A Cult of Personality (Solo)

Radasanth, shining capitol of Corone, easily one of the biggest and busiest ports on the island nation. Travelers came from far and wide to shop here, to visit the nearby beaches, or simply to travel to somewhere else from the hub city. To many people, it was their home, the place they took great pride in being a part of, and to others it was the crowning jewel of their nation.

Nevin thought it stank. After months of living in Stonevale, bordering a forest, the Alchemist had become long accustomed to fresh, clean air. Radasanth stank of unwashed bodies, pressed too close together for too long. While he didn't have enhanced senses of any kind, the odor that hung around the city like a pervasive fog was an assault even on his nose.

To make matters worse, his skin was humming. Not the outright unearthly choir his magic normally rang out in when there was spilled blood nearby, but rather just a low-key hum that danced along his body, raising goosebumps on his flesh. It was… disconcerting to the man, as he had no idea why his magic was reacting differently. Then he paused as that thought ran through his mind, and frowned.

No, that wasn't quite right. He did have an idea of why something here would make his magic react. It just was not a pleasant idea - and it was the whole reason he had come to Radasanth instead of just heading onwards towards Lindequalme.

Somewhere in this city, was supposedly a survivor of the cult that had made him what he was. At first Nevin had thought that maybe the survivor just intended to meet the bounty hunters here, but fact that his magic was acting in an unusual manner was proof otherwise. As much as he wished it wasn't so. That meant that Nevin had to track the bastard down here after all, instead of just watching for new arrivals.

Crimson damn it. He didn't want to spend any more time in this pace than he had to, but at the same time he absolutely could not allow a survivor of that accursed cult to spring up anew and start the atrocities all over again. They would have learned from the mistake they made with his situation. However long they had been here was already too long. So, how to hunt for a cultist?

Look for a new cult or religion springing up. And the place they’d target first would be the poorer regions, the places where people would be downtrodden and desperate for some kind of escape. Destitute individuals would cling to someone or something that offered them a way of making a difference in their lives, or a way of improving them.

So to the slums Nevin went, wishing desperately that he could afford to have a mask of some kind on. As it was he had shorn his hair completely to the scalp, even his eyebrows, leaving no trace of the identifying red hair that a survivor would recognize. The mask wouldn't even be to disguise his features though - it would just be so he could put some strong-smelling herbs in front of his nose and keep them there. For now, he was making do with a brown scarf he’d picked up from a vendor, and kept his cloak tight about his body.

The bar that Nevin settled in was far from reputable, and had last seen better days years ago. Every inch of the wooden interior was coated in a thick layer of black soot, from the fireplace crudely made in one wall, which Nevin could clearly see had no ventilation whatsoever. The windows had simple wooden shutters in them - which were more the idea of shutters at this point, as they were all missing at least half of their parts. A few benches and tables had survived the passage of time, but even they looked worn out and coated in grime.

The patrons fared little better. Most were dressed in simple clothes, threadbare and worn, and it was a good thing for most that Radasanth was usually a warm place. Nevin stood out only slightly because his clothes were more intact, but the other people were so worn out and tired themselves that they paid him no attention. They brought their own battered, chipped mugs, and ate with a fork and knife that had been hanging from their own belts if they had them.

The ‘beer’ was barely worth the name, and with no mug of his own Nevin didn't bother ordering it after seeing what was in one man’s cup. The food was stale, dried out bread pieces and a thin, watery soup. People ate in silence, ignoring each other for the most part, talking in low, hushed voices when they had to.

This place, these people, were exactly the kind of folks who would be the target of a cult trying to gather new adherents. Broken and worn out, with each day a slog barely worth getting through. Nevin spent only a little time in the bar, instead opting to stay outside in the small ‘courtyard’ of the bar - watching the people who were coming and going. The Alchemist had tucked himself into a small, out of the way alcove against a neighboring building, drawing his hood around his head and his scarf up over his face. It was time to watch, and wait.

As Nevin sat in the corner, the hours trailing by unnoticed by the man, he was also thinking about Stare and her situation. There was something bugging him about it all, and now he had some time to think about it. The most prominent thing was what had happened when they had taken down that demonic mage and interrogated him.

A being approached my master. That choice of words had stuck in Nevin’s head, quietly waiting for an opportunity to make itself known. And it was a strange wording - most people only used being when they didn't know what they were referring to, didn't even have a clue of it. Which meant that the thing that had approached the mage’s sponsor couldn't have been of the races he knew which as a bounty hunter were likely considerable.

Nor could it have been a demonic entity. As a mage bound to one demon, the man would have recognized another - unless of course, he had been told about the request. In which case the lack of definition on the part of this ‘brother’ was even stranger - there would only be a few things that a demon would listen to without dismissing out of hand. Nevin frowned in the shadows as he thought about that.

Whatever this brother was - and Stare had quite vehemently rejected the fact that he had a brother at the time, so it had to be a brother of her master? - was something that had enough power for a Demon to actually heed a request from them. It could be a powerful mage - but if it was a powerful mage, why not act on their own? Why go through intermediaries? This brought Nevin to some of the last words of the mage. The reason the unknown being had approached the demon and asked it to intervene, kidnapping Stare.

... interfered in mortal affairs… It was an innocuous line, said just before the mage had begged for forgiveness and died. But it was strange, out of place. There were other races, immortal entities of varying calibers - Elthas claimed that his race of Elves were immortal, for example, and Nevin knew of at least one plant that would never die of old age. But even those races didn't refer to mortals the same way, and they certainly didn't have views against interfering in their business - most of them still moved around in the world, mixing daily with the other races.

Nevin’s attention was dragged from his thoughts by a distinctly odd individual walking down the street. The man was striding through the street, his head held high - unusual enough in this downtrodden area. Add on to that the fact that he was wearing a crimson robe - and Nevin did not need his magic singing to him to realize just what the robe had been dyed with - and carrying a cruelly hooked knife hanging from his belt, and that a lot of his skin was covered in scars or faintly bleeding lines…

The small crowd of people, wearing white robes that had bloody red streaks on them, that was following this red-robed man, only served to further reassure Nevin. He had found at least one of the cultists. A few minutes passed as the man stopped on a street corner, lifting his hands as he began to preach, telling of the glories of Crimson - drawing a larger crowd that included Nevin in it. Some of the people dispersed as the man finished his sermon, but others followed, and the alchemist went with them.

For half an hour the cultist preacher wandered through the slums, stopping seemingly at random to step up and begin to preach to the crowd and to anyone in range of hearing his strident voice. He didn't seem to care about whether or not people stopped to listen to him, maintaining the same level of vigor in each of his sermons no matter how many people were around.

At one point a heckler from the passerby demanded to know just what the preacher’s precious Crimson was, as the man was finishing a sermon that spoke of the beauty of Crimson and how it pervaded everyone, filling them with life. The cultist had responded to this actually, pausing and turning to smile at the person who had asked the question.

Still maintaining that same beatific smile, the preacher pulled the knife from his belt and lifted it up to his face. The crowd had watched, horrified and fascinated, as the man slowly dragged the knife along one cheek, bright red welling up on his pale skin. As the scarlet fluid trickled down his cheek the priest, still smiling though now the smile was unnerving to many who were present, spoke directly to the heckler.

”This, my child, is Crimson. The precious, glorious liquid of life that we all share.” The now bloodstained knife was placed back on his hip, and the cultists lifted one hand up and trailed it along the rivulet of blood, scooping it up and lifting his red finger into the air. ”Crimson is within us all! It beats in our hearts, flows through our veins! It unites us all - what matters differences of race, of class, of wealth, when in the end we all share it? I tell you now, in the Church of the Crimson, they matter not!"

The passion in the man’s voice, the pleading question and the triumphant declaration - it drew back the people who had been put off by the act of self-mutilation. Around him, Nevin could hear other newcomers in the crowd reacting to this - many of them liking the sound of it. A place where nothing outward mattered?

Nevin knew just how enticing that could be. It had consumed an entire village, before. On his part, the Alchemist was trembling in his cloak, suppressed fury boiling in his veins. He was now, without a doubt, certain that this man was a survivor of the cult that had sacrificed a boy and a man to create something else - nowhere else had Nevin ever heard of the Church of Crimson, heard these very same teachings that even now, he couldn't find it in himself to argue with.

He had found them. The person who targeted him for the bounty hunters, the person who had survived the failed ritual to summon something from outside of this world.

The problem now was, what to do about having found this cultist? These people, the crowd around Nevin that was even now growing in size, they desperately craved the unity, and the escape, that the Church of Crimson was offering them. The promise that how much money they had, or what they looked like, didn't matter was intoxicating to the destitute. They could escape the crushing pressure of their lives, and be valued? It drew them in like moths to a flame.

And Nevin knew first hand just how dangerous a flame the Church could be. It had enthralled an entire village, consuming them all in a mad dash to please and further its cause. Nevin didn't know how many had fallen victim to the trap of that village before him, but it had been operating for years by the time it fell to its own actions.

What he did know was that the current version of the Church could not be allowed to take root in Radasanth. It would be absolutely devastating if the sacrifices began here, where there were so many broken people who would happily give themselves up for the benefits of the church and the others. No, Nevin needed to follow them back, and confront the cultist. Make sure none of the others had survived that bloody night, were trying to restart the cult anywhere else.

So he stayed quiet, not raising his voice ever, keeping his hood up as the crowd of eager people swelled in size. The people around him didn't care - why would they? The Church of Crimson didn't care about the outside appearance after all. He also wasn't causing a fuss, just quietly walking along in their midst. He wasn't even the only quiet one in the crowd.

Then they reached the Church of Crimson’s current place of worship. It was a rundown cathedral, one that had clearly seen better days. But it was… in better condition than the rest of the neighborhood, and was visibly being worked on as men and women moved about it, adding stones and glass to it. Places that had already been repaired had been stained a dark red hue, clashing a bit against the natural browns and greys of the stones that were being used.

The preaching cultist proudly pushed the cherry wood doors open, leading the way into the hall of the cathedral. His congregation filled the chamber, Nevin slipping in amongst them, letting himself be pushed up against one wall, disappearing into the shadows once more. It was time to observe more, and wait for an opportunity to get cultists alone.

As the congregation gathered, the preacher headed towards the front, walking up into a small raised dais. It didn't even put him that far from the new believers at the front - they could reach out and touch his knees if they so desired. The man didn't seem to mind at all - when one person did just that, he stopped moving back and forth, knelt down, and held the person’s hand for a moment, smiling benevolently at them.

When he began speaking again, it was full of warmth, expounding upon his impromptu speech about the warmth and open arms of Crimson. Around him, Nevin could see that even the newest members to the crowd were thoroughly entranced by the promises of acceptance.

