Arkalest
ELOP Stan In The Streets, Dromok Under The Sheets
Prologue: Feed It Up A Knock.
Okay. Okay, you can do this, Jasper.
Just breathe in.
Just breathe in, and imagine shelf after shelf after shelf. Imagine the bent, cracked wood under your fingers, the dozens of books neatly stacked inside each shelf. You can almost smell the mustiness of the pages, the worn-out leather....Yes, you can. And there's a hint of copper and metal-polishing acid that comes out when you rub the angles of the book, digits tracing the names embossed on their spines. Your hand falls on the back of the Etymology of Cthonian Beings, and you can almost feel its pages rustle as you pull it free, feeling the weight push down on your palm.
The parade of subterranean creatures in its pages is still like you remember it, drawn on yellowed paper with stark black ink. There's the kraken, the dune-wraiths, the harrowers- All of them frozen in mid-motion, depicted as they lounge, claw, crow or kill. You let your eyes wander over the sketch of a reptilian eye, and close your own.
Then-
Then you open your eyes and breathe out, fingers curled around the steering wheel of your car. Alright. Time to do this...
...After a shower and a change of clothes. Like hell you're meeting one of your superiors in a rented suit that smells of costly perfumes and wine.
The ride back home is uneventful, despite the streets churning and turning with hundreds, thousands of people holding banners, dancing, prancing and generally making a lot of noise. There are a few stages here and there, crammed in this or that cut-off avenue- And crowded by bands ranging from synthpop DJs to death metal quartets belting out hymns to the great dark lord. Overhead the night sky's just lousy with helicopters, the stars obscured by light pollution. A sigh escapes your lips as you wonder if, you know, couldn't have been assigned to somewhere with less noise. Like, mmmh..:Tibet? Or maybe Finland. You've heard the associates there aren't getting saddled with shit like last minute changes...
No one bothers you when you step out of your apartment wearing a military jacket over a deep blue turtleneck and matching cargo pants. No one dares to bother you as you load four saddlebags into your car- Not even the guys in actual goat masks,. Amateurs.
The drive to the lake is....Even less eventful. Apparently these reports of the countryside having gone full on Mad Max were on the somewhat exaggerated side, and you're sort of glad. You're even more happy about the fact that lake Sormonta has been fenced off due to a "runaway spill of industrial waste"- Meaning that you end up pulling in an empty parking lot in the middle of a dark forest, with no one to spy on you.
And no one to help you bring the bagfuls of reagents to the designated summoning spot, which appears to be a somewhat rickety wooden pier jutting out into the dark waters of the lake. There's somehow an incredibly pungent metallic smell oozing out of the water, with tinges of formaldehyde and ammonia- And there's some sort of slimy substance clinging to the planks of the pier, slightly viscid and cold to the touch. It's a good thing it is supposed to be a part of the ritual, because Jesus you weren't gonna clean this shit off a whole pier by yourself.
Less of a good thing is the fact that you have to scribble a pentagram and a deluge of runes by yourself, in the dark, without any light source- Can't afford being spotted. Thankfully this isn't the first time you've done this, and so you feel a sort of familiar tingle the moment you pick up the chalk stick between your fingers. You take your sweet time in drawing the protection wards and setting up the defensive runes. After all, a good summoner draws twice and prays only once.
The next step consists in dumping about fifteen thousand dollars' worth of alchemical reagents into the calm black waters. You wave goodbye to your collection of newt eyes, watching as they sink into a watery grave that is already of a colour seldom seen on Earth. The blessed hemlock jars and organically grown dandelions follow suit, then it's the turn of that Bible that bled. A sigh escapes your lips as you watch nearly a decade's worth of preparations quite not literally flush itself down the drain...
But then you remember what's going to happen at the end of this, and a chill runs down your spine. You step into the circle and raise your hands to a pitch-black sky, fingers splayed as you let the warm air envelope you.
You close your eyes and begin singing the song that heralds the end of this world.
And it sounds like someone conceitedly whispering under his breath at a lake. Each string of low Enochian words fade into the next with a sort of haphazard rhythm, and you have to stop for a second to take a breath in the middle of it all. Human tongues weren't mean to speak this, much less recite what your studies made you think is poetry. You perform gesture human hands aren't meant to make- Well, at least not the basic package- And you can feel your throat go sore as your wrists start to ache.
