The Journal of Insanity

[Requiem of Insanity]

3rd Month of Spring
Imperial Calender 2211

I feel it must be said that I had no intention of writing this. My mind was never made up on how I wish to put ink to paper. I feel I have no story to tell, but perhaps that is the story itself. A conglomeration of thoughts pieced together to create a new whole.

I see I have yet to get to the crux of the thesis, and I do apologize to whomever will find this ratty journal. It is not my intention to hide anything from your eyes, but perhaps I will intentionally leave things vague. There are some things no sane soul should know, some dark secrets remained to silence, and dragons that should remain asleep.

I am going to write my accounts with Cassandra Remi and her dark family.

A bolder statement has been written, I'm sure. The Tantalum playwrights perhaps would have a more appropriate pizzaz to the true magnitude of what I pen. But I must admit, with a flair of arrogance, that I am here, and you are there. Wherever your 'there' is, is not where my 'here' is. So these events I bare witness to are first hand, and I will apologize here and now that these accounts may not make sense. Excuse me, I was probably just terrified at the moment.

There are several items I wish to discuss with those who will one day find my trappings. The Lady Cassandra Remi is the muse and subject of most of these scrawlings, but I wish to also impart wisdom on her father Jebbediah Remi, her two daughters Aerith and Catherine, and her cult she has dubbed appropriately the Cult of Blessed Torture. Maybe someone with more intellect than I can decipher these words and make sense of it all. Perhaps find understanding in what motivates these killers beyond simple obsession.

If there is such a thing.

So take your leisure at my expense to delve into the world of a serial killer, a haven for the deranged, and see the growth of a woman to a god.

[Requiem of Insanity]

3rd Month of Spring
Imperial Calender 2211

The Cult of Blessed Torture is aptly named so. A hive that exists merely to kill, rape, and torture. Each prisoner of the hive is an entity that lost independent thought and gained primal instincts in its stead. I have witnessed sane souls, good people I would think on any other day, turn into gibbering, monstrous creatures.

I do not wish to make it sound like my plight is demons popping out of the walls enforcing their dominance. I state the term monstrous for my own sanity, because what I do see is indescribable. I witness decent men reduced by terror to wrecks, strong willed warriors crying out for their torments to end. These changes are character changing, warping their resolve and purpose in life and replacing it with something less complex. Where once people wished to live, now they claw for death. Nobles become beggars, the kind that cannot be tolerated in length.

But what bothers me the most, the monster I spoke of earlier is not the victims of the Cult. There are those who have done no wrong, but in the coming trials the Dark Mother decreed to create a warrior elite driven by madness. So it was good, honest people whom were kidnapped and forced to watch such atrocities over, and over, and over until every part of their soul was stained crimson, covered in the blood of so many who longed for death. These creatures, for they have no human soul any longer, gibber endlessly their insanity. They whisper to kill, scream for death, and mutter dark secrets about a broken human soul. Only the Cults most powerful people can seem to control them enough to keep them in line. Until needed these abominations are kept in the darkness, where food is tossed to them. Sometimes they eat meat, most times flesh.

I knew they were no longer decent souls when they tossed the meat back and begged for more flesh.

[Requiem of Insanity]

1st Month of Summer
Imperial Calender 2211

I have at one point pondered how anyone could follow the road to damnation. For the past few months I have watched the Cult in action and grew no closer to understanding, but I changed my focus to the singular network of individuals; to the singular member of the Cult itself instead of in its full glory. Looking at those who consider themselves children of the Dark Mother and I can now see clearly this is not a stretch as I would once imagine.

Within Cassandra's web she has caught a large calling of men and women. Rapists, serial killers, and other corrupt individuals. These people follow her unquestioningly. Their desires mere echoes of their mother's madness. Each one does what must be done to please her, for to earn her ire is a fate worse than death.

There is a certain hierarchy I have observed. The most charismatic individuals with voices that can sway masses are akin to priests. Zealous in oratory and vicious when roused, these are by far the most fearsome of the troops. Without any knowledge of them you could never tell they were wolves in sheeps clothing.

A few of the quieter individuals have a stoicism of dedication. These quiet zealots are truly terrifying, for the hunt for them is in the fight. Murderers who look only for the thrill of a kill. Each one is a match for any one person, but with Cassandra's cruel guidance they honed their skills to handle several individuals at once. These are Cassandra's assassins, her hunters.

The rest of her army is divided into their preferred method of torture, each one given cart Blanche to pursue their own dark intentions. The weaker ones are in turn preyed upon, and a survival of the fittest mentality has kept these people on a paranoid edge. They all turn to the blessed mother of darkness in times of need, but she cares not about her minions. She has openly killed anyone who dares to cross her and she publicly does so with great relish.

I had to discern and evaluate my own soul when I realized I had cheered with them during such an activity.

[Requiem of Insanity]

1st Month of Summer
Imperial Calender 2211

I am not sure I have mentioned earlier the reasons for why I am doing this. Indeed no journalist, no matter how dedicated they may be, would willingly delve into a nest of vipers and nestle there. These accounts I witness are not meant to be told to anyone, and their subject matter should not intrigue anyone but the most macabre of personalities. All I guess I am saying now is simply this: I did not wish to be here.

It was a cold night towards the end of winter. I had just finished my nightcap for the evening when I was attacked upon my journey back to my personal chambers. My assailant was a man by the name of Vincent. It had turned out that Vincent, a man I had hired then shortly fired for incompetence as a servant, was actually a serial killer. For him, his disturbing disease of the mind was a desire to subjugate himself to his prey. He had explained to me as he was preparing me for his ritual of torment that he would do anything to enslave himself to the one he would kill. An elderly woman had made him his bondage slave, another man had whipped him endlessly, and on several occasions he posed as personal servants to anyone who would treat him with nothing more than utter contempt.

I should say this now, I am not the gracious of masters. I have been known to be a tyrant to those who serve me. How else would he target me like he did?

So it was that he would reverse the role, and the more mental damage the master had done to him as the servant, the return would be ten fold. He prepared a mighty ceremony for me, and I suppose in some twisted way I feel honored, all to show how much he loathed the role of submissive. Before he began though, a man had appeared in his doorway. I had learned later that in the Cult, these private sessions were just that: private. So this man who looked in from the doorway startled my kidnapper. He stood there, a sick grin on his face. I can never purge the memory of his smile from my mind, forever is it burned that way.

This newcomer had a ring around his neck, a circular pendant with a triangle within the center and three silver pendulums that hung limply at the bottom. He chuckled, insulting the character of his comrade. He only said one phrase, one that I can still remember to this day,

"Let me purge your weakness..." In a rage, my old servant rushed to attack this man, but before the light could clarify whom it was I was seeing, a dead body hit the ground. The man turned to me, a look of desire upon his features before he snarled and released me from my bonds. I had thanked him, in a quiet manner, but he said nothing as he left.

I did not know on that day I had met Jebb Remi, father of the Dark Mother and one of the Blessed family. I had thanked a man who killed hundreds for saving my life, and pondered why he spared mine.

[Requiem of Insanity]

2nd Month of Summer
Imperial Calender 2211

Aerith Remi is perhaps the biggest enigma in this den. She is a youthful child of the age twenty, her hair as red as the fires that light these walls. She has cold, piercing blue eyes. Bards could do a better job of describing the depths of madness that is in those eyes. She moves with an eagerness of a normal girl, her demeanor is so lively that it sticks out so vibrantly in the macabre atmosphere like a beacon of light. She plays with her sister like a good sibling and for the life of me I cannot figure out how or why she is the way she is.

I like Aerith the most, if only because she has been the most normal to me. She has a darker side, yes, but unlike everyone else in these twisted halls she does not flaunt that aspect. Perhaps this make her more a threat, a darker person. Yet for all her intentions that are dark and sinister, not one of them is geared towards her mother, Cassandra.

Evidence of this was just the other morning. On a rare treat, Aerith had released me from the cell I was in and allowed me an opportunity to observe her and the rest of the family. She had stumbled upon my journal, and with the kindest of voices had asked me to please finish my works. Thinking I had a way to escape, I took her up on her offer to leave my cell.

