Jules Restlin's Story

An hour would pass, with nothing really changing or any words being spoken. The only subtle difference was that the groups breaths seemed to gradually become softer and more drawn out. At some point Ilyana might notice that all of them were simply asleep, yet still perfectly synchronized. Breathing, heart rate...everything...

The sheer tranquility of the scene is really what made it somewhat disconcerting. Especially how the lighting in the room continually pulsated and changed color from the LED illumination on the vaporizer...

As the time wore on, Ilyana grew more and more uncomfortable. It started as just a niggling discomfort, growing into something almost physical. She shifted her weight on her feet, her eyes narrowed at the scene before her. This wasn't right. This was... this was strange.

Granted, none of her dealings with Jules had been anything short of strange.

As she watched the group, she frowned slightly. When was the last time she'd slept? Dreamed? She hadn't needed to, and she hadn't missed it. Sleep was for the weak, and Ilyana Maric was no longer weak. She remained silent, shifting against the wall, her eyes returning to Jules.

Another hour would pass, and still there would be no perceptible change. At least in the people before her. But eventually, without warning, Ilyana would find herself, somehow, maddeningly lying down on the spare bedroll that Jules had laid out. She may panic, and she may try to scream, but regardless, Ilyana would find that her eyes were slowly shutting, regardless of what she willed them to do.

Words, implicit in their presence, would manifest within her mind.

Sleep.

Join them.

Sleep.



Sleep.










Sleep.

Ilyana always wanted to feel something. She always wanted to experience the emotions of others rather than just observing. She had always been incapable of much in the way of emotion, which is one reason she kept coming back to Jules. He almost made her feel. Fear was perhaps the strongest emotion, and Ilyana could be goaded into experiencing it to some degree. Or at least she used to be. Now, with the gifts bestowed upon her, she had little reason to fear anything.

Until now.

Perhaps that fact alone heightened the fear. With the gifts, Ilyana was practically unstoppable. She nearly considered herself a goddess. She could be and do anything she desired...

Except for now. As her body moved to lay down, Ilyana fought it, digging her mental heels in, trying to pull back. To no avail.

Fear.

That once delicious emotion bubbled within her.

No, this wasn't right. She had control. She had control of everything. She fought back harder, only for her eyes to close.

Panic.

She resisted. She resisted as hard as she could...

And as the words invaded her consciousness, she responded with her own: No!

Despite the seemingly easy compliance of her body, she fought mentally for some control over herself - to open her eyes, to get up from the floor, to twitch a finger... anything... And the more she fought, the more panicked she became... Which was exhausting...

Her focus began to slip. She struggled to hang on to it. She would not sleep... She would not!

...However, despite her best intentions, her grip faltered and she slipped beneath the surface.

The first thing that Ilyana would notice would be that it was damp. The sound of running water echoing and moving over stone would seemingly come from every direction, but once she would decide to open her eyes, she would see herself standing a great, windswept desert.

Before her there was a chasm within the dunes, and on the far wall of the ravine there seemed to be a series of caves and chasms dug into the side. It seemed to stretch indefinitely to the left, but it came to a sharp end on the right. In the distance, down on the floor of the chasm, she would be able to make out eight other figures, slowly treading across the sandy floor of the canyon.

This wouldn't in and of itself seem so odd if it weren't for the fact that there seemed to be a very lively water park in operation behind her. The sounds of distant splashing and the laughter of children really made for quite a dissonant scene...

Ilyana stood for what felt like a long time, taking in her surroundings. 'This isn't real,' she thought to herself. The noise of the splashing and laughing children annoyed her for some reason, and she grimaced. She had never had patience for children, and unlike most women she did not enjoy the sound of a child's laughter. A child's cry, however, would tug on Ilyana's curiosity. She did her best to tune out the cacophony as she focused on the group below her. 'This isn't real,' she repeated to herself.

As Ilyana reminisced on her preferred noise from children, there would suddenly come a distant cry, the sound of a child wailing out in pain. In fact, the rest of the park seemed to fall silent as this single crying child sounded off, his lamentations carried on the steady, warm wind of the desert.

Suddenly, Ilyana would find herself standing in the middle of the water park, her feet dampened by the cool waters of the wading pool. The only sound now was the frothing, splashing water that surrounded her on ever side. The slides and their wooden supports seemed to stretch infinitely into the sky, but to her right there was an opening. Somehow, there was a small river, stretching off into a distant, rosy sunset. A town was on the southern bank, pile upon itself up a hill, which was crowned with an almost picture perfect castle illuminated by soft blue light. Behind this, there rose ancient, bombed out husks of apartment buildings and high rises.