Yet, you can also feel the lake rumble softly at first, the volume increasing with each successful string. Your skin prickles with static electricity as you lift an accusing finger towards the black vastness, and whisper a single name. It flows off your lips like spittle, like water dripping off a facet.
Leviathan.
The lake stops murmuring. Everything stops-Even the distant chirping of nocturnal birds. Everything stops, even the air, and so you dare open your eyes.
For a brief and terrible moment you can see the fruit of your works. It's in the middle of the lake, a column of....Something. Something that ripples and twists and turns in the darkness, without making a noise. It grows and grows and grows with the certainty of a tsunami wave and you realize that shit, it IS some sort of wave- Column-like and circular and oh shit oh god turn around an-
It slams against you, and the last thing you see are four blue lights- A cold, icy blue- Peering at you from inside the water.
--------------
Jasper?
The little voice is back, and it's pestering you. Jasper, wake up, it says in a dull tone. You grit your lips- Tasting acid and salt- And shake your head, semi-warm sand and mud rubbing against your neck. You murgle a soft "fuck you" under your breath, lips itching.
Jasper? Wake up, Jasper. You did it.
Yes. The thought flashes through your brain, and you swallow some leftover water- feeling the warm air rub on your face. Yes, you've done it. You've done it, and now you're laying flat on your ass on the bank of a lake.
You clench your fists and spit out some of the brine, swallowing saliva and just the tiniest hint of blood- Eyelids heavy, ears still ringing from the blast. God, god, what the....Jesus...What the fuck? There's something wet and limp and cold around your knee, and your lips twitch when your fingers brush against it. Some sort of aquatic weed, limply sticking to your fingers in small clumps. You pull it away, and slowly turn on your back, chest still itching and twitching...
Standing up hurts more than you'd have thought. Opening your eyes even more so- But it lets you see that the entire shore is enveloped in a fine grey mist. You blink away the last dregs of unconsciousnnes and speak up.
"....My lord?"
I am here, Ligios.
A voice like the ocean crashing against a cliffisde, deep and seductive and...Huskily feminine? And it belongs tall figure, enveloped in some sort of cloak-Standing nearby you, smelling like saltwater and blood. Your heart skips a beat, and you stumble forward on aching knees. You stumble forward and kneel, reaching out to touch with one hand-
"I live to serve."
To touch...Mouldy wood? Wait what?
You blink, open your eyes and stare at the demon. Stare, and take in its frame- How it curves upwards into a tapering point, like the.....Prow of a small boat? And its scales which...Feel like rotting wood?
Welp. Either the higher ups punked the fuck outta you, or you just knelt and swore fealty to the remains of a small boat.
Over here, Ligios.
Ligios...It has been a long time since anyone called you that. You swallow, stomach knot returning as you walk past the boat and spot her. It's enough to make you stop- A sight that is like being punched in the lungs hard enough to crush your breath, hard enough to make you double. Your lips quiver as your blood freezes in your veins, fingertips going numb.
Behold me. Leviathan, the wrathfin, the witch of the bloodied seas, the womb of eternity. I am the lady of the all-consuming tide, and in my eyes linger the images of a hundred sunken worlds. I am she who dances with the deep ones and cavorts with the kraken, herald of the maelstorm. ENTIRE CIVILIZATIONS HAVE EMERGED FROM MY LOINS, AND ENTIRE RACES HAVE BEEN FELLED BY MY MAWS! BEHOLD ME AND WEEP, FOR I AM THE SUNLESS SEA!
You stare at the catfish. Or catfish-thing. Or...Fuck, it even vaguely looks carplike, black scales aside. It's curled up inside a depression on the trash-strewn beach, and happily munching on a leathery boot. You stare at it.
It stares back.
You continue staring at it, and it twitches something similar to a ruff, two small tentacles emerging from the side of a shark-like mouth. The remains of the boot disappear with a flushed toilet sound. Leviathan lets out an appreciative polisonic burp that reeks of the Marianna trench and warbles. You keep on staring.
It looks back at you with blue-ringed, deep black eyes. This goes on for a few seconds, and then the little voice takes over and forces you to finally speak.
".....Leviathan?"
Who else, Ligios? Now, where is the banquet?
It- Or she, you guess- Doesn't even notice the fact you dropped down on your ass and now are staring at the fog, hands on your knees. Great things from small things....Yeah, Mr. Damien. Sure. Goddam sure.
