Nyarlathotep's Story

Nyarlathotep was watching the bar...




...uh oh.

Here, in the late hours of the morning when the lights were dim and the dust glittered drearily in the light of the bar's windows, the fluttering darkness that ebbed in long shadows was more alive than at any other times. Gambit's bar had a habit of drawing in the attention of dark and unutterable evils that peered in at the mortal world with sadistic eyes, and so it was that Nyarlathotep, The Crawling Chaos, had taken root in Gambit's bar like an awful disease, plying at the edges of the minds that wandered in, chiding the self-righteous and insignificant anomalies that pretended they were Gods. Such a stark, beautiful silence it was this morning, when the air was still damp from the evening's rain and crows cackled incessantly amidst their squabbles over the dead and rotting bounty of Wing City.

The shadows and unseen space in the darkness behind the unlit bar was banished as gentle halogen lights lurched into life, searing any real permeating gloom in the bar. But still, the God persisted, his presence heavy on the back of one's neck or the squirm of one's innards. Yes, he would surely have some fun today...

And so the grand act began, as the daily grind of epiphany and hatred spun into action within the bar. Some may have thought the Crawling Chaos as, perhaps, the active puppet master of such a stage, but it was not his nature to lead the ignorant to ruin by his own hand. It was, rather, Nyarlathotep's way to play at weaknesses of others, tempt them into ruin, and allow such foolhardy souls to destroy themselves through their own ignorance in matters which they surely thought they were elite. Succulent morsels, glimmering junctures of thought and reason winked one by one into his new domain. Each had a story, and each was easily as interesting as the last. The mad god would tickle and pinch at the minds of these newcomers, attempting to probe their sensitive minds and sate his gluttonous sense of curiosity. A stray cat wandered in from the back room, tawny and fat with an imminent litter, mewling softly as she lurched her way onto the counter top, coyly playing her tail under the chins of the patrons. This too was Nyarlathotep, made manifest into the world of sacred life, a world where people wish he didn't belong but to which he was an integral part

The tawny cat rolled over onto her back on the counter top, basking in a patch of sun despite the piercing shriek issued by Kat, purring softly to herself as a feline's smile spread slowly across her face. Somewhere in the bar, a cricket was chirping in perfect harmony with the numbers on the digital clock as they slowly counted through the day. The unutterable influence that permeated the bar was growing as the amount of people in the bar grew, growing bloated off of their assorted miseries and tiny aches. A fluttering breeze wound its way through the bar, carrying the most faint of whispers that giggled insane nonsense as it flickered past, slipping out through a now cracked window into the bustling city beyond. The cricket continued to chirp, the cat continued to purr loudly, and an unbearable sense of tension and stress would begin to build in the bar, anxiety welling up in the throats of unguarded minds, coaxing them into restless ness and prodding them into a perhaps flagrant outburst of impatience against the universe itself...

"Something the matter?" the cat asked, looking at the siren from an upside down with that ever-coy look of feline smugness on her face. Her tail flicked back and forth in time with the cricket, who was still merrily chirping away. It was not a pleasant, soft voice with which the soon-to-be mother cat spoke. It was a dusky, shuddering voice, all at once dry and endless in its depth. It was more of a noise really, than a voice with which the cat spoke, like a chainsaw being dragged along a chalkboard, enough to send anyone's hair on end.

"Good luck with that..." the cat mewled, springing off into the closet with a large, graceful leap. Still, the cricket remained, and the chirping would follow Kat wherever she went, in perfect time with the rotations of the universe. Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp...

Content with the paradox of reality that Kat was facing, the incomprehensible deity turned his attention upon the now limp frame of Chise Umeno, eager to ply her secrets from her mind while it was vulnerable. Like a snake wriggling its way into a rabbit's den Nyarathotep would attempt to plunge into the young woman's mind, tugging at her secrets and scrutinizing her values. The dreaded chirping of the cricket would intensify and grow sour as he attempted to do this, the light in the room taking on a tinge of the ultraviolet. For wherever the influence of the Crawling Chaos went, a shadow of uncertainty and peril was never far behind.

