Snippet #2701543

Of once what was splendour and pure decadence on display now lay in squalor and decay. Once a beautiful symbol of the arts and theatrics now only loomed a miserable haunted malign darkness. The Abandoned Slums were once the height of posh and upper class in Wing City. It was here the monumental Solstice Theater once thrived. Many a name was made in this house of laughter and parody. Many a career was started and with it, the hedonistic wines and juices flowed in abundance. Obscene to some, merely the life of an actor or actress to others.

Now a mere shell of its majesty toppled pillars and ash-covered walls, the posters torn, but the unmistakable sensation of utter cold. Horrific ice-like biting the soul and engulfing in misery and untold despair. A crime had taken place here, and the air, the bricks though washed in ash had never forgotten the forbidden whispers that echoed now in the abandoned building threatened to overwhelm weaker minds and drive those to acts unfathomable to many.

Blood.

Blood was spilt when the crime took place.

Crimson ichor did overflow and drown those who survived...

Blood flooded the halls and screams neverending sang out...

One terrible, terrible night an upcoming Director made a choice that would doom all presiding... He found a manuscript like no other. Old, tattered and seemingly rare. It spoke to him, echoes down his very cortex driving him to call forth others to perform the grotesque and unholy act. Perhaps some had realized what it meant, or perhaps obsession drove them to woe-betide common sense and indulge in the most taboo of shows to ever take place.

Or maybe it was merely the implications that rehearsals were truly perfect and all was ready on time...

It seemed like it would be a guaranteed hit...

Many big names had attended out of curiosity...

None had heard of the play, 'The King in Yellow' but if their minds were not completely ruined in the seconds it began, they would never truly forget the horror they unleashed... Nor ever be able to remain coherent and rational.

The most utterly depraved acts and torture took place in this place, men and women once considered normal became animals and violent psychopaths, cannibalising and ripping each other to shreds. Feasting on the entrails and blinding themselves or sewing their mouths shut...

The story of the Solstice Theater is long forgotten...

Not long after, though, did people speak of seeing a figure clad entirely in yellow walking around and when nearby the play did continue or Carcosa sang out...

More bodies, more brutal massacres and after that the place was left forgotten... better to never ever let the horrors of this play happen again... Better not to let it be unleashed once more... and hope that time will remove all traces...

To this day you search hard enough, you will find the original Manuscript, completely new. Once more daring a naive fool to once again try to perform the play that should never be performed nor ever witnessed by mortal or immortal minds...

And time has shown that if you wait long enough, it will occur...

Like a dark macabre ritual, it happens like clockwork...

The ground so stained with blood and death, that even the dead can never quite be free of these cruel acts...

Some even say if they come near enough, they hear something in the wind, something that drives them to utter grief and self-loathing... they weep his name while gouging their eyes or ripping them out in grisly acts which cause the very sockets to bleed vile crimson flow.

They also silenced their ears with vile implements perforating the ear-drum to never hear it again.

For no one can hear his true name... Witness his true face and hope to remain stable, a million names, a million ways to speak them... But the one name you must never utter, never proclaim...

Is Hastur...