The Great Arising
2
"Great Cthulhu looks favorably upon your sacrifices." Torren-Wraeth swept his arms expansively before the congregation, "And your faith pleases him greatly." He had been summoned, he hated being summoned, but it was his duty. "What is your desire?" A fire blazed on the stone alter behind him, and dark-robed humans knelt before the child of their god as a tentacular, vaguely toad-like being known colloquially as a "Servitor of the Outer Gods", (His personal name was Grix), piped away on a bone flute. The High Priest, distinguished by his rich green robes, stood, "We seeketh only a small boon from thy sire." Torren-Wraeth rolled his eyes mentally, why did humans always use that annoying Archaic English in religious rights. Cthulhu didn't speak English, let alone Ye Olde English. "What is it?" The priest then began a short list of needs, more game to hunt, more rain for the crops, as if Cthulhu could magically make them appear. Well, he could make rain, at least, but not animals... Animal life had flourished since The Great Arising, with so few humans left to hunt them, these people had probably been careless, overtaxing their resources...
"Rain will not be a problem," Torren-Wraeth said confidently, then, "But animals and good crops are more in the domain of Shub-Niggurath." Grix stopped piping and eyed Torren-Wraeth in surprise. The priest looked confused, the congregation certainly was. "Cans't thou not aid us?" Torren-Wraeth considered for a moment, Cthulhu could drive animals toward this village, but could he make crops grow? "He can send rain and more game animals for you to hunt, but as for the growing of crops, you will likely have to either trust your luck or make sacrifices to Cernunos." That avatar of Shub-Niggurath was closely associated with agriculture, and Cthulhu didn't mind sharing his worshipers. Torren-Wraeth knew of one 'god' he didn't want the people to follow, however. "And by The Key and The Gate don't start worshiping He-Who-Walks-Between-the-Rows!" Lightning struck near the entrance of the church, fusing sand to glass, "If you sacrifice to him, I'll kill you all myself!" The congregation recoiled in terror. A steady rain began to fall outside the 'church'. The congregation, forgetting their confusing, terrifying 'angel', and went wild. "PRAISE CTHULHU!" "IA! IA! CTHULHU NAFLFHTAGN!"
Great Cthulhu held court from his green-black graven throne in the Temple of The Key and The Gate. Though many worshiped him as a god or feared him as a devil, the Lord of R'Lyeh was in truth a high priest of Yog-Sothoth. Not that he discouraged his own worship, even as his own clerics, Father Dagon and Mother Hydra, gladly accepted the worshipful adulation of the lesser races. There were plenty of eager and fearful acolytes for everyone.
Later, after the humans had all driven or drunken themselves into noisy slumber, Grix rolled over to Torren-Wraeth, who sat cross-legged and disgusted on the cold stone floor. "Your father may not be pleased that you shattered his image of omnipotence." "Should I give these people lies?" Torren-Wraeth spoke freely, no one there but the two of them understood Grix' tongue. Grix laughed, a peculiar gurgling sound, "Isn't it all a lie, in the end? You made it rain, not your father. I could have, too, if I had wanted." Torren-Wraeth sighed, not knowing how to respond, then took the pipe from Grix' slimy tentacles and began to play.
Torren-Wraeth had some friends and allies, human or otherwise. Tektaktequataquarl, a True-Blood Hastur-Spawn. An unlikely friend, certainly, as Hastur and Cthulhu were grave enemies, and Hastur's Spawn were no more given to emotion in any human standard than those of his nemesis. 'Tek' was an exception, wild, emotional, maybe even a little bit crazy, even by the standards of The King in Tatters. He took human form, male, beautiful, gold skin and gleaming wings, though in truth 'he' was a hermaphroditic golden mass of flesh, tendrils, eyes and mouths. As Hastur-Spawn, he was unwelcome in Cthulhu's court, but he ignored the threats with the casual indifference of an immortal, perhaps he even found a perverse pleasure in visiting enemy territory. Besides, his mate, the Bloated Woman, also known as the Goddess of the Black Fan, lived in the mountains of China. Seven feet tall, six hundred pounds of blubber and writhing tendrils topped with five vicious mouths and a pair of exquisitely beautiful eyes. When holding the Black Fan under her eyes, she was slim and beautiful, a mask for luring men to a gruesome death. Ironically, Tek found the true form more appealing, a form so similar to his own... Regardless, Cthulhu would never dare move against her, for The Bloated Woman was an avatar of the only being Cthulhu truly feared, Nyarlathotep. To anger Nyarlathotep meant horrors even Great Cthulhu dare not imagine. