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 Outer Demons

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Eaton

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Join date : 2013-10-28
Location : Texas

PostSubject: Outer Demons   Sun 02 Nov 2014, 23:38

Though the moon had risen long ago, Eaton's steps were quick and steady as he returned home for the night. Along the way he reminisced about all he had done that day: Help Rends slog the Telegraph all the way back here, recount their tale before the sept, almost be tempted to trying some hard liquor, losing badly at his first game of poker, deciding on picking an alpha for the pack to try and prevent future screw ups . . . It was so nice to unwind after that past week. Eaton hummed quietly to himself as he opened the door to his house, where wife and son slept peacefully. He stepped into his study to put his belongings away as quietly as possible, but he couldn't resist lighting a candle to go over his writings one last time. On the last page were his scribblings about the strange books that were found by Kefka, where his gaze lingered as his mind wondered what they referred to.

"Read it a few more times, Eaton. I'm sure it will come to you then." He thought to himself.

Of course, there was always a chance the . . . whatever the heck it was could offer him a glimpse of the unknown. He knew staring at the telegraph, those charred books or his own notes would only tell him what he already knew. He closed his journal, pushed it aside, and folded his hands on his desk as he bowed his head,

"Show me what you wish to offer me." He told himself in a hushed murmur, "I shall go where you lead."
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PostSubject: Re: Outer Demons   Tue 04 Nov 2014, 21:05

Unkept cemeteries, lavish sitting room parlors, and stone temple halls filled with writhing forms; they might have been humans carnally entwined or blind maggots squirming in a wound. Their movements grew desperate to the point of frenzy as the earth beneath them turned faster and faster. The seer could feel that beneath all the petty greed and lust lay a greater will, a malign intelligence whose appetite dwarfed all the lesser entangled maggots.

A snake-tongued preacher, spit flecking tremulous lips, was nigh overcome in a fit of ecstasy as he held the thrashing girl's head underwater, her eternal baptism reflecting the cosmic victory of the Conqueror Worm. If his congregation noticed that she never surfaced again, they gave no sign, and another of the jubilant white-robed throng came forward to take their rightful place in the great dissolution.  

An ageless crone sat at her mechanical loom, her every precise movements gentle as a snapping steel trap. The room sang to the tumultuous humming rattle of the machine as the complex tapestry she wove began to turn from red to crimson before finally fading to interminable black... but her empty, tired expression never wavered or changed in recognition. Thick, man-high rolls of faded fabric filled every corner of the room unoccupied by the weaver and her machine. One of them squirmed and fell, a dark stain widening on the ground where it lay.

A woman stalked out of the burning bordello, her hair streaked with gore, her expensive dress in useless tatters. The small knot of short-sighted men and women raised their rifles, shock and fear etched into their faces. She should be dead. Itchy fingers tightened on triggers, and the singed woman closed her eyes, sucked on her bleeding gums. Even as the rifles' hammers struck in disharmonious unison, their rounds melted and flowed, the lead swimming up out of the barrels and streaming into skin, curling up arms, running under clothing, burning into mouths and eyes and privates.
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Eaton

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PostSubject: Re: Outer Demons   Tue 04 Nov 2014, 21:56

Eaton snapped to in a cold sweat, his breath shallow and weak. The images still fresh in his mind he jotted down their descriptions, after which he slammed the journal shut and pushed it away. Perhaps beckoning the beyond right before bedtime wasn't the best idea. He could come back to this later. Right now, he needed something to distract himself. He flipped back to the beginning of his journal, and was surprised that it was dated late September, right before his pack had left to escort Penelope to Melchizedek. Even as he reminisced about that time then he found an entry of the vision he had seen what he later learned to Erebus, and that the figure he saw was the poor girl who still suffered there. Turning the pages several times, he saw his musings on what a "skin-ripper" was. He leafed a few pages further-there was the vision where Akna incinerated those two Uktena.

"Could I see something where someone doesn't die? I see enough of that when I'm awake . . ."

As he flipped through the pages, a pattern did jump out at him: Every single one of his visions were extremely violent, featured death and mutilation, heinous acts inflicted on those in the past or future . . .
Had they really all been this way? The discordant images he saw when he was younger were hardly a joyride, but even then they still revealed strange insight: Names of people he'd never met, seeing places he would be in a few days. Actually, thank Gaia he didn't see any of this when he was a child; he could have lost his mind!

Yet after his first change? He could clearly see it now: Death. Suffering. Pain. Angush. Every new vision came with new ways to describe it. But why was this a problem now? Have the newer visions gained a harder edge, or had he himself changed? Could his spiritual growth had shown him that these little glimpses of the beyond were not some benevolent force warning him of danger, but something sinister not of Gaia?

"I need someone to help me. This can't be healthy. He thought, pitching his tongue to put out the candle, I can't be the first Garou with something like this.

He stepped back into the other room, undressing before lying next to his wife. He put an arm around her, and tried to think about something other than doom and gloom for the next several hours.
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