And so did Nyarlathotep pull from the vampiress' mind in the manner one might pull a dagger from a lifeless back, thinking to himself in all his infinity on the sights, sounds, and smells he had gleaned from the undead woman's mind. Creatures of the night, servants of chaos and pain, Vampires served him inhrently, even if they chose not to, just in the same manner as anyone else who voluntarily walked into the darkness, out of the pale, fleeting light. Wing City was full of such darkness, and this Gambit's Bar, no matter who might have come or gone, was the inkiest and most tenebrous of them all. Happy with his newly infested environs, this mere fragment of the unknowable deity's consious screamed across all that was, is, and will be to summon the overwhelming might of his full wrath, leaving behind the Earth of old and sending a great call to the old ones and the wretched outer gods to come upon this ripe new land of chaos and frenzy.

nullThe darkness again reared it stark and unhallowed head, unseen yet felt, to settle its pestilent gaze upon the artistic, endeavoring form of Ilyana Maric. The air in the bar would grow heavy with exercised will as the wicked Nyarlathotep caught wind of her dedicated craft, collecting the visages of pain, pleasure, torment, and jubilance where she herself could show none of these, left alone from her wanderings in the stark hell that was the waking world. And so Nyarlathotep would snarl and titter madly to himself from the space just outside of known, good things, and home in on the woman's psyche, making moves for encouraging her, prodding her motivations, and attempting to drive her art to strange and oscene obsession. Pictures, pictures. Take more pictures. Covet them, crave them! In them you are made immortal in your own right!

And then something would shift. An imperceptible rumble in the pits of one's stomach, a distant sense of paranoia looming at the threshold of one's conscious. The patrons of the bar were being scrutinized, weight, and especially, laughed at. The Crawling Chaos loved his bar, having made it his choicest teat to suck misery and foolishness from. And on this particular eve of anguish and universal contempt, His dark attention was drawn to the faltering beacon of evil that was Zypher Kanakirgoe, one of the simpering servants of one of Terra's milder Gods. Her mind was rife with sorrow, and her form was sandy and crippled with fatigue and pain. Delicious. Sumptuous. Tempted as he was by such things, the tendrils of Nyarlathotep's words would try and snake themselves into the demoness's mind, tittering and whispering at the edges of her perception, begging her softly for attention. Somewhere, a cricket would begin to chirp in perfect, accurate rhythm with time itself.

Zephyr...Zephyr! You do not deserve such condemnation from the world! Your Potential! Your happiness! You were never given a chance, and now you shall give it up so easily. I can help you achieve your happiness, the happiness you deserve, but you must heed my words carefully and submit to my assistance. Lo, as in the wicked manner in which you have been struck, you shall eventually strike back! But you must give in to yourself first. Concede defeat to these bumbling fools, Zephyr and die...but just for now, so that you may rise again as an incarnate of your own will. This is all I offer, Zephyr, but you must act on your vindication now!

Nyarlathotep [color=navy]chuckled in a haunting manner to himself, looking upon the shattered remains of the human instrument with mild disdain from the fold between all things that were known and good in the world. Quaint, limited, rubbish. Human's had no more concept of true music than did a flea have a concept of the great jump Zyleraks that hail from the dark cliffs of H'nuge. But, it was a simple request from a dying, foolish demon, and Nyarlathotep, in all his great and twisted sense of sadism, found it only fitting that he dispensed this singular favor to her. And so, with maddening gibbers and silent chirps, hundreds and hundreds of crickets would bleed from every crevice in the bar, skittering and glittering with dark intent as the hopped, crawled and buzzed towards the noble, festering remains of that once beautiful implement of music. The swarm would wrap itself around the guitar, pull it together and begin to bleed into the hull of the body, stretch itself into strings, and emit small bursts of smoke as one by one they died with a single shrieking chirp.