A hiccup came - a young man, in his teens from the look of him, pushed forward, tears streaming down his face as he fell to his knees, clutching desperately at the priest’s robes. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd at this sight, but the preacher recovered quickly, kneeling down and listening as the sobbing teen whispered furiously. When the teen finished speaking, his body still shaking with silent sobs, the preacher stood up, wrapping one arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulling him to his feet.

“My friends, my fellow children of Crimson, it seems I have made a grievous error, one that has made this young man fear that the Church of the Crimson would have no place for him.” A fresh gasp of disbelief ran through the crowd. “Ah but let me assure you now, that this is not the case. My friend, will you let me tell them what your fear is?” a trembling nod, and the priest gently patted the boy’s head before turning to address the crowd.

“This young man, as he says, is not fully human. I doubt he is the only one in the crowd who fits that description. But his fear stems from the fact that his blood is not red, but instead a shade of blue. My friends, fellow children. When I speak of the Crimson that gives us all life, I am not being so literal, the blood need not be red. We of the Church of the Crimson do not care if your blood is red, or black, or blue, or green - we all share life, we all bleed. That is the Crimson, the vital fluid that unites us all. Even the color of our Crimson matters not to us, no more than your standing of birth or the color of your skin. All are welcome in the Church.” He again, and placed one hand on the teen’s shoulder, and gave him a gentle push.

“Go my boy, rejoin your fellow Children. Now then - you might be curious, how is it that we of the Church know that we aren't just lunatics?” As the teen stumbled back down, being caught by other people of the Church and held for a moment, the preacher had continued speaking, looking out into the cathedral. Whatever he was looking for when he asked that he must have seen, as he continued. “Why, it is simple. While not something I have seen myself, the founder of this branch or the church is one of those who were blessed enough by the Crimson to witness the coming of the Messiah.”

Alarm shot through Nevin. The way the cultist had spoken - he was not the survivor, just another lost soul who had been dragged in by one of the cultists who had survived the village. Cobalt take it, that meant the cultist he was hunting might not even be here in Radasanth, he might have missed the man altogether. Wait. What Messiah? That wasn't something that had been in the teachings of the Church that he remembered. Had they already tried again, and succeeded?

“Even now, the Messiah walks among us. Born from a disaster that saw the deaths of many of the initial Church, he travels the land as an unassuming man, working to serve his fellow Children! And you shall know him, if you see him, by his blood red hair, but more importantly, the veins of Crimson that adorn his skin! The founder told me just yesterday that he had received word from searchers that the Messiah had been found once more, so it should only be matter of time until he is brought back to the Church! But, because of the disaster that saw his arrival to this world, he does not know that any of the Church survived. He must feel so lost, so alone - so if you ever meet a red-haired alchemist, please, treat him with care. He might just be our Messiah!”

Oh, oh Crimson. Nevin felt his heart turn to ice and all of his blood leave his face. They meant him.

The congregation had trickled out slowly after the preacher finished the sermon that had followed that proclamation. Even now, Nevin could hear them talking amongst themselves about it - some were in disbelief, and worryingly others desperately wanted to believe. It was a dangerous blend - at least it was for him.

He thanked whatever foresight he had had that convinced him to shave his head. If he had come in here with red hair, someone might have gotten curious about him, and with this many people around there is no way he could have gotten away without being revealed. And that would have been more than a bit problematic for him - Nevin couldn't afford to be slowed down now, not when he was so close to finding one of the actual cultists.

So as most of the crowd had trickled out, with a reminder and invitation to return the next day for more of the Crimson teachings, Nevin joined the small group of ‘devotees’ - the men and women who were wearing the blood-stained robes. Thankfully he wasn't the only one who joined them who wasn't wearing the robes, though he did have to take down his hood at this point. No one seemed to pay his bald head any attention though, so he was able to slip by a while longer without drawing too much notice.

”My fellow children, I am so happy to see that our numbers have grown once more! This is a cause for rejoicing.” The cheery voice of the preacher greeted the devotees and the new arrivals - and Nevin - as they filed into a room towards the back of the cathedral. Nevin could see a corridor with several rooms off of it down one archway, and some of the men and women wearing the white robes left, heading down that corridor and vanishing into the rooms. The others remained, murmuring eagerly amongst themselves as they looked at the new members.
The other attention grabbing thing in the chamber was the red-stained metal door that the preacher was standing in front of. The chamber was surprisingly well lit, torches and candles set into sconces at regular intervals around the walls casting a warm glow about the room. The preacher gestured to the door behind him, clearing his throat loudly to draw everyone’s attention back to him.

”In a moment the new devotees will travel through this door, and meet the founder. I will warn you now, that while the Crimson Church accepts all, of our devotees, which you seek to be, we do ask for dedication to the Church. You will need to cast off the trappings of your former lives in the view of the founder. I promise you, all the other devotees and priests have gone through this - even I myself have. He will not judge you, just act as witness to your acceptance of the Church’s creeds.” Nevin was actually shocked at the fact that even upon hearing this, several of the new members seemed to be quite eager, and volunteered to cast off their old lives first. The preacher laughed, a warm, rich sound, and selected one of them,and guided the man through the door.

Well. This was it. Nevin’s ruse would be up - or he would have to fail out at the last moment to preserve his secrecy. He gritted his teeth. It would all depend on whether or not his memories included the person on the other side of the door - were they really a survivor of that insane cult? He would know soon.