I digress. Aerith was bickering with her sister, Catherine, about some type of knife with their argument turning into a screaming match as most children end up doing. At the time I was with Cassandra and after the third bellow she threw a toxic vial of poison across the the room with such force that the glass shattered into thousands of fragments, the noxious fumes swirling in the air. She moved unafraid through the cloud as she entered the foyer, her naked feet crushing the glass as she stormed forward. She looked to her children with a baleful eye and Aerith instantly began apologizing. I could only assume because she was the first to speak that the events that followed took place. Cassandra had grabbed her by her hair, wrenching it like one would when pulling the reigns of a rowdy horse. She dragged her to the ground and held her in her misery.

Even though Cassandra terrifies me so, a certain parental instinct kicked inside me. I had attempted to stop her, but I had felt a pause as I witnessed a sight that baffled me; Aerith was thanking her. Catherine also solemnly promised not to raise her voice again. Then, as if all was square Cassandra hugged them both and went back to work. It was as if nothing at all happened. I was dumbfounded that Aerith stood back up, smiling to her mother. This was no disguise, but an honest to god, loving smile.

The love she has for her mother, Cassandra, is undeniable. Though the Gisela Reaper had merely adopted her, using her as a pawn for several of her dark games, the girl loves her as if she was her real mother.

I find myself looking to this with disgust, wondering how anyone could love something so vile. I find myself looking at this with yearning, for inside my own soul I truly deep down wish to be loved, and have someone love me as they do.

[Requiem of Insanity]

4th Month of Summer
Imperial Calendar 2211




I am not certain at this point in my writings the reason why I still live and breathe within the confines of this hell haven. I had thought that my time would be up long ago, fed to Cassandra’s ghouls, or worse. To think that months ago I would imagine being eaten alive was a terrible way to die. Now, thanks to my time in the Cult, new terrors have replaced such childish ones. To be eaten alive in this place is not the worst way one could go, and if I am to be honest in my tale then I must admit this: what I have witnessed, that is a death I prefer the most.

I met with the child Catherine, an adopted daughter of Cassandra, who had come to me one day. In her hands were flowers, all of them roses colored white and red. She stopped before my cell, her eyes filled with a natural curiosity. She had seen me, knew me from my outings with Aerith, but we never once talked. She was always affectionately referred to as Cat, and it was rightly so. The way she observed was, for lack of a colorful metaphor, like a cat on a windowsill. I approached my bars and knelt to her, my knees aching in the coldness of the cell.

She smiled sweetly to me, eyes burning bright as she began to ask if I believed in the Dark Mother. I discussed with her Cassandra's workings and found it was much like talking to a zealot or a fanatical priest. She backed her claims with biased opinions cold facts on a skewed society, exclaiming the deeds Cassandra did in cleaning the streets up of the trash she slayed. I countered her, for sake of amusement and debate, that death was death no matter who it was or what they did, and nobody had the right to take anothers life; to judge them. She remained quiet in thought, before she asked me something that to this day was very horrifying profound.

She had asked me who could. In my own hubris, looking for something that would be unobtainable, I replied "a god. Only a god could decide who lived and who died."

She handed me a white rose, thanked me for the pleasant conversation, and walked away smiling as I realized the terrifying truth of what I spoke that day.

[Requiem of Insanity]

1st Month of Fall
Imperial Calendar 2211




Another rarity was given to me. I was released yet again from my cell, Aerith explaining that her mother had called for me by name. I confess I had thought the teenager was merely escorting me to my death sentence; that I had no time left within the Cult of Blessed torture. Yet that was not the case in this instance. Who knows what will happen at another time, but I will write of that later when it does happen.

Aerith had left me within a dark room, shutting and closing the door behind me. I could tell just by the way the echo of the door when it was slammed shut that this was a vast place, a ceiling high and vaulted to allow the noise to reverberate up and down much like a cathedral or a symphony hall. I stepped forwards, body shaking in terror. I admit, the darkness was another one of my private fears that I never mastered.