And while Nyarlathoteps nefarious minions went about their mindless, tittering task, the dark one would reach into that stark and tenebrous void wherein sat the destitute soul of Zypher sat sniffling to herself. A hooded and shadowed figure would approach, his smile unseen but felt as he beamed upon the delicate whisp of conscious. An outstretched, black velvet gloved hand would be offered to Zypher, while warm words would be cooed to her as if she was merely asleep amidst a dreary lullaby.

Come with me, child. Come back to the world and your beloved guitar. It waits for your, yearns for your fingers, and demands your stewardship. You died from the pain of its destruction, now live by joy of its return! Take my hand, and I will show you the way...

However, Nyarlathotep, always nefarious and evil in his promises, had not intention to plant the demoness's soul back into her shriveled and useless bo

...useless body, no. The dark, plotting Nyarlathotep planned singularly to return her soul to that body that she loved most, the noble guitar which now hummed with twisted intent and strange, dark energies. All at once impervious to destruction by mundane means, but helpless as a tool in the hands of others. When it sang, elegant chords ringing out, her voice would be there, singing in the spaces between the melody where only those listening for her would hear.

A sneer was felt from under the black hood, and the dark figure mad a move to snatch Zypher's soul by the throat, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes. Unseen eyes bored into her own, and the maddening sound of distant eternal howling would be heard amidst the strains of dangerously close slavering. The warm voice would take on a much different timbre, now shrieking and warbling like some furious river during a flood.

You rebuke my grace, Zephyr! Perhaps you do not understand...I have fixed your precious guitar, now I demand you return to this so called Sebastian to pay my work homage. Come with me, or I shall submit your human tool to a far worse and miserable fate than mere destruction.

To emphasize his mountainous will, Nyarlathotep would attempt to wrack the sobbing soul of the demoness with a world of pain, as if white hot needles were crawling out from inside her very body, piercing her outwards from every inch of her incorporeal form.

Come with me. Come with me. Come with me. Come with me. The Crawling Chaos would scream this into her soul endlessly until she submitted, demanding her respect and penance for indignance.

A profound sense of wrongness would stir within the room as an ultraviolet hue would cast over the twilight...

Nyarlathotep released a deep snarl as he tossed the demon's soul onto the gritty floor of the altar, a nexus between time and space, where all things could potentially be here and now. The Crawling Chaos looked upon the pathetic soul with mild disdain. With a shadowy echoing chant, he called the perfect, spotless form of the guitar to his hands.

...

The hooded form drew back its shroud revealing a dark skinned face, with sharp features akin to Egypt's pharaohs.

...You have insulted me and rebuked my favor, Zypher. Such matters do not please me, the Crawling Chaos, Nyarlathotep. But my pity is boundless, unlike my patience. Either accept my gift to you or lament in isolation knowing that your precious Sebastian will remain naught but dust.

A sheer shockwave of malevolence would attempt drive the demon girl back across the room, sending her careening hard into the ancient wall covered in bloody inscriptions. Somewhere, the sound of distant gibbering madness could be heard, clawing at the edges of Zephyr's conscious and threatening to swallow her whole. Nyarlathotep would coast across the floor, touching nothing but air as he whispered closer to her, bending down to glare in her face with eyes that have seen eons. Gripping the guitar Sebastian tightly, Nyarlathotep would continue to twist his mouth into hideous forms which uttered blasphemous words. Small, glowing portents and glyphs would illuminate on the body of the guitar, shimmering in ultraviolet evil as they traced their way all the way from tip to tip. The crawling voice issued forth again, angry yet patient.

Your love for this piece of human design goes beyond all reason, Zephyr, and for that, I can only respect you. Your weakness sickens me, yet your inherent madness pleases me, so I shall make an appeal to each...from this day forward, you shall bear this guitar, blessed by Nyarlathotep, he whose name causes the strong to shudder, as my standard bearer across the cosmos. Its songs shall inspire pain and madness, and you yourself will respect no God, not your petty Satan, nor your worthless Holy Trinity, but me and those for whom I stand. Do you accept, Zypher Kanakirigoe?