The banquet, Ligios.
There's something vaguely approaching a petulant groan in her mental tone.
"I, uh, was not...Told of such an arrangement, my lady."In fact, the book mentioned all but the banquet. It mentioned an earth-shaking devourer of men that brought madness and despair. Not...Something that would- Shit yeah, it probably does fit in your baththub. You bit your lips, realizing too late you have just informed a newly transitioned denizen of Hell that no, you haven't got anything to sacrifice at hand.
The catfish somehow manages to angrily blinks all four eyes. What?! I was promised that there'd be at least some sort of refreshments.
"I....I am sorry, but my notes did not include the, uhm, aaaah-"
Grghghg, just forget it! I shall feast on some of this flotsam, and then we will see.
You manage to turn away your head just in time. There's a wet slurping sound, followed by the noise debris makes when forcibly dragged across the sane. Then some sort of half-munching, half-crushing sound. Wood splintering and oh god you think you're gonna be sick between this and the smell of ammonia.
Ligios, I hope you have something to make up for this heinous lack of preparedness. How am I supposed to contribute to Hell's conquest of this mudball on an empty stomach?
"..."
[] Head home and stuff her full of whatever there's left in your cabinets and whatnot. Hopefully there's enough left to satisfy her, and: You 1) need to rest, and 2) regroup for Phase 2 as well, and there's the fact that you can't go around with a clearly otherwordly catfish flopping about in your car.
[] Go to some drive-through and get a shitload of..:God, you don't know. She eats flotsam, so she can probably live with five kilograms of big macs with fries. That, and you feel in a nihilistic mood, and when that happens you do love yourself some junk food.
[] Get thyself to a brewery and buy out some brewskies. Mostly because beer is like liquid bread, and because there's no God- But the Devil does exist, and His emissary is a bitchy carp. Get you and hopefully the hellfish so drunk you ever forget you ended up exploding a lakeful of industrial waste.
[] Nothing but the best for the....You forgot which rank she is, but she probably does deserve some sort of fine meal. Transdimensional travel does take a toll on one's physique, and you could stand to do round 2 in another fancy restaurant. Now, the problem is whether you can sneak the hellcarp in.
[] Write-in a possible location.
Okay. Okay, you can do this, Jasper.
Just breathe in.
Just breathe in, and imagine shelf after shelf after shelf. Imagine the bent, cracked wood under your fingers, the dozens of books neatly stacked inside each shelf. You can almost smell the mustiness of the pages, the worn-out leather....Yes, you can. And there's a hint of copper and metal-polishing acid that comes out when you rub the angles of the book, digits tracing the names embossed on their spines. Your hand falls on the back of the Etymology of Cthonian Beings, and you can almost feel its pages rustle as you pull it free, feeling the weight push down on your palm.
The parade of subterranean creatures in its pages is still like you remember it, drawn on yellowed paper with stark black ink. There's the kraken, the dune-wraiths, the harrowers- All of them frozen in mid-motion, depicted as they lounge, claw, crow or kill. You let your eyes wander over the sketch of a reptilian eye, and close your own.
Then-
Then you open your eyes and breathe out, fingers curled around the steering wheel of your car. Alright. Time to do this...
...After a shower and a change of clothes. Like hell you're meeting one of your superiors in a rented suit that smells of costly perfumes and wine.
The ride back home is uneventful, despite the streets churning and turning with hundreds, thousands of people holding banners, dancing, prancing and generally making a lot of noise. There are a few stages here and there, crammed in this or that cut-off avenue- And crowded by bands ranging from synthpop DJs to death metal quartets belting out hymns to the great dark lord. Overhead the night sky's just lousy with helicopters, the stars obscured by light pollution. A sigh escapes your lips as you wonder if, you know, couldn't have been assigned to somewhere with less noise. Like, mmmh..:Tibet? Or maybe Finland. You've heard the associates there aren't getting saddled with shit like last minute changes...
No one bothers you when you step out of your apartment wearing a military jacket over a deep blue turtleneck and matching cargo pants. No one dares to bother you as you load four saddlebags into your car- Not even the guys in actual goat masks,. Amateurs.
The drive to the lake is....Even less eventful. Apparently these reports of the countryside having gone full on Mad Max were on the somewhat exaggerated side, and you're sort of glad. You're even more happy about the fact that lake Sormonta has been fenced off due to a "runaway spill of industrial waste"- Meaning that you end up pulling in an empty parking lot in the middle of a dark forest, with no one to spy on you.
