Feast on Life

[Zemos]

5th of Cylus 719 after Dusk



The Ziggurat stabbed the jungle canopy of the Plaguelands, far to the south of Etzos and on the outskirts of the city of Rhakros.

Atop the Ziggurat, laid a stone altar in the use of the Serga Mavranu. Holding the curved, copper athame was Nzi'fuma, Serga Plague Bearer. He held it over the body of the sacrificial victim, whose flesh had been decorated with an assortment of poisoned orchids. Parasitic plague worms had been implanted within the gaping cavity of his gut wound. There, left to fester, for later burning to spread the blessing that had claimed him to the rest of the Plaguelands.

Nzi'fuma chanted in his Xanthean, speaking in cryptic utterings the mysteries of his strange faith. He wore only a loincloth of leather, and a headdress mask of ivory, ringed by colorful feathers of green and red. He danced and capered about the sacrifice, reveling in the scene he'd imagined. He took the ichor-laded athame and smeared the rot, pus, and dried blood from the victim, spraying the crowd with whatever droplets would fall upon them. Blessed be the ones who are touched by Lisirra's blessing in such a way, for their fortune gave way to new life, which gave way to decay and on the cycle continued. Moseke would see that cycle interrupted, forestalled. She was as shortsighted as she was insipid. Lisirra was the true mother of nature, and so it would be, on her return to the blessed city.

After dancing his way to the front of the Altar, he turned to address the feasting crowd before him. With an outstretched arm, he called to them, "Serga! Friend and Kin! Feast and be merry, for today Lisirra's blessing will be upon us. Long have the toadies of Moseke denied the divinity of our ways. She calls our plague bearers the carriers of false life. The killers of trees, of fauna and mortals. Nonsense! With the burning of this body, we will let the smoke of plague fill their lungs, let the smoke seep into the flesh on their bones. The flies take them all!"

Having said this, a torch appeared in Nzi'fuma's offhand, which he lowered to the corpse behind him, as he pumped the fist holding the athame. "FEAST MY BRETHREN! FEAST ON LIFE!"

The Plague Bearer began sawing the sickly sacrifice's head. Remarkably, the creature was still alive. His screams rattled in his throat but briefly before Nzi'fuma's blade dug into the skin, under the pus-laden muscles beneath. Whatever concoction he had imbibed previously was keeping him on the edge of life, just barely alive, yet enough to feel pain and discomfort. Pus and blood bubbled from his mouth when at last Nzi'fuma removed the head from its body. He held it aloft only a few moments, dancing and capering about happily on the altar for everyone to see before tossing the head down the steps of the Ziggurat.

It landed in the crowd below, the teeth of the head biting down on one lucky individual, giving away its blessing to the next chosen by the lottery.

[Zemos]

Yet, the honor of dealing with the next in the lottery would be someone else's. For Nzi'fuma was called to the Plague Queen's side. He walked through the dark threshold of the top of the Ziggurat, to meet with the sacred child from whom sprung a well of benevolence, mercy, and prosperity. The Queen sat upon a festering pillow inside the antechamber. Nzi could sense her before he saw her. The buzzing and swarming of flies, ants, and untold multitude of insects wreathed her in a protective embrace, inside and out. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw through several blessed iyo, the illuminated form of their Matriarch.

Her skin was pallid and sour, livid with sores and lesions, with worms evident, crawling just beneath the dermis. Every so often, an opening was eaten open by a worm, turning into an open ulcer or puss-laden wounds. She spoke in multitude of voices, like her voice fluttered on the wings of so many bugs. Yet despite her putrid appearance, her breath was sweet, not cloying sweet, but like the finest incense and musk derived from the essence of a desert beetle.

Nzi's legs gave out beneath him as he beheld their plague'd Queen, and he knelt before her. She spoke to him then, her voice seeming to fly all around him in echos, reflected from the wings and carapaces of all the flies and bugs that crawled and swarmed about the antechamber.