The distant screaming would reach an abysmal crescendo as Nyarlathotep, he who travels between spheres and speaks as the will of those blind idiot Gods beyond known realms, handed the Guitar Sebastian towards the cowering form of Zypher. He would wait for her to take it, to wrap her frail and delicate hands around the instrument that glowed with unnatural power. The moment she did, a burst of ultraviolet light would blossom from her soul, transfiguring the incorporeal ghost of herself into a solid form, but altered to please the eye of her new master. Glyphs, undecipherable and inherently unnerving to the eye, would trace their way up her arms, around her face and down her body, marking her as a follower of the Crawling Chaos. As this happened, a dark strap would manifest from either end of the guitar and lace itself around her body, which would initially explode with a searing pain as her soul was pulled into the world of the living. Nyarlathotep pulled back from the woman, issuing a horrible, piercing scream of worship towards the God Azathoth, whose name no man dare speak aloud. He spoke now, head uplifted and arms risen in greeting to his new disciple.

Zypher Kanakirigoe, that was your given name from your inception at the hands of Satan. You now serve far greater, far more profound forces that demand a secret title that only you and our ilk may know. Your new name shall be Ky'lio Bal Vega, a follower of the Pale Star. Though your body may hold all its demonic resiliences native to your ilk, you precious, beloved guitar, Sebestian, shall never weather, crack, nor crumble so long as my will is manifest. If, however, the guitar should leave your grasp, both of you will crumble into dust to be trod upon by the next soul I deem worthy to follow my commands. Th'kaolin nru hesath meh n'rar! It is done!

Nyarlathotep would then raise his hand again, and would exercise his will to pull Zypher into the air, high above his manifested head as unseen, terrible things threatened to tear, rip, kiss, splash, scream and fall to pieces all around her. There were her new brothers and sisters, the unknown terrible horrors that one may see out of the corner of their eyes, or hear shifting things about in the dead of night. All at once, a twist would occur, and the dread Nyarlathotep would send Zypher spiraling through the blackness back from whence she had come. Back, back through the howling night, through the screaming air into the heart of the hungry, evil Wing City, and as she flew, the Crawling Chaos's words would travel with her.

Seek out the Enigmas, dedicated acolytes to the order of all things, specifically the arch abomination known only as Nealaphh. No matter what he tells you, he is your subordinate, and beholden to you and I alone. It is, however pertinent that you come to understand the true nature of things and expunge the false dogma of the human faiths from your soul. I would teach you such things, but a critical hour of the cosmos approaches, and hoary Nodens seeks to stand against Ia! Shub Niggurath! and shall doubtlessly scatter his damned violet mist across the lands of dream wherein lie our citadel of Kadath. Such things are beyond your scope at this juncture, but in time you shall come to see these wonders. In parting, I ask that you do not seek to find me in any of my other forms, and allow this one only to approach you, for fear I shall lose you to desperate lunacies. Farewell Ky'lio, and revel in your knew, true, blessings!

The birds in the forest would gradually go silent as a dark fog began to well up from behind the trees, ebbing and flowing around those brave souls who dared tread these deep woods. All the beasts and fantastic creatures of the forest paled in danger, however, to the entity who had taken up residence within the area. A probing, dark conscience who desired to see his will made manifest. Phantasmal whispers and the distant sound of shrieking flutes would tug at the edge of one's strained ears, all at once terribly audible and ghostly in their subtleties. And in the midst of this creeping corruption, the sound of thunderous feet stalking the mist would ebb forth, not far off and trudging closer with every groaning thud...

The lights in the bar would flicker ever so slightly as a new being stepped into the bar, softly, on four padded paws. A mangy looking tabby cat, heavy set and bloated with an imminent litter, glided softly into the bar, purring curiously at everyone around her. With a small mew, she leaped up onto the bar counter, her tail playing coyly across the chins and faces of those seated there, before settling at the far left end in a lavish display of relaxation. Somewhere, a cricket began to chirp loudly and monotonously. But if one listened closely, they swear they could make some kind of arcane, bewitching song out of the chirps.