When I had hit my fifth wobbly step into the abyss a solitary light turned on from the ceiling, a candelabrum with several candles, but only a select few lit. The sudden illumination blinded me, causing me to cover my face as my ears heard the sound of shuffling. I turned away, afraid, but noticed the sound remained stationary, followed by a groan as if someone was awakening after a long sleep. I damned my curiosity on the spot, my head slowly turning towards the light when I found an old childhood friend of mine tied naked to a table, his arms and legs strapped down tightly.

He rolled his face in circles, before at last he managed a word. He called my name and I went to him instantly, looking to his face and smiling to see a familiar sight after so many days in this dungeon. He was confused, and I did my best to clue him in on the current conundrum. He took the information in, but when I mentioned he was within the Cult of Blessed Torture he grew pale white. He asked what I knew, and the way he looked to me was wholly unsettling. I had realized at that moment someone was watching me; eyes filled with malice that was tangible as a soft wave of dread washed over my body causing my hairs to rise on end. I was snapped away from the presence as my old friend looked to me, shouting for me to free him. I have learned since day one that nobody comes to Cult on a whim, and that every tortured victim had a reason for it. In this line of thought I had realized a dark conclusion recalling my time in the halls of pleasure when a member of the Cult came to rightfully take my life.

I stepped back, face stricken in horror. He shouted for me to free him, at first leading, before he shouted in rage. But my mind was not on his plight, but my own. I was summoned by the Dark Mother herself, and as that realization hit me I heard a soft, seductive and all to unsettling settling voice reach my ears. Cassandra appeared in the light, her body in a suit that had bent the light it seemed from her. It was hard to see her figure in that outfit unless she was directly in the light. She smiled as she spoke and soon I learned something about the Cult.

My old friend had once told me his biggest regret was that a mutual friend of ours was raped and killed, and he couldn’t stop it. Cassandra spoke in certainty, but asked in the form of questions as she let the bastard who wore the skin of my old friend hang himself. This man who was tied up assured me his wounds were from the man who raped and killed dearest Alyssa. The same man who apologized for being too late to her parents with tear stained eyes. It was too much to bear. I nearly felt my heart fall when I learned he had raped and killed five other women.

Cassandra had asked if he regretted killing the women. I could hear the lies through his yellow teeth. She turned to me and asked if his life must be taken for his crimes. I nodded with grim horror, the motion automatic. All I could think of was dear sweet Alyssa’s face being torn to ribbons like an old photo as it was replaced with that bastards face. I told her it should be a swift death. That living was no longer a luxury he should enjoy is Alyssa could not. Yet she shook her head and asked me, in the same confidant tone she used to lead her victim by nose with, if it would be better for him to suffer a fate worse than them. Make him realize that dying would be the sweetest release he could ever be given.

I then learned the tenants of her Cult; The Mantra, the Creed, the Law, call it whatever the hell you want, but I learned the society of which Cassandra was queen goddess of. Blessed Torture was the rightful vengeance on a soul to make them regret all the wrongs they have committed in life.

So I fell into the darkness, watching a sight no sane man should see. It was terrifying to behold, yet satisfying in equal measure. It lasted for eternity and I stayed rooted to the spot. When it was over my muscles ached from the inactivity of standing still, and Cassandra merely smiled, breathing in relief as she looked to me, winking, and heading back into the darkness. Aerith returned for me, taking me back to my cell and I was left with much on my mind, including the screaming echoes of my old friend. The more I thought about what happened, the more I tossed and turned. Yet I managed to snake away from that darkness, finding the light within it. Alyssa, sweet and innocent Alyssa, was avenged. Her soul could rest easy now.

With those thoughts in my head I had found little trouble sleeping, resting truly for the first time since coming to this blasted place.

I had thought about the sacred commandments of the Cult of Blessed Torture, and I realized the more I was repulsed by them, the more I found myself agreeing with them. My revulsion was my budding faith as I began my steps towards salvation.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Winter
Cassandran Cult 2211


I am not positive why, but I am…feeling a slipping of sorts. It is as if my own soul has shifted, the way I once thought feeling so…childish. I am writing this now no longer to explain the rationality of an irrational thing, but more as a…declaration of faith? Writing usually helps me think, and I have been doing just that. But the more I go back to re-read the works I have penned, the more I start to realize my errors.

