Carnevale: Cult of Dagon, Letzter Teil

TTCombat haben den letzten Teil ihrer Artikelreihe zur nächsten Box des Cult of Dagon veröffentlicht.

Carnevale: Increased Cult of Dagon Activity, Diary Entry the End

20th of November, 1797. Venice.

I stepped through the doors, the heavy wood groaned shut behind me, sealing closed the outside world of ignorance. The church of San Canciano is a swamp of stagnant water, rotting beams, and flickering lights. The nave is not empty. It is a sea of flesh and scale. They are all here, the hybrids, the monsters and a dozen unfortunate lost souls. They all stood in the flooded pews, the lagoon lapping at their boots, a onlooking congregation of the damned. Hundreds of wide-set eyes turned to me, and yet there was no malice. No aggression, there was only expectation.

In the centre, where God’s altar once stood, rose a figure of unholy majesty.

He towered over the rest, a titan clad in rusting bronze armour from a bygone age. Barnacles encrusted many surfaces of his plating, clustering like jewels upon a king’s robe. Beneath the helmet, gills flared blue and wet, and his mouth was stained with fresh blood. Through the glowing visor of his helm, I saw them: a multitude of eyes, glowing with a piercing verdant green light. His right hand was fused entirely to the hilt of his colossal blade, the leather and flesh joined by centuries of calcified growth. His left hand hung limp and ended in a mass of writhing, purple tentacles.

I wanted to run, my heart hammering hard against my chest, but the figure raised his tentacle-limb and beckoned me forward, the suckers expanding and contracting. A force stronger than fear pulled me forward towards it. I waded through the congregation as they parted for me, their wet skin brushing against my clothes. Finally standing before the figure, it looked down upon me, its green eyes burning through my own. Finally, he pointed the tip of his blade towards a partially submerged stone. Looking around, I saw the fish-people hissed softly. I was surrounded in a trap with no escape, a trap I willingly walked into. Terrified, trembling, I sank to my knees in the cold water atop the submerged stone.

From the shadows, robed figures emerged, the cultists of Dagon. They carried chalices of gold, filled with the murky brine of the lagoon, their holy water. Without any warning, they poured it over my head, freezing and shocking. Tasting the salt and iron of the sea, it ran down my face, into my eyes, into my mouth. I choked, gasping for air. Then, the hulking figure moved. He raised his fused sword. I flinched, waiting for the blow that would sever my head from my shoulders. But the blade came down slowly, and the flat edge of the great barnacled blade rested gently upon my shoulder. Its weight was immense, crushing, and grounding.

Rise, the congregation seemed to say. The world went black, but I did not fall into darkness; I fell into the light.

I saw the depths of the ocean, not the cold, black grave I feared, but a sunken realm of golden luminescence. I saw great cities of pearl spiraling down deeper into the abyss, cathedrals of gold with spires reaching ever upwards. I saw him. Dagon. He is not a monster but a beautiful father of pure light. He is vast, he is warm, he is the embracing force which holds us all up. Sirens‘ voices call to me, their songs washing away all the pain and the loneliness in my life. Why was I ever afraid of such beauty?

I awoke standing before my God’s disciples.

They are not beasts; they are the chosen of god. The fear is gone now, replaced by warmth that radiates from my soul. The towering titan stands sentinel, proud and silent. Beside me, the Voice of Dagon speaks. I do not know his human name, nor does it matter. His voice rises and falls over me like the early waves in the morning, promising to consume us all. He will end the pain, end the hunger, and wash away the sinners of the land. The Rent is not a wound; it is a door to his realm which he has kindly left open for us to follow.

I want the world to know I am happy now. For the first time in my life, I know joy. I leave this journal here, on a dry pew near the entrance of Campo San Polo. If you are reading this, do not fear the shadows, do not fear the water, know that we are waiting for you. Come to San Canciano, the lord is waiting to love you.

May Dagon’s light lift the worthy and drown the sinners.

Quelle: TTCombat