The chamber was now mostly empty of new devotees. The people who had entered through the red-marked door had for the most part come out looking...peaceful, at ease with themselves as they walked out now dressed in the robes of the Church. A couple though had come out rather quickly, looking distraught - and still dressed in their old clothes. So, if Nevin decided that the person on the other side of the door wasn't actually one of the cultists who had been responsible for what had happened to him, Nevin wouldn't stand out as the only person to pull back at the last moment. That was reassuring, as standing out in what he still felt was the middle of a hostile building would be a terrible idea.

And then he was the only one left who wasn't either already gone, or dressed in the robes of the church. He swallowed past the obstruction in his throat and started to walk forward, not even paying attention to the man who smiled and waved him through the doorway. The Alchemist was tense as he entered the room - so many things were riding on the outcome of what he saw in this room. If he had to fight, or fight his way out of here - it would be... a massacre, and he wasn't sure if he would win or lose it. With a deep breath, Nevin stepped past the metal door, and it swung closed behind him with a solid clang.

Nevin slowly looked around the room, taking in everything in the area he was now in. The four walls of the room were largely bare, free of any paraphernalia - the Church of Crimson didn't really hold any of that, so it didn't really surprise him. There was a candle in each corner, with panes of warm red glass placed around the so that the room was cast in a scarlet hue The real attention grabbers though were the ornate lines carved into the ground - lines that Nevin noticed were glowing faintly as he walked across them - and a small table in the center of the room. Upon the table sat a simple wooden bowl, red liquid singing to Nevin from inside of it, and a knife, one that matched the one on the preacher's hip, was beside it, blood glistening faintly on its edge. So, the people had had to cut themselves, an unannounced step in the procedure. Was this why the others had fled? it would be feasible then for him to do so - he did have all of the skin save for that upon his head covered up, perhaps if the 'founder' was not one of his foes he could use that as a reason to renege?

Speaking of the founder, where was he? The preacher had said that the man would examine them while they were stripping in this room. So then, would he be coming in? From where? Nevin looked around the room again, a frown slipping onto his features. He didn't think he had missed anyone else in the room, and there weren't exactly places to hide. Then the lines beneath his feet shimmered, and the preacher walked inside, closing the door behind him - just as he had done every other time, Nevin now realized.

"Ah, my fellow child. As I have done to the others, so must I do for you. I apologize for the deception - but I am the founder, masked by the benevolence of the Crimson."
The man walked over to the bowl of red liquid and dipped one hand into it, bringing up the fluid. It was now that Nevin realized that the fluid strangely wasn't blood - it was something else, something... twisted? "Or, perhaps, that is not quite accurate. A moment." He tipped his head back, and let the fluid in his hand trickle down over his face. Nevin watched, horrified, as the face before him changed as the liquid ran across his skin.

"Ah, that is better. Perhaps, I should say, that I am changed by the benevolence of the Crimson, made better. This though, lets me take on my old form as necessary. Now then, shall we get a look at you good sir? Or is this the end of the line for you?" Sweet Crimson, even his voice had changed!

The preacher had been a younger man, with dark brown hair, warm hazel eyes and gentle features. Now though, now he was older, with light grey hair that had scars running across his head, leaving wide swathes where no hair was growing. His hai/eyes were a dark hue - one that Nevin unfortunately recognized as an utterly dark red, so red it was almost black. How could he not recognize those eyes? He saw them every time he saw his reflection, after all.

Thankfully, this priest didn't seem to recognize Nevin, even though the alchemist did recognize him. This man was indeed one of the people the boy had grown up with in the village, a member of he original cult. That meant that this man, at least, knew of the dark rituals - including the one that had ripped two souls from their bodies and forcibly merged them together. Nevin didn't know how he had escaped the final ritual that the village had tried performing, the one that he himself had sabotaged and caused to fail.

So one, at least, had to die here, to prevent the spread of that horrible, horrible cult. With any luck, the man had not yet introduced the other clergy of the Church of Crimson here to any of the dark blood rituals that he was aware of. But if he had to, Nevin would eliminate everyone he could to prevent any spread of that terrible knowledge. But first, to deal with this man, who was still smiling that strange, bemused smile.

"I... I had heard that there were rituals involved in the cult. Do I have to be afraid of any of them?" The priest was taken aback at that, his eyebrows raising in shock. It looked like he hadn't spread that information yet then - or at least had kept that inside of the Church's clergy. He shook his head once, the smile no longer on his face.

"Of course not my fellow child. While I am astonished to see that you have heard of the rituals - I did not know any of the other Disciples had been teaching long enough for someone to have advanced enough to learn of them - all of our rituals are for the benefit of our adherents and the Church itself. Why, our ultimate goal will be the performance of a rather singular ritual, with a wondrous goal!" Wait. Was he... Preaching even now? And what was this goal? The Church before had never bothered mentioning this either to the boy, or to the traveler, so Nevin had never heard this before.

"May I ask what that ritual is?" Nevin's voice was soft as he stared carefully at the twisted priest. He knew already how much this man was lying - who Nevin was now had been born in death at the hands of the cult, and he was not trusting this 'wondrous' goal in the least.

"Why - we seek to bring our Lord, the Scarlet Made Manifest, into our world!"