"Command me." Said the Yithnai within Nzi. Yet his passion for the Immortal's religion was so heartfelt, he would have gladly lent his true voice to that chorus. So he did, "Command me, my Queen!" He managed, as maggots crawled around in his mouth, laid as eggs by the flies that had only just exited his maw.

"North. North Nzi'fuma. You must to Athart, and then North. There, in a season yet to be recorded, you will find in the frozen landscape, a balmy summer such as the tundra has never known. Our kin will infest the lands, and there you will find a sacrifice worthy of you, doubtless. Then, you will know the spirit that has been seeking you out since your birth..." The Queen sighed, puffing a flight of fruit insects from her mouth.

The perfumed incense flowing from her lips intoxicated the senses of Nzi'fuma, paralyzing him in place still. Yet he found himself sinking. Sinking back into wakefulness. "No!"

the Yithnai clawed and clung to the memory of that old dream, as if attaching to it would reverse time itself and bring him back to the point where he'd first experienced it. But instead, Nzi was transported back to that cold place he'd occupied for so long. The cold, white, and sterile cell of the unnamed facility where he resided.

There, his memories didn't matter. His passionate draw to the Hive didn't matter. Only the sterile flesh-eating maggots lived there, to consume necrotic flesh wounds as a medical aid for the researchers. A detestable and blasphemous transformation of Lisirra's purpose for that larval form.

Nzi felt himself returning to the life he had no wish to return to, yet return he would. But first, he clung to the dream, adhering to it with the sticky slime that he imagined coated his brain. Using all forms of meditation available to him, he tried to remain within that dream, if only a moment longer.

He asked his Queen, and so did the Yithnai, "Why, my Queen?"

[Zemos]

Nzi'fuma awoke to the same sterile cell he'd been occupying for almost... an arc? Several arcs? A few seasons? How could he tell? The walls were too solid for him to record his days with fingernails or otherwise. Or perhaps they'd deleted his progress in the night, every night, as he scratched out another dream and another day of sleep. Whatever the case, he was not able to retrieve the march of days from their irretrievable decline into oblivion.

As he rose from his sleeping position, the jute sheet that underlay his sleeping position tore with the motion. He cursed silently, worrying at the fabric with his hands. It wasn't that he feared any punishment in this place. The researchers and torturers were very clinical and neutral in their approach to his torment. He was made comfortable and not treated with undue cruelty. Only when the venoms were injected and he began the rounds of whatever toxin they wished to test, did he feel the full pain and reality of his situation.

No, Nzi'fuma merely hated to see such a well-woven, brushed, and cared for cloth torn asunder. It offended his sensibilities as a weaver. "Ahh. Lisirra. When will I ever be born from this place? Why do you torment me by leaving your poor servant in these halls?"

It occurred to Nzi a few times that perhaps he was allowed to remain there, not just because Lisirra didn't care, as much as that realization pained him. But more to the point, for the opportunity to spy on a rival that it presented.

Nzi could've sworn he heard the hinges on his cell open, before he fell into blackness, and awoke into another dream.

In this new scenario, he was being born through a darkened tunnel, into a bright white light. As he proceeded, he felt his memories begin to fray and fall apart. Like a threadbare cloth, his memories slowly lost coherence. When he reached the end of that passage, he did awake for one final time, and knew himself as Nzi no more.

[Doran]

Nzi:

Knowledge: -
Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Non-lucid dream. Your skills don't matter!
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: I read this thread despite your warning!

I expected something a little different after reading the title of the thread, but the title makes sense!

The beginning (the Ziggurat and Nzi holding the athame over the body of the sacrificial victim) immediately drew me in. I really enjoyed the thread, in spite of the disgusting stuff in it – or maybe because of it? Either way, I don’t mind a disgusting thread every now and then!

I appreciate that you added a post about Nzi waking up after this interesting dream (unless he didn’t?).

Great job, and enjoy your rewards!