to waste my Saturday sleeping in.”
”Hey, all good man, just happy to see you outside of work for once haha. Let me go grab you a beer, some of the boys from work are right over there.”
A blessing if there ever was one for Joseph to have a host of familiar faces to mingle with while at a mostly unfamiliar place. Mostly unfamiliar because he knows about it but has never been inside it before. Brian comes back with an already open beer for him, they toast and drink up while listening to a co-worker from first shift talk about an irate customer he had to deal with. After the first beer Joseph looks at the lights and they seem blurry, he rubs his eyes assuming them to be tears from laughing but the blurriness doesn’t fade. He doesn’t have astigmatism so he doesn’t understand what is going on. He isn’t that much of a lightweight and he ate two sandwiches before coming here to make sure he had something on his stomach to soak up the alcohol. He turns to head to the bathroom and then everything goes black…
He regains consciousness, an abhorrent smell lingering in the air all around him. The smell of cold decay. He moves an arm to cover his nose but realizes his right hand is bound to something, in fact his entire body is bound to the floor by forces unseen to his mundane mind. No sense for dramatics in this regard, it is quite plain to tell that it is magic holding him down. Purple candles burn in a circle around him, the crunch of dry blood is heard each time he shifts trying to resist his unseen restraints. Hooded individuals approach him and ignore his pleas and questions. They are wearing purple robes with an insignia on the front of it that bears a resemblance to the letter A. Of the various twists and swirls in the design the shape of the letter A is the only thing that stands out to him because everything else on the emblem seems so… Alien. One hooded figure approaches and speaks to Joseph.
”Sorry buddy, but a sacrifice is needed and I’ve been raised since birth to become The Key. I will succeed where all the others have failed by awakening Him.”
The hood falls and it is Brian, shortly after the hoods fall for the other figures and it seems like everyone at this “party” is involved in this twisted game. Joseph can’t find the right words to say, he is so panicked and taken aback that fear grips his throat like a vice. All he can do is let out strained sounds with his vocal cords. Then he sees him, in the corner of his vision, the Onyx Man, it appeared as if he raised his arm to look at a wrist watch. Joseph blinks and the man is gone. Brian then begins speaking to the rest of what Joseph can only call Cultists.
”Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity, our boundless god: the daemon sultan Azathoth. The fact that we dare speak his name aloud means that the stars are finally right for us. He who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes, bless us with the power to become your Avatar!”
Madness, that's what this is. Joseph can put things together rather quickly and understand that these lunatics are going to kill them for some sort of made up god.
”Let me go! I won’t tell anyone! I’ll leave Hexington! Just don’t kill me!”
His cries go unheard as they begin chanting in some strange dialect, a tongue unheard of, a language not meant to be spoken by humans.
”N'ghaa y'ha tiesh zul'ka dreph, sahn mi gorth. Y'ha shubac to'khash, lash'na m'kaiith suya n'khul.”
”Our trumpets turn and blare in synchronicity with your own. Your dead ignorant gaze, we call upon it to bless us with your sight.”
They begin playing trumpets that are absolutely ear splitting, they have no rhythm to them at all, it is just absolute noise. The sound is so potent, so piercing that Joseph's eardrums burst, blood leaking out of his ears. The scent of the candles is enhanced, the noxious smoke harming his eyes and nostrils, he is being made to bleed against his will all without laying a hand on him.
”N'ghft chul'ra y'hotro. N'gha, n'gha faht, n'gha q'thul. D'rel ep'nh, zoth'ga r'ryth, ofta'rh ep'n'ha.”
”Death for the Dead One. Yet he is not dead, yet lives. Born of death, risen in death, steeped in death.”
Joseph begins coughing, blackened bile spews up from his mouth and for a moment he swears he could see an eye open then close within the bile. He screams, his voice cracks, his vocal cords strain, fear in its purest form. Yet his screams pale in comparison to the blaring of trumpets.
”Thulhu, nen g'haru, yoth, yth'rah. Oh zhul'th, k'tharnog thal-gnoth, sath'ra z'lye.”
”Grant unto us, the Avatar, your mark, your blessing. Oh sleeping one of nethermost creation, let us wake you.”
”HELP ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
Brian turns with a ceremonial dagger in hand, the handle riddled with decorative eyes and the pommel adorned with a singular massive eye. The blade is slick and dark, appearing to be more like a tendril made of flesh rather than metal.
”Primordial Demiurge, Achamoth, Vach-Viraj…”
Brian raises the dagger and buries it in the heart of Joseph, speaking only one singular word to finish the blasphemous chorus.