"Interesting." came a familiar voice. Jules would step out from behind a nearby slide, taking in the scene around them.

"I think I've been here before...the details were different though. They always are." he said. He appeared much in the same way he had before Ilyana had been forced to sleep. Normal, human features adorned his face. He was dressed only in a pair of orange swimming trunks, and the bottoms of his legs seemed to be shimmering and semi-transparent.

Ilyana would jump at the sound of the wailing child, turning slowly in every direction, searching for the source. Finding herself suddenly in the middle of the water park, she frowned. She didn't like this. She didn't like this one bit. It wasn't the wading pool. It wasn't the water park. It wasn't the desert. She didn't like any of this. It wasn't right. It wasn't how it should be...

She was staring off toward the distant town, puzzling over the castle when she heard Jules. Instantly, she spun toward him. "What is this? What are you doing?" It wasn't fear that tinged her words. It was uncertainty.

"I'm not doing a damn thing." Jules said in a nonchalant tone. He walked, or floated, rather, over to where Ilyana stood in the wading pool and crossed his hands over his chest. A third eye flickered under his normal right eye for a moment and then vanished.

"Don't tell me you haven't picked up on it yet Ilyana...you know you're dreaming, right?" he asked, leaning forwards and raising an eyebrow at her. His face sat in a bemused if not slightly incredulous expression for a moment before he stood up straight again. A moment passed.

"You wanna go check it out?" he asked, nodding towards the castle...

Ilyana frowned, her eyes shifting around herself. “Yes, I know I’m dreaming,” she snapped, turning to face Jules. “What I don’t understand is why?” She crossed her arms as she studied him for a moment before looking over her shoulder at the castle. Did she want to check out the castle?

She thought about this for a moment, her brows furrowed. The castle was perfect, picturesque. Her eyes shifted over toward the silhouettes of the bombed out apartment buildings. Her pupils dilated. Lifting an arm, she pointed. “No, I want to go there.” She took a step forward before stopping and turning toward where she’d last seen the other individuals. “What about them? Shouldn’t you be with them?”

"Hm? No, no they'll be fine. A few of them are quite experienced dreamers. They know their way around." Jules said, waving dismissively towards them. Images of his hand waving seemed to echo in the air, making it appear as if his arm ended in multiple hands.

"Stay close. It's easy for newcomers to get separated." Jules said, taking Ilyana by the hand. They walked for a time, seeming to gradually get closer to the crumbling ruins. The buildings were, on average, about nine stories tall. Their windows were completely gone, and they were all a stale grey color, similar to that of putrid meat. Along the way, they passed a raging, muddy river. A large barge drifted downstream, and there seemed to be some sort of military ceremony on deck. Octopi scuttled along the banks of the river, ducking into miniature Buddhist temples.

All at once, Ilyana and Jules would arrive in the center of the decimated district, without having really realized they were getting there. Despite its hollowed appearance, they area was not entirely abandoned. Faceless shadows, figures of young men and women ambled around, turning their blank heads to look at the intruders. There was one building that stood out; a pristine sort of office building with sandstone walls and darkened glass windows. There seemed to be a deep red glow emanating from the ground floor.

The air was filled with whispers, and every time you looked again, the buildings seemed to change their positions. Jules held Ilyana's hand tightly, and seemed to be on guard...

As Jules moved to take Ilyana by the hand, she eyed him from under her lashes briefly before her attention wandered to their surroundings. "I get the feeling sometimes, Jules, that you'd like to leave me in a place like this." She tilted her head as she studied a particular grey octopus, fascinated with the detail of the temple it had just slipped into.

As they arrived in the district, she lifted her chin, scanning the tops of the buildings, ignoring the figures around them for a moment as she absorbed the general feeling of the area. Bleak. Miserable. It was exactly the type of place she would be drawn to.

After a few moments of absorbing the atmosphere, she turned her attention to the office building, tilting her head curiously. Without even glancing at him, she could tell that Jules was clearly not at ease. His disquiet leeched into her and she pressed her lips together tightly. "Why don't you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, continuing the earlier thought. She stared at the building, the ghost of a memory niggling at the back of her mind, but she found herself unable to call it forth.

Jules didn't seem to hear Ilyana's question, as he kept his gaze fixated on the pristine building in front of them. The shadowy figures surrounding them seemed to multiply and edge in closer to the pair, arms tentatively outstretched, as if seeking consolation. Slowly, Ilyana would realize that they were being pulled into the building by an unseen force. The sky seemed to darken, and the red light that oozed out of the building grew in intensity. A distant, sucking, howling sound began to grow in intensity.

Suddenly, Jules whipped around and began to pull Ilyana away, or at least try to. He seemed to be muttering 'no, no, no, no, no!' under his breath, but it was difficult to hear and his mouth seemed to be drifting off of his face. The shades were being pulled in along with them, complacently allowing themselves to be pulled off of their feet and devoured by the menacing structure.

"Shit!" Jules shouted, now running at full tilt away from the building. But it was no use. The pair would be sucked off of their feet and drawn inside like leaves in a windstorm. Battered against concrete corners, dashed against escalators and plate glass windows. At one point in the red madness, they would be sucked past what appeared to be a large conference room, filled with a hideous gel that was currently eating away at the flesh of a large whale.

Down into the depths of the building they were pulled, into maintenance shafts and intestinal corridors that wove in musty-smelling madness. The floor was covered with ridged metal grates, and the hallways became very cramped. Jules did his best to hang on to Ilyana, using all of his knowledge of the dream world to keep them from being harmed...

The air was stiff with tension as night settled upon the ancient, nameless ruins. Dark, ancient magics hovered in the air, palpable even to those not normally sensitive to the subtleties of such arcane errata. A crisp chill welcomed the throng of a few hundred people, all dressed in heavy, torn robes. Among them were accountants, bakers, baby sitters...normal people who thirsted for something more from the Multiverse. All around them, every day, they saw the myriad creatures and heroes of Terra flying and doing battle, and then reflected on their own, meek countenance, asking...'why?' Simple, normal people. And they were all Jules' flock. Jules, who could scarcely be called a man, despite having all the outer appearances of a mid-twenties youth, climbed to the crumbled parapet of the once grandiose granite facade and held his hands aloft, as if to cradle the Gwendolyn moon that hung languorously just above the tree tops. The gently clamoring crowd eventually muted itself, as Jules pulled back his hood, to reveal three gleaming green eyes on his face, though the third burned brightly, maddeningly, below his normal right hue.

"Friends."

A few people giggled and cheered in excitement.

"Enemies. Lovers. Rivals...all of these. What do they have in common?"

Several answers were tossed back at the cult leader, who smirked. Those who had already tasted a sample of enlightenment provided the correct answer. All of these things...were lies.

"Yes, that's right. Lies. Everything, everything around you. The people. The grass, even..." Jules said, gesturing to the heavens, "...the unknowable beyond. All of it seeks to deceive you. To rob you of your most sovereign right. The right...to god hood." Jules said, embellishing the final syllable. In response to this, the crowd roared and hooted with excitement. Yes. This right here. Godhood. This was what they were after. After a moment, Jules bade them to settle, and continued.

"It can indeed be said, that all beings, no matter how small, have the capacity to be god. For are we not all but fractions of infinity? And my friends! What does even the smallest fraction of infinity measure out to?!"

'INFINITY' came the fervent reply. Jules let out a low chuckle.

"Infinity. How often are we told that our...our simple mortal minds cannot encompass this concept? How many times have we been told that the trappings of the Multiverse are beyond our ken? Constantly! Constantly we are told! And by who?! Those who would horde this sacred right of all sentient minds to themselves!"

A wave of angry hisses and shouts washed over the stone-ridden glen like a furious tide. Somehow, Jules was able to project his voice over even this roiling din.

"And my friends! Who is it that tells us that we CAN know infinity? That we CAN all be as gods?!"

'NYARLATHOTEP!' came the crashing reply.

"Nyarlathotep, indeed. The Crawling Chaos. Patron of the dreamers, the artists, the thinkers. Those who would pit their minds against that which is 'sensible'. That which is 'logical'." Jules said, making violent gestures with his hands, his robes wriggling and shaking with the force of the movements. The necromancer-cum-priest began to pace restlessly on his megalithic stage.

"It is civilization, my friends. Civilization, that most sanctified and cherished maxim of the dull-minded, which forces us to accept our lots. Pay your bills! Do not make a fuss! Do not challenge what is known! It is...BEYOND YOU. It is...NOT WORTH THE BOTHER." Drake said, beginning to shout as well. At this point, the frantic crowd was practically frothing at the mouth with anger.

"My friends, Nyarlathotep has a message for you all. A message for you to take into your heart of hearts and nurture. The message is thus: YOU CAN."

Deafening approval.

"LOOK!" Jules said, jabbing a finger up directly over his head, towards a star which heaved and flickered violently. The crowd gasped and followed the indicative digit.