Nevin staggered back a few steps in shock at that statement. It made several things about what had happened that bloody night make sense - and something that the man had said also stuck in Nevin's head, jarring him as wrong, but he couldn't figure out what it was. But the priest didn't seem to mind his shock, in fact he seemed to have expected it and was amused by it.

"I know my child, I know! It is quite astonishing and unbelievable, but it is true. In fact we attempted it once before, but an error and a lack of faith in the original chapter of the Church led to the ritual failing. However, it wasn't a complete failure - our Messiah walks because of it now, and some of us became disciples, to spread the word of Crimson." Nevin felt his heart turn to a solid mass of ice in his chest.

No. No no. Nonononono He did not want to accept it, did not want to even consider that it was possible. But what the twisted priest had said was unmistakable, the evidence undeniable. 'Some of us' - there were other survivors for sure now, Nevin hadn't thought about why the man thought he knew of the rituals before. Other survivors, and they thought that he was their Messiah, come to... To what? He didn't know, didn't care to know, and hoped he never would.

"My child, I can see that even knowing that we seek to bring our Lord back to this world that you hesitate to join us. Let me demonstrate to you then one of the boons that we have been given since our Messiah's arrival. No doubt you have been lost, defenseless and alone. With the Church you will. Never be alone for we are all accepting - and with the boons, never without a weapon to protect yourself." The priest lifted one hand up, and Nevin saw his skin bulge and twist, like something beneath the man's flesh was writhing, trying to escape. Then with a sickening sound the skin on his palm parted, and a red thread emerged.

And for the first time since he had come into this stinking, infested city, the singing of Nevin's magic stopped completely. The room was unnaturally quiet as the priest turned that smiling face towards Nevin. The threads snaking from his hand were only superficially like what Nevin himself could call forth - the Blood Mage's threes were a pure, vibrant red, crimson and scarlet mixing together.

What came forth from the priest was.. Tainted. Dark black streaks ran through them, perverting them, making them far darker than Nevin knew they should be. And they were meant to emerge painlessly, slipping from the skin in a smooth motion - the priest's seemed to have torn their way through his flesh, leaving bloody marks on his hand where they had ripped forth.

And Nevin's magic howled, defiance and rage coursing through him that the alchemist knew were not his own - and he did not care. He could stand the abomination, the corruption of his magic no more than his magic itself could. Fire coursed in his veins as the song came back to his skin, a furious clarion call to war bursting into existence that only he could hear.

"Not like that. They're not supposed to be like that." The words came out of his lips in a furious whisper, choked by his rage. Nevin knew now that this man absolutely must die - as would anyone else who had taken this 'boon', this perversion into themselves. The priest had gone unnaturally still, and it would only be later, thinking about the situation in the aftermath, that Nevin would realize that the other man had stopped breathing - that his heart had stopped beating even.

"What was that, my child?" There was a strange discordance to the man's voice as he spoke. His eyes, now a dark, mottled red and black all over, were focused fully on Nevin.

Nevin was now standing upright, his eyes, normally a dark shade, blazing with hate and magic, burning bright crimson as he met the black and red gaze of the twisted priest. The other man was still unnaturally still, his head cocked slightly to one side at an strange angle that normally would have been disconcerting. But not now - now, Nevin was gripped with a fury that was washing away other concerns. No longer did he care if other people heard what happened in here. No, the thing in front of him, the man with a perverted version of one of his abilities, needed to be obliterated, removed from existence. Through gritted teeth Nevin spat out his answer, clearing enough of his rage so that the preacher could not misunderstand him again.

"I said - They are not supposed to be like that. I don't know who you are, or where you got those, but that is not what the Crimson looks like." The preacher was silent for a long minute, wide eyes staring back at Nevin as he processed what the Alchemist had said. Then his lips split into an impossible grin, the corners of his mouth spreading wide and breaking the skin as he grinned wider and wider. When the man spoke, the discordance was stronger, ringing out in the air, sounding barely human.

"Well well. We thought you looked familiar little man, but thought it merely in passing. No, you are our lost little Messiah, come back into our arms of his own will. Such a stupid little thing." The voice of the thing - and it was definitely not human at this point - was gloating as the preacher gestured at the door. Thick inky red threads sprang from the floor and wove over the door, blocking it shut as the creature masquerading as a man turned its attention back to Nevin. It took a step forward, and the human in the room sidestepped out of its direct path, putting the table with the bowl of blood on it directly between them. This seemed to amuse the priest, as it let out a gurgling laugh. "We had hoped to find you - our hunters did find you. You came to us without them though. Tell us, did their blood feel good on your skin? We are sure you reveled in it. Now, come, shed that flesh suit." What? Why would he - oh.

The thing thought that the ritual had been successful? Even now, when Nevin was so angry that he was almost visibly trembling with rage? The arrogance of this thing was unbelievable. But Nevin didn't get a chance to reject it at the grin on the creature's face spread wider and wider - and then the top of the man's head slid back, bonelessly, and drooped backwards over his neck, eyesockets suddenly empty and hollow. The man's neck bulged obscenely, a single bulge on each side of the neck - and thick, red/black tendrils emerged from the meaty flesh of the neck, jutting out in a shower of blood and viscera into the air. They twisted for a moment and then braced against the shoulder's of the priest, and an unholy entity pulled itself free from the body - from the shell that had it had been wearing. Like a wet sack of potatoes the frame of the priest fell backwards, slapping to the ground with a wet splat that echoed strangely in the room.