”AZATHOTH”
He raises the dagger and the blade is nowhere to be seen, now nothing more than a useless trinket he tosses it aside and raises his arms. Blackened portals begin to open, like splotches of ink suspended in the air around Joseph’s dead corpse. A singular tendril slips out of the inky stain on reality and pulls the cadaver into a different dimension. The ritual is done and Joseph Taylor is no more. Due to his mundanity in life he will not be missed…
Brian looks at himself trying to see if he feels any different, opening and closing his fist and even casting a magic spell at the cost of his own sanity to do so. It was a simple spell, conjuring a tendril to grasp a cup. He feels no different and can’t understand why. That is when the crowd hears clapping in the back of the room, a sarcastic clap full of condescending energy. The crowd turns to look at him, to look at the Onyx Man.
”My oh my, I haven’t seen someone mess up an Avatar Ritual this badly in quite some time. Not since you humans first started doing it anyway. So many dead failures.”
”Who are you?! How did you get in here?”
”Poor choice of words. I am-”
The name is spoken, Brian drops to a knee, his mind shattered from the mere utterance of the beings name. If spoken by a human it means nothing but names have power. For an Eldritch name to be spoken in true native tongue has effects humans can scarcely comprehend. A spell in its own right but highly considered to be a very low level one.
”How… Wha… Why? Why are you here? What have we done? Az-”
”Do not speak his name again, unless you want me to so I can truly rend your mind from soul and body. I am here to witness the birth of a new Avatar as it has been foreseen by- Ah, I have to be careful how I speak, I almost said the name of the gate.”
”Yog-Sothoth?”
”Yes, do not speak it again. Ah, it is time! The new Avatar is about to arrive, I shall watch him from afar, enjoy witnessing the birth of a new Avatar, you ignorant human.”
Brian blinks and the well dressed man is gone then there is a howl behind him, the howl of air being pulled out of the room. He grasps his neck as if to keep the air in his lungs. A black splotch returns, a portal to a place no human should witness with their mortal eyes. A being steps through, humanoid in appearance but it too is hooded. Slick, slimy, and organic, a freshly birthed thing. What little sanity Brian has left struggles to remain. This thing is wearing a suit but it looks fleshy, organic, living. Veins writhe and move along the surface, dark black accented with purple, they reconfigure, the purple taking the appearance of boots, gloves, belt and accenting the rim of the hood. The rest remains black, save for the emblem on its chest, embedded in the body like a birth mark. It's the same symbol they had sewn into their robes, the symbol of Azathoth.
The portal closes abruptly and Brian is left standing in silence with this being. He staggers to his feet quickly, pulling out a gun and firing at its head, dropping it instantly. He knew that its flesh was still soft and decided to strike before it had time to adjust.
”FUCK!”
He exclaims while running his hand through his hair. He looks around at the mess made by the portal, broken class and booze all on the floor and pews. He knows he’ll have to start over, rebuild his following, find a new sacrifice. But he doesn’t fret, he is still young and the moment he gains the power of Azathoth’s Avatar he’ll simply restore his youth. He walks over to a closet and pulls out a few canisters of gasoline and starts dumping it over everything, especially on the newly born dead thing. He moves on to the rest of the room when he hears a sound, something sliding on concrete. His eyes fix to the only abnormal thing in the room with him, the dead thing. He only sees a black tendril sliding up the wall, he drops the gas which pours out at his feet as he waves his gun around.
WOOSH!
A large object flies past him and crashes into the only exit of this ritualistic chamber, then again and again. Gasoline soaked pews pile up at the door and the sound of a solitary spent bullet hits the ground, compressed as if the metal collided with something much stronger than it.
”What… What happened? What did you do to me? I can see… Your mind…”
Then it is lowered down from the ceiling by a mass of tendrils protruding from its upper back. This black and purple thing looks into the eyes of Brian who trembles with fear.
”I died, I think… I remember my eyes, ears and nose hurting so much before something slipped into my chest… Then I saw stars, so many stars… Then it-”
Brian screams and shoots his gun, the bullet ricochettes back and strikes his shoulder, causing the gun to drop and misfire, igniting the gasoline. He quickly catches fire and runs to the exit, the one blocked by pews, also soaked with gas. They ignite, the entire room is set ablaze all except the newly born thing. The tendrils set it down on its feet then enshroud him, spinning and turning into a ball until that ball is gone. Brian casts a spell of protection on himself, but it may be too late for him…
Joseph is next seen walking to his car in a strange hypnotic state, he opens the door, sits down and begins his drive home. Despite the horrors he witnessed he seems relatively calm and that concerns him. He knows he should feel scared, panicked even, but something within him has fled, something that should be driving his fight or flight. If only Joseph knew what world he was stepping into now, a world devoid of Sanity. Joseph Taylor has become the Avatar of Azathoth and before long he will call himself: The Occultist