"The Crawling Chaos calls to us, high from his chosen star, Vega! When it shines, know that he watches and blesses your footsteps! Know that, no matter your choice, he approves it. Free will! Agency! No sentient mind should walk through this wretched life feeling as if they are unwanted! That they are shunned! With Nyarlathotep, my friends, you are wanted. No...no...you are NEEDED!"

Now the sound of deep sobbing and reverent weeping intermingled with the crashing white noise of mortal indignation. Now Jules reached the apex of his sermon, letting the frenzy of the crowd enliven his body.

"MY FRIENDS! WHO IS IT THAT WISHES TO SEE YOU REACH YOUR FULL POTENTIAL?!"

'NYARLATHOTEP!'

"WHO IS IT THAT WISHES TO WELCOME YOU TO HIS DOORSTEP ON VEGA, TO BECOME A SCULPTOR OF THIS MULTIVERSE?!"

'NYARLATHOTEP!'

"WHO IS IT THAT TELLS YOU THAT IT IS OKAY TO RAIL AGAINST YOUR BONDS!? TO SHRUG OFF THE HUMILIATION OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD?!"

'NYARLATHOTEP!'

"REJOICE! WHO AMONG YOU WISHES TO PROVE YOUR DEDICATION TO YOUR OWN ASCENSION?!"

Several cultists now rushed the stage, all begging Jules to kill them. With great, bloody swipes, the youth disemboweled the frantic petitioners with a sacrificial knife. The sight of the flowing blood was naught but a stimulant to the crowd, who rushed the dying corpses, who yet screamed, and smeared the crimson tide on their faces and bodies. The crowd became not group of people, but a living thing, killing, mating, singing, and screaming with itself. Bedlam and mayhem at its most pure, and Nyarlathotep, who had yet to make himself known, now set upon the collection of cultists as the myriad stars turned an acidic green, and the moon rotated on its axis to reveal itself as a giant, unblinking eye. Satisfied with the rally, Jules silently stepped down from the plinth and walked, barefoot, through the thronging masses, the thrashing, flopping bodies groping and striking out at him.

Once he had passed from the clearing proper, Jules met up with three others, in a small, secluded glen. The three, now four, gathered around a small, floating, black gem, which glowed with an inner light. It spoke as Jules approached.

"Well done, Restlin. An inspiring show."

"Thanks. You think the fools will actually go through with their orders?" Jules said with a smug tone, crossing his arms over his chest. The other three robed figures looked at him curiously.

"Of course. The spark of Nyarlathotep now burns within them. Their dreams will show them the way." the gem said. The glinting crystal now directed its words at the other three agents of the Crawling Chaos.

"Damionell, Haley, Eustace. You have already been given your orders. Expect to hear from me again soon."

The three other robed figures nodded slightly before tromping back into the brush of the forest, fading quickly from sight. Jules also began to leave, but the gem called to him.

"Wait."

"What now, Nealaphh?" Jules said, letting out a weary sigh.

"You cannot simply disappear. Not after what you did for those people. You have a flock to lead now. See to it." Nealaphh said, before winking out of existence with a small, popping noise. Jules sucked in a deep breath before sighing deeply. He had known this was coming, and he did already have some practice leading a cult. He was reluctant, however, to fully dedicate himself to this many people. It was necessary, however, and the necromancer owed this much to Nyarlathotep.

With heavy steps, Jules Restlin rejoined the now settling, bloodied mass of normal citizens to begin the second half of the evening's platitudes...

The entire spectacle was watched over by a figure clad in yellow robes with ragged edges and torn appearance. To most he would be appear a mere observer, perhaps a lich or dark mage, but they would be wrong. The figure had many names, his true one being crushing to those who heard it uttered, for now he played a king, a monarch with his manic aristocracy around him. Nonetheless he had not come to watch a twisted crimson reverie, although their naivety did amuse him. No instead soon after he merely appeared with the other group, "Fools, I am here for your master, not mere figureheads. I have much to discuss with my equal. Meanwhile you keep being slaves to one you can't quite comprehend, me I am briefly amused by such an opulent mess of blood and gore, but I have bigger plans than mere games. I call on you Nyarlathotep . We have waited long enough, it is time the Crawling Chaos knew of certain tidings. I know this blood sacifice is merely a show, a theatrical display, and I know you have been gone. Thus I call out for you to take a form."

