Madness eternal

Sigmund Vrell

Cosmic Brain
Level 3
Sep 9, 2018
Click Here
Vrell crouched at the edge of a cliff, contemplating their time in the abyss. They didn't hold any grudge against either Gilgamesh or the odd spandex-clad figure that had impaled the cultist, it was all a part of the game. That didn't change the fact that, ultimately, they had failed. In the end, sentimentality and compassion had taken priority over madness. Such weakness was unforgivable.

An ear-splitting shriek pierced the silence as violet lightning split the sky, illuminating the warped landscape below Vrell and the countless shambling horrors dragging their twisted forms across said landscape. Home. The cultist’s soul didn't carry the mortal weaknesses of emotion or instinct, allowing them to ponder their actions from a more objective angle.

“I've failed.” They muttered, pulling their robes tighter over their unnaturally thin frame. The sky lit up again as Gal’skap’s gaze fell upon their chosen. Any other mortal soul was below the elder’s notice, but Vrell was an exception. The Old God rumbled an answer to their high priest. Their voice was madness given form, and they spoke in the ancient, incomprehensible tongue of the elders. Vrell’s mind was filled with images of gnashing teeth, emaciated figures weeping from eyes sewn shut and countless bodies dangling from a mountain top.

“The spirit is willing,” the soul replied to their God, their tone calm and even. “but the flesh is weak and emotional. Must I really return to it?”

The Madness Within was silent for a time before the priest’s mind was bombarded by more imagery. A child lost in the woods as a stick-thin figure crawled from branch to branch, a man clawing at the roof of his coffin, an endless corridor with no doors, only windows with countless eyes peering in.

“I understand.” Vrell replied, dusting off their robes and rising to their full height. They ran their hands through the tangle of tendrils atop their head as if it was hair. Which scion did they pick that habit up from? Lief, perhaps? Regardless, the spirit turned to face their God. The soul’s eyeless face stared up in awe at their deity, as they always did, before nodding. “I am ready.”

A split-second later, Vrell felt as if they were a puppet whose strings had suddenly been yanked back. The spirit was torn from the divine realm, rocketing back to the mortal reality with jarring speed.

Sigmund jolted awake, his body in one uninjured piece. His breathing came hard and fast for a few moments and his head still throbbed. The high priest rubbed his temples for a moment, trying to process what he had just experienced.

“Sigmund! You're back!” Cordie said, suddenly appearing beside her leader. “Third- er, fourth place? Either way, not too shabby.”

“Yeah.” The cultist said, rising to his feet, shaking the confusion away as his subordinate pushed his tome back into his hands.

“You okay?” The enthusiastic cultist asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Uh… Yeah.” Sigmund said, his headache finally fading. What had he been trying to focus on? After a moment of chasing the fading memory he simply gave up on it. It probably wasn't important anyways. The psion did a few stretches, trying to work out the post-death stiffness, surprised to find that he felt unusually limber. “I would have preferred some less… extreme chiropracty, but you can't argue with results.”