On a clear summer night, when the moon is full and the stars were just right, a gathering of men could be found deep in the swamp. Mulattoes and blacks, junkies and the mad, all are represented in these twisted congregations for lost souls. Through dark marshes and pitiless mires one must traverse, if one can, to find the secret hiding spot of the worshipers of He-Who-Whispers-In-Darkness.
The forgotten god of ill-repute, murder and slavery, this ancient entity feeds on the mortal souls of those that are bound by chain or whip, or mentally captivated by a chemical addiction. It's served it's tender flock carefully, providing good health to some, and saving others from overdose. The being is not as strong as the other gods, nor as able to influence the real world. But with every gathering it grows stronger, as at every gathering there is a blood sacrifice in it's name.
Which brings us to tonight, I am afraid to say, as you will be our monthly homage to the great one. I know, it can be frightening to know such greatness awaits you. That's why we have you gagged. Don't want to hear those screams of adulation when we slice open your belly and stuff the coals inside.
You were selected by one of our drug dealers, Phelps, who let you try a new batch of heroin. Little did he tell you it was actually a tranquilizer you were pumping into your veins... enough to keep you sedated for two days, much more time than we needed to get you out here. And now you're here, chained to the altar of the Great One.
Ah, I see my sickle caught your eye. Nice, isn't it? It's an antique you know... used back when slavery was a common practice in the United States. Well, more common than it is right now, at the very least. We'll be using it first to remove your hands, then your feet. Finally we'll slit your belly and stuff the burning embers from tonight's fire into you, before setting you ablaze atop the very altar you rest upon.
The stone, I must admit, is very durable and doesn't char easy. Good thing right? We've been doing this for over forty years, it would be a crime if the altar were to be damaged in any way. Why, I don't think we could repair it. I've never seen this green-grey stone really anywhere, and none of us who have researched it have found mention of it in scientific journals.
Ah, the beating of the drums. That means the show is about to begin. Just remember your part in this is most crucial, so do try and play the part of the sacrificial victim as best you can.
On with the show!
The forgotten god of ill-repute, murder and slavery, this ancient entity feeds on the mortal souls of those that are bound by chain or whip, or mentally captivated by a chemical addiction. It's served it's tender flock carefully, providing good health to some, and saving others from overdose. The being is not as strong as the other gods, nor as able to influence the real world. But with every gathering it grows stronger, as at every gathering there is a blood sacrifice in it's name.
Which brings us to tonight, I am afraid to say, as you will be our monthly homage to the great one. I know, it can be frightening to know such greatness awaits you. That's why we have you gagged. Don't want to hear those screams of adulation when we slice open your belly and stuff the coals inside.
You were selected by one of our drug dealers, Phelps, who let you try a new batch of heroin. Little did he tell you it was actually a tranquilizer you were pumping into your veins... enough to keep you sedated for two days, much more time than we needed to get you out here. And now you're here, chained to the altar of the Great One.
Ah, I see my sickle caught your eye. Nice, isn't it? It's an antique you know... used back when slavery was a common practice in the United States. Well, more common than it is right now, at the very least. We'll be using it first to remove your hands, then your feet. Finally we'll slit your belly and stuff the burning embers from tonight's fire into you, before setting you ablaze atop the very altar you rest upon.
The stone, I must admit, is very durable and doesn't char easy. Good thing right? We've been doing this for over forty years, it would be a crime if the altar were to be damaged in any way. Why, I don't think we could repair it. I've never seen this green-grey stone really anywhere, and none of us who have researched it have found mention of it in scientific journals.
Ah, the beating of the drums. That means the show is about to begin. Just remember your part in this is most crucial, so do try and play the part of the sacrificial victim as best you can.
On with the show!
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