The anger in Nevin's magic spiked even further, into a white hot fury that burned every inch of his skin where the red veins stood. Whatever this thing was, the very essence of his magic rejected it, despised it.

The beast that was now 'staring' at Nevin was an impossibility made flesh - it could not, should not exist in this world. It's skin was red and wet, glistening in the red light cast by the candles - now an ominous hue that bespoke of foul things creeping from the darkness. It was roughly humanoid - but only roughly. Its entire being was composed of thick, pulsating, undulating tendrils that had woven themselves together into a crude approximation of the human shape. Burly cables coiled together to form the torso, with oozing ropes of flesh and sinew winding around to form the extremities - and even as Nevin stared in horror at the thing, the red cords that made up its arms were unwinding, becoming individual tendrils that were currently twitching and writhing in the air by the being's sides.

It moved around the table, trying to approach Nevin - its 'legs' making a wet slapping sound with every step- and it gurgled again. "Come, come brother. No need to hide any longer. Shed that shell, and with the two of us here we can easily begin the Commencement, and bring the Scarlet into this dry world!" The thing reached out the tendrils of one 'arm' towards Nevin, a beckoning, pleading motion. It seemed confused at the fact that he was still moving to keep the table in the way, at his trembles.

"Oh brother, have you forgotten what you are? Come, let us shed your prison for you then!" It darted forward, suddenly rushing around the table after than Nevin anticipated, apparently mistaking his trembling as fear, instead of the rage that was consuming him.

One of the slimy dark red tendrils wrapped around Nevin's arm, and in moments the undulating fleshy extension had ripped away the fabric under its grasp. Nevin had only a moment before the abomination's skin touched his - and in that moment, as the tendril reached back to grasp him, Nevin's hold on his fury snapped.

Vibrant crimson threads burst from Nevin's arm, shooting out of the channels that ran across his skin. They smashed into the inky red tendril that was trying to wrap around his arm and pummeled it away, lashing out with fury against the darker red. The creature reeled backwards, its arm tendril snapping back to its side as it gave a weird, gurgling cry of anger and pain. It's eyestalks - two thin red squirming tendrils emerging from the center top of its torso - switched rapidly between the bright red threads emerging from Nevin's arm, and Nevin's face. The blood mage spat his reply.

"I am no brother of yours, beast. I am gifted by the Crimson, not the Scarlet that you proclaim." The abomination before him snarled in anger at his show of defiance.

"You little fool! The Crimson is not real, merely a facade of the Scarlet Made Flesh to due these dry little beings. Your time trapped in that shell has obviously twisted you if you believe in it!" And the part of Nevin that hadn't grown up indoctrinated in the cult could almost believe that, it did make a sickening kind of sense after all - you baited traps with sweet treats after all. But only almost - he might have, if it wasn't for the sheer unbridled rage that sang in his magic as he looked at the creature in front of him.

Wherever, whatever, his blood magic came from, it vehemently despised the beast in front of him. Every beat of his heart carried that hatred through his veins, spread it through his body - and Nevin agreed with it. This thing was wrong and it had to die. More and more crimson threads emerged from Nevin's arm, encasing the bare flesh, then expanded downwards forming into a long, red whip.

That was when he noticed that the creature's tendril, the one that had been pushed away by his tendrils, had spots where the flesh looked a different shade than the rest - spots of brighter red standing out against the inky dark red of the beast's skin. So, his threads were damaging to it even on simple contact? Good. He would kill this thing then, purging it with his crimson threads.

The imposter creature was now shifting, the tendrils that served as its arms coiling together to form a black-red spike on one side, the other two tendrils on the other side weaving into a shield. Nevin noted that the thing let out a slight bubbling sound that he was able to identify as pain - he didn't know how but he knew the sound indicated pain - as a tendril rubbed against the brighter red spots where he had defended himself. The two stood there, crimson and blackened scarlet, each waiting for the other to make a move.

It was Nevin's anger that prompted him to move first. He suddenly lashed out with his thread-whip, knocking the bowl of blood on the table up into the air. Bending to his will the crimson threads snapped forward, smacking against the bottom of the bowl and shooting it at the beast. The red fluid in the bowl scattered through the air as the bowl tumbled, and the creature's gaze shot to track the sudden projectile, its 'shield' coming up to block the attack.

The distraction working, Nevin lunged forward, throwing his arm towards the creature's legs. His whip snaked through the air and cracked against the tendrils that held the creature upright, leaving a vibrant slash of red against its inky skin. There was a gurgling roar of pain as the beast tried to stay upright through the sudden wave of pain, but each time it tried to steady itself one tendril brushed against the bright red mark on the other, and the 'leg' collapsed.

Nevin thought this would mark the end of the creature - greatly limited mobility like this often spelled doom in a fight - but he was completely unprepared for what happened next. The mass of tendrils burst apart, sending blackened red ichor across the walls of the chamber, separating into a writhing multitude of tainted scarlet worm-like beings. The being's repeated usage of 'us' and 'we' to refer to itself suddenly made sense - it was an amalgam creature. The 'worms' started slithering, sliding, oozing their way across the floor towards Nevin.

The blood mage backed away from the oncoming horde of dark red beings, fury and disgust mixing into a potent blend of nauseating feelings in his gut. He did note that any of the 'worms' that were marked with the bright red that indicated his threads had struck them were still, lying motionless in the stone floor. He started lashing out, his whip dancing across the wave of hostile creatures, leaving some 'dead' - at least he thought they were dead - behind with each strike. But it didn't seem to be enough, more were still coming towards him, undulating over each other in a writhing mass.