The figure robed in torn yellow sickly robes wore a mask of quicksilver which had wailing aberrant faces crying out, like a thousand hideous souls suffering. On the head was a crown, of some unknown or eldritch metal. Many would recognize him right away, nonetheless he intended them to know the true name, "Puny fools, leading and following in merry game, so blind to actual relevance. I am HASTUR. I find your pitiful blood orgies shameful and too chaotic, not enough ruthless decadence. I Hastur demand your master reveals himself, it is time we talked." each time he spoke his name, the world shivered and people around would feel extreme coldness ice up their veins, a truly fiendish display of authority. The mere name bring darkness and black souls to the fore.

"Oh, for the love of the un-god." Jules said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked towards the King in Yellow with his three eyes, abject scorn burning deep within their viridian depths. He thrust an impatient hand towards Hastur, gesturing anxiously.

"This. This guy right here. This is what I'm talking about. Fuckin King comes in here, disses you all for enjoying yourselves, and demands to see the boss."

The crowd turned towards Hastur, their eyes wide, their mortality worn on their sleeves. Jules descended from the podium and snatched a rock from the cold ground.

"Nyarlathotep isn't your dog, Hastur. Anything you have to say to Him you can say to us. Or...maybe you're afraid to admit who the real important people here are?" Jules said with snide derision. He tossed the stone up and down in the air, and pointed two accusing fingers at the ochre god. The rest of the gathered cultists likewise drew or gathered weaponry, and began to circle the deity like sharks...

It was not easy to drive this deity to absolute fury, but when Jules tried his pretensions. The group around him comprised of every class and gender would start screaming, as the flesh started falling from their bodies in great swathes, revealing grisly living muscles. The blood oozing from the fresh wounds, falling from limbs, faces, practically melting from their body. Some would desperately bend over to pick it back up, but it would just fall back off, as their appearances became less human-like. Unfortunately the deity was not done. After few minutes those afflicts just disintegrated into puddles of blood and gore, one minutes circling him, next minute gone. Meanwhile blue energy circled around him, wailing, screaming, then gone. The cultists who had been there were now bloodied clothes. He had not even moved or spoke, the people had just dissolved into macabre crimson flood. Although it was obvious to Jules what Hastur has just done he sapped their souls out of them after brually destroying their bodies.

"I won't ask again lil' boy. I am amused somewhat by theatrics, but you forget yourself. I don't take joy in murdering people, I prefer to use them. Of course you demanded me to do such harsh acts, and I will say now if your master was not protecting your group there you would all be dead. I am Hastur, The Unnameable, The Eldritch King, The Lurker Beyond the Threshold. I will not deal with pretenders who dance the superior jig, but will not listen to their betters. Once again I demand to see your master or would you care for me to test just how strong his protection is?" his visage looked over the others, some were okay, but others were staring in horror, "Utterly pathetic, this is why I play with Nobles not Cultists, Nobles at least become psychopaths, Cultists are merely cowardly and afraid."

"Afraid? These people just stood up to you despite your ability to liquefy them. What about you? What are you so afraid of that you have to go and kill a bunch of Nyarlathotep's disciples?" Jules said, crossing his arms and standing his ground. Hastur had played straight into the cult leader's hands. The grisly murder of these fledgling agents of chaos was the exact sort of thin that The Crawling Chaos could use as justification for future acts against Hastur's own blind followers. Honestly, it was startling how easy it was to manipulate so-called Gods such as this robed fool.

"We're not the pathetic ones here. The great King Hastur, the Unnameable, The Eldritch King, lashing out in petty spite against the fleeting defiance of a gaggle of mortals. It's no small wonder you choose to hide your face. No. Nyarlathotep won't hold court with you. Not after what you just did." the necromancer said, bidding the remaining cultists to flee for their lives. It would take some time to build the numbers back up, but the sacrifice had been absolutely worth it.

In that moment, Nealaphh blinked into existence just above Jules' shoulder, rotating slowly on its glimmering, crystalline axis. The black, glass tetrahedron pulsated with an angry red light. Jules glanced over at The Enigma, Nyarlathotep's second in command, and smirked.

"If you want to keep making cheap threats, then smite me and be done with it. I mean, I won't stay dead. I never do. Otherwise, say your piece and maybe we'll bring it up with Him." Jules said with a finalizing flick of his hand. The burning depths of his own eyes bored into the hollow eyes of Hastur's livid mask. How could it be so easy to shake the ego of a lofty being such as this?

Uy, chat commands be hella broke.

The Butcher of Wing City snarled a foul howl, echoing into the night as he arrived back upon the mortal plane. His boots crunched into the familiar hunting ground, carrying him forward into the darkness to find a new victim.