I have noticed my poise and grace is slipping, stumbling as I stumbled in my beliefs. Evidence of this was in the manner I wrote. Once I wrote crisp and clearly, but now…not so much. The necessity for that labor is so trivial to the truth I have been awakened to. I can see my own foolish beliefs in a society that I was shown was so very, inherently wrong. I find comfort in knowing the Dark Mother does not wish to fix or change the world, but make it embrace that which it is.

These revelations of character were brought about through the careful lessons taught to me by the dark family. It was only a few days ago that Aerith opened my cell and smiled, telling me I was free to go and do what I want with my life. I had been spared the gaze of the Cult of Blessed torture. At first I thought that I was truly going to be free. I gathered my journal, and looked inside it. My story would be told by my lips, and not my fingertips! I laughed in joy, but it was short lived.

I was outside the mansion of the Dark Mother. I could see the words I wrote, and I looked to the reflections I had on the night I learned of who dearest Alyssa’s rapist and murderer was. The memory was so vivid, and I could not get past the haunting rationalities of what I saw. In mere moments I was panicking again with dread and terror, before I was calmed by the thoughts of Cassandra’s words. Her tenants to the Cult of Blessed Torture.

I turned, smiling to Aerith who smiled to me, her sister Cat at her side smiling as well. It was like a family that had lost me was opening their arms to me, and I admit the tears in my eye were of joy. I had found a true purpose, and a true joy within these walls! I see it all clearly now! Like a butterfly must be wrapped in a cocoon, so to was I locked in the dungeon. I have changed, my metamorphosis completed through the tortures and torments I have seen! I will go back in this journal and fix the gross, biased mistakes of my judgment! I will fix and change the words I have penned to truly tell the tale of the Cult, and I will continue to pen what I deem is important. That is my role, to make sure the words of Cassandra are never lost to the ignorance of time!

[Requiem of Insanity]

I mentioned prior a trial the cult must face. This is no embellishment, for when Cassandra makes a decree it is carried out with diligence. She asks a demanding task of her subordinates, and it speaks highly of their madness to blindly accept these orders.

Her word is law in this den. Her gaze is enveloping. Her speech is the sweetest honey. I have compelled myself to scribble these words as fast as I can, in a flurry of motion to keep up with her plans as she speaks them now, her grand plans! A great night is upon us, and woe will be her enemies! To not follow her is indeed diving into the darkness, for she is the light!

If madness itself is obeying the will of the dark mother, than I shall in my own sound mind write it all over this page!

I am insane! I am insane! I am a gibbering fool and I swear to all the heavens that I worship the Dark Mother! The madness outside is the true chaos.

My word her speech is stirring!

In these halls I have watched the change of liars and scum revert to what they are! Only the truly sane can embrace what they are! What fools mortals be! There is no good in the world, there is only the damning truth of violence! Only in the ecstasy of bloodletting can we see our true forms. What society condemns us for is our birthright! Praise the Dark Mother for issuing us forwards to illuminate the world!

I pray this book falls into your hands, so that you may read of my evolution from fool to believer. Within these pages you must surely believe in my cause now! Join us! Join the Cult! At first I wrote about the dangers, but now they are the blessings of the Cult!

I shall march with them on their holy quest! I will witness the greatest sight in the history of this damnable planet! I will see with my own eyes of faith the rise of a woman to godhood! I will chant her name like a curse to the non believers, and despoil the lie that is order.

I will march with her, against her enemies on the Night of Debauchery, and the Ixian Knights will be no more!

[Duffy]

Journal of Insanity Judgement – Condensed Rubric
Featuring Cassandra Remi, the Gisela Reaper

Plot Construction ~ 14/30

Story ~ 5/10 -
Strategy ~ 6/10 -
Setting ~ 3/10 -

Characterisation ~ 17/30

Continuity ~ 5/10 -
Interaction ~ 5/10 -
Character ~ 7/10 -

Writing Style ~ 19/30

Creativity ~ 6/10 -
Mechanics ~ 6/10 -
Clarity ~ 7/10 -

Wildcard: 8/10

Total ~ 57/100


Spoils:

Requiem of Insanity receives 872 xp and 120 gold.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.