They were almost upon Nevin at this point, the closest of the writhing, wriggling things about to reach his boots. Even as he tried to back away, sliding along the wall, the undulating mass of tendrils just spread out to follow him, slowly boxing him in. The door was still sealed shut by more of the scarlet-black tendrils, and despite striking them with his whip as soon as he was in range they still stood strong.

It was clear that the whip wasn't enough - not fast enough, not accurate enough, not wide enough - to deal with the danger he was in. As Nevin bumped into a corner of the room, now hemmed in with nowhere to escape to, he felt a frission of fear run down his spine, an emotion that was wholly his own as his magic still sang a furious chorus of rage and defiance. Again he lashed out, striking away a few of the closest inky-red worm things - and to his surprise, his whip unraveled back into its individual threads, coming apart almost at the seams.

That was when everything went... sideways. Not good, not bad - Nevin just stopped understanding what was happening. The tendrils leaped into the air onto him, dissolving his clothes or ripping them away where they touched, or darted along the floor, rushing up his legs to start ripping away his trousers. This should have absolutely terrified the man - and in most cases, it would have if it wasn't for one thing.

Everywhere bare skin showed through tears in his clothing, bright crimson threads shot out and pierced through the tendril creatures. There was a keening, gurgling cry from all around Nevin as dozens of the tendril beasts were suddenly impaled, their bodies convulsing as brilliant crimson spread across their bodies, washing away the inky black that tainted them. Nevin looked almost like a porcupine, red quills jutting outwards from his form.

For a few moments silence reigned in the small stone chamber, and then with snapping twists, the crimson threads discarded their burdens and retreated back into his skin, resuming their normal place in the channels of clear skin that crossed all over his body. Nevin stood, mutely stunned, staring at the carcasses that were now surrounding him. On each now, the bright red hue had wiped away the previous color, though the creatures remained motionless. Nevin slumped against the wall, adrenaline leaving his body as the angry chorus of his magic finally quieted.

A long few minutes passed in silence as Nevin trembled, fighting to calm himself back down from the rush of combat and fear that had firmly grasped him for the last period of time. The drying husks of the creatures were scattered across the floor of the chamber, showing the trail he had used to try to escape the onslaught. Tentatively, he knelt down and picked one up in one hand, wincing for a moment as he expected it to come alive and attack him. The corpse remained motionless though, and Nevin turned it over in his hands as he began examining it. It didn't feel quite like normal hide - it was almost more like a fish's body, or a worm's, smooth and almost slippery but not right for that. It was thicker, denser, and as Nevin applied pressure and then tried to twist it apart, he discovered that it was fairly malleable, stretching and contorting in his hands. He shot a glance at the door - still closed, but the unnatural spires of red that had barred it were gone.

Taking the risk, Nevin pulled his knife from his belt and cut into the flesh of the thing in his hand. It had a surprising tensile strength, bowing for a moment under the weight of his knife blade before he was able to puncture it. This turned out to be a terrible idea though - as soon as the knife had pierced the skin, it was like he had popped a balloon full of water - crimson water in this case. A stream of extremely foul smelling red fluid gushed out around the tip of the knife, bathing his glove in red, before he dropped the thing with an oath. The liquid continued to gush out for a moment as the fleshy layer deflated rapidly, then trailed off into a thin dribble that oozed out of the hole. Nevin tentatively reached out and picked it up, and aside from a bit more of the not-quite-blood substance coming out of the hole, nothing else happened.

With a frown, the blood mage reinserted the blade into the opening and dragged it through the tough flesh, a suspicion forming in his mind as he met no resistance other than what the flesh gave him. As he peeled the thing open, that suspicion was confirmed. The tendril, the worm, whatever it was - had no actual internal organs. It was a fleshy sack wrapped around a quantity of blood, or something that mimicked blood at least, and was animated a dark will and nothing more. It was a demented form of golem, something that did not belong in this world. Thankfully, split open and laid flat, the hide was not very thick, so Nevin worked quickly, looking to the door frequently to make sure he wasn't interrupted, and drained all of the tendril-beasts. Soon their red ichor filled the runes that were carved into the ground, but other than a slight hum that dissipated after a moment, nothing happened. With the hides drained, Nevin rolled them together, forming a thick tube of stacked crimson hide that he was able to just barely fit inside of his bag and his coat pockets - but flashes of the brilliant ruby-red hide could be seen as he moved, he knew.

So then. How to get out of here without waging war against all of them?

Nevin grimaced. He knew of an easy way out, a way around the problems that this branch of the Church could cause. The way that thing had talked, it was the only one around, so maybe it had not yet indoctrinated anyone into the Scarlet worship. That meant they still all believed in the Crimson, and didn't have an association with that corrupt creature, he hoped. But, he could use what the creature had told them. He just... did not want to do it, which was a very, very poor reason not to when it would be the best solution to the problem. By doing this, he could make sure that this branch of the Church of Crimson stayed good and true, he could ensure that there were no other remnants associated with the thing here in the Church, and he could leave without being assaulted by everyone outside who was an adherent.