And no one to help you bring the bagfuls of reagents to the designated summoning spot, which appears to be a somewhat rickety wooden pier jutting out into the dark waters of the lake. There's somehow an incredibly pungent metallic smell oozing out of the water, with tinges of formaldehyde and ammonia- And there's some sort of slimy substance clinging to the planks of the pier, slightly viscid and cold to the touch. It's a good thing it is supposed to be a part of the ritual, because Jesus you weren't gonna clean this shit off a whole pier by yourself.
Less of a good thing is the fact that you have to scribble a pentagram and a deluge of runes by yourself, in the dark, without any light source- Can't afford being spotted. Thankfully this isn't the first time you've done this, and so you feel a sort of familiar tingle the moment you pick up the chalk stick between your fingers. You take your sweet time in drawing the protection wards and setting up the defensive runes. After all, a good summoner draws twice and prays only once.
The next step consists in dumping about fifteen thousand dollars' worth of alchemical reagents into the calm black waters. You wave goodbye to your collection of newt eyes, watching as they sink into a watery grave that is already of a colour seldom seen on Earth. The blessed hemlock jars and organically grown dandelions follow suit, then it's the turn of that Bible that bled. A sigh escapes your lips as you watch nearly a decade's worth of preparations quite not literally flush itself down the drain...
But then you remember what's going to happen at the end of this, and a chill runs down your spine. You step into the circle and raise your hands to a pitch-black sky, fingers splayed as you let the warm air envelope you.
You close your eyes and begin singing the song that heralds the end of this world.
And it sounds like someone conceitedly whispering under his breath at a lake. Each string of low Enochian words fade into the next with a sort of haphazard rhythm, and you have to stop for a second to take a breath in the middle of it all. Human tongues weren't mean to speak this, much less recite what your studies made you think is poetry. You perform gesture human hands aren't meant to make- Well, at least not the basic package- And you can feel your throat go sore as your wrists start to ache.
Yet, you can also feel the lake rumble softly at first, the volume increasing with each successful string. Your skin prickles with static electricity as you lift an accusing finger towards the black vastness, and whisper a single name. It flows off your lips like spittle, like water dripping off a facet.
Leviathan.
The lake stops murmuring. Everything stops-Even the distant chirping of nocturnal birds. Everything stops, even the air, and so you dare open your eyes.
For a brief and terrible moment you can see the fruit of your works. It's in the middle of the lake, a column of....Something. Something that ripples and twists and turns in the darkness, without making a noise. It grows and grows and grows with the certainty of a tsunami wave and you realize that shit, it IS some sort of wave- Column-like and circular and oh shit oh god turn around an-
It slams against you, and the last thing you see are four blue lights- A cold, icy blue- Peering at you from inside the water.
--------------
Jasper?
The little voice is back, and it's pestering you. Jasper, wake up, it says in a dull tone. You grit your lips- Tasting acid and salt- And shake your head, semi-warm sand and mud rubbing against your neck. You murgle a soft "fuck you" under your breath, lips itching.
Jasper? Wake up, Jasper. You did it.
Yes. The thought flashes through your brain, and you swallow some leftover water- feeling the warm air rub on your face. Yes, you've done it. You've done it, and now you're laying flat on your ass on the bank of a lake.
You clench your fists and spit out some of the brine, swallowing saliva and just the tiniest hint of blood- Eyelids heavy, ears still ringing from the blast. God, god, what the....Jesus...What the fuck? There's something wet and limp and cold around your knee, and your lips twitch when your fingers brush against it. Some sort of aquatic weed, limply sticking to your fingers in small clumps. You pull it away, and slowly turn on your back, chest still itching and twitching...
Standing up hurts more than you'd have thought. Opening your eyes even more so- But it lets you see that the entire shore is enveloped in a fine grey mist. You blink away the last dregs of unconsciousnnes and speak up.
"....My lord?"
I am here, Ligios.
A voice like the ocean crashing against a cliffisde, deep and seductive and...Huskily feminine? And it belongs tall figure, enveloped in some sort of cloak-Standing nearby you, smelling like saltwater and blood. Your heart skips a beat, and you stumble forward on aching knees. You stumble forward and kneel, reaching out to touch with one hand-
"I live to serve."
