A Cult of Personality (Solo)

[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.

[Nevin]

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.

[Nevin]

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.

[Nevin]

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.

[Nevin]

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.

[Nevin]

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]

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.

[Philomel]

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).

[Philomel]

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