But he really, really didn't want to though, and didn't that matter? He did not want to take on the role that the false preacher had given him, did not want to assume that mantle in the eyes of even the small number of people who would see him, and thus recognize him forever after. But, his own wants did not matter here - it would prevent an outbreak of pain and anger, it would keep people true, and it might spark the start of a more widespread acceptance of the actual tenets of the Church of Crimson, without the taint of this 'Scarlet Made Flesh' hovering over it. So with a deep breath, Nevin did something that he had never done in all the years since he had survived the rituals of the original cult. He took off his gloves, and unbuttoned his shirt, letting his pale skin and the vibrant red lines upon it show - and then he opened the door.

There were only a few disciples left at this point, the people who were curious as to why this last person was taking so long to meet with the preacher. But when they saw him, when they saw the lines - they all froze, staring at him with disbelief. Nevin held up one red-marked hand, forestalling any comments that they might have. He would need to talk swiftly to convince them not to put him up on a pedestal, or to lynch him.

"My name is Nevin, Nevin Aaimaparapatoiis. I bear the Crimson, as you see, and as the preacher said the Messiah would. I do not know, nor do I claim to be if I am, the Messiah, but what I do know is this. Something had infested the good preacher, and when he laid eyes upon me, the demon inside of him broke free, enraged, and assaulted me. I slew it, Crimson against its tainted Scarlet, but the preacher did not survive his ordeal. His remains shall be consecrated with my Crimson, and he shall be burnt - this is the way of Crimson to deal with deaths among the faithful. Who will help me?" Stunned silence met him and his grim words, before two of them came forward, bowing and offering their help.

Nevin directed one to carefully bring the corpse of the preacher outside, as he and the other prepared the kindling. By the time they had finished, and the oddly limp body was arranged somewhat neatly atop the wood, a small congregation had gathered to see him, and to hear what he said. "The Crimson gives us life, we are born from it. The Crimson sustains us, and we are made men by it. The Crimson unites us, and we are equals carrying it. The Crimson fades, and we must offer it up, so that it may return and revitalize itself before birthing a new life. This is, I believe, the first death you are witnessing in the Church?" Several people nodded. "When a member of our Church, a child of Crimson, passes on, two things are done. The first, their body is drained of the Crimson, placed in an urn, and several close friends place a small portion of their own Crimson inside the jar as well. This is our Unity - even after death, the Crimson binds us all, past and future. This will not be done here, cannot be done here - a dark perversion of the Crimson, an entity known as the Scarlet Made Flesh -" Nevin scanned the crowd as he spoke, but none of them reacted to the name, which reassured him, "- has tainted this man's Crimson, poisoning it and denying him the unity the Crimson offers us all. The second thing, is this."

He took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding one hand above the body, the other gripping his knife. "Another child of the Crimson - any of us will do for this as we are all equals in the eyes of the Crimson - places some of their own living, vital Crimson upon the corpse. This is to help the fading force of the Crimson within the corpse to find its way back to the great unity, to rejuvenate itself in the process of time." Nevin sliced his palm open, clenching his hand into a fist as bright red welled up and dripped down onto the body. Only he was close enough to notice the way the flesh sizzled for a moment on contact with his blood. "And thus, the body is prepared. We light the flame." The man who had helped him prepare the kindling stepped forward with a torch, and set the wood beneath the body ablaze. Nevin forced himself to stay and watch as the body burned up, despite the smell of cooking flesh that quickly pushed the crowd away. he had to be sure that the thing had not hidden away a few pieces of itself.

When the fire had burned out, and the body was ashes - stoked a bit perhaps by his magic - Nevin took a deep breath and turned to the only other person who had stayed, the man who had prepared the body. "It was a tragedy. But I am not ready to take up the mantle he envisioned for me - I still have much to learn before I can hope to fill that role. Can you, or another, guide the Church in his place?" The man looked stunned, before nodding slightly.

"Y-yes my lord! Brother Kaine said that I was almost ready for introduction to the final tenets of the Church, so I believe I can guide our brothers and sisters from here. I -" Nevin held up his bloody hand, a slight twist of his wrist scattering drops of his blood against the man's arm, but aside from brushing them off without even looking, nothing happened. Nevin spoke quickly.

"I believe you might already know of them, Brother. I fear the 'final tenets' might have been a chance to spread the taint of the Scarlet. Worry yourself not with them, I will seek any further knowledge myself, and return to guide you and the others in the fullness of time. I must... I must go. This place still bears the smell of the taint, and it unfortunately repulses me. I believe in time, it will be cleaned away." With that, Nevin slipped away, leaving the stunned and confused priest behind.


Outside, away from the Church, Nevin breathed a deep sigh of relief. It had somehow worked - shock and awe had carried him through the event, and acting like he knew what he was doing. While he had seen the ritual of passage before, it was normally reserved only for the clergy, not for every man as he had implied to them. But he felt that fit the tenet of equality better than it being reserved for only a few. But now, here away from them, Nevin could confirm what he had suspected. His magic was quiescient, his skin silent - and the stench of the city that had so bothered him had been dropped considerably. The cult, at least in its original form, was dead. Only time would tell if the healthy version he had tried to nurture would survive. He would need to come back and check on them periodically, but now, that didn't seem like such an imposition.

Name of thread: A cult of personality
Workshop submission

Rewards:

Nevin receives:
2065 EXP
35 GP

Spoils: 4 pieces of magim beast hide granted!
Enough to make a simple tunic (3) and a whip (1).

all rewards have been added. 2 AP removed for workshop request.