To touch...Mouldy wood? Wait what?
You blink, open your eyes and stare at the demon. Stare, and take in its frame- How it curves upwards into a tapering point, like the.....Prow of a small boat? And its scales which...Feel like rotting wood?
Welp. Either the higher ups punked the fuck outta you, or you just knelt and swore fealty to the remains of a small boat.
Over here, Ligios.
Ligios...It has been a long time since anyone called you that. You swallow, stomach knot returning as you walk past the boat and spot her. It's enough to make you stop- A sight that is like being punched in the lungs hard enough to crush your breath, hard enough to make you double. Your lips quiver as your blood freezes in your veins, fingertips going numb.
Behold me. Leviathan, the wrathfin, the witch of the bloodied seas, the womb of eternity. I am the lady of the all-consuming tide, and in my eyes linger the images of a hundred sunken worlds. I am she who dances with the deep ones and cavorts with the kraken, herald of the maelstorm. ENTIRE CIVILIZATIONS HAVE EMERGED FROM MY LOINS, AND ENTIRE RACES HAVE BEEN FELLED BY MY MAWS! BEHOLD ME AND WEEP, FOR I AM THE SUNLESS SEA!
You stare at the catfish. Or catfish-thing. Or...Fuck, it even vaguely looks carplike, black scales aside. It's curled up inside a depression on the trash-strewn beach, and happily munching on a leathery boot. You stare at it.
It stares back.
You continue staring at it, and it twitches something similar to a ruff, two small tentacles emerging from the side of a shark-like mouth. The remains of the boot disappear with a flushed toilet sound. Leviathan lets out an appreciative polisonic burp that reeks of the Marianna trench and warbles. You keep on staring.
It looks back at you with blue-ringed, deep black eyes. This goes on for a few seconds, and then the little voice takes over and forces you to finally speak.
".....Leviathan?"
Who else, Ligios? Now, where is the banquet?
It- Or she, you guess- Doesn't even notice the fact you dropped down on your ass and now are staring at the fog, hands on your knees. Great things from small things....Yeah, Mr. Damien. Sure. Goddam sure.
The banquet, Ligios.
There's something vaguely approaching a petulant groan in her mental tone.
"I, uh, was not...Told of such an arrangement, my lady."In fact, the book mentioned all but the banquet. It mentioned an earth-shaking devourer of men that brought madness and despair. Not...Something that would- Shit yeah, it probably does fit in your baththub. You bit your lips, realizing too late you have just informed a newly transitioned denizen of Hell that no, you haven't got anything to sacrifice at hand.
The catfish somehow manages to angrily blinks all four eyes. What?! I was promised that there'd be at least some sort of refreshments.
"I....I am sorry, but my notes did not include the, uhm, aaaah-"
Grghghg, just forget it! I shall feast on some of this flotsam, and then we will see.
You manage to turn away your head just in time. There's a wet slurping sound, followed by the noise debris makes when forcibly dragged across the sane. Then some sort of half-munching, half-crushing sound. Wood splintering and oh god you think you're gonna be sick between this and the smell of ammonia.
Ligios, I hope you have something to make up for this heinous lack of preparedness. How am I supposed to contribute to Hell's conquest of this mudball on an empty stomach?
"..."
[] Head home and stuff her full of whatever there's left in your cabinets and whatnot. Hopefully there's enough left to satisfy her, and: You 1) need to rest, and 2) regroup for Phase 2 as well, and there's the fact that you can't go around with a clearly otherwordly catfish flopping about in your car.
[] Go to some drive-through and get a shitload of..:God, you don't know. She eats flotsam, so she can probably live with five kilograms of big macs with fries. That, and you feel in a nihilistic mood, and when that happens you do love yourself some junk food.
[] Get thyself to a brewery and buy out some brewskies. Mostly because beer is like liquid bread, and because there's no God- But the Devil does exist, and His emissary is a bitchy carp. Get you and hopefully the hellfish so drunk you ever forget you ended up exploding a lakeful of industrial waste.
[] Nothing but the best for the....You forgot which rank she is, but she probably does deserve some sort of fine meal. Transdimensional travel does take a toll on one's physique, and you could stand to do round 2 in another fancy restaurant. Now, the problem is whether you can sneak the hellcarp in.
[] Write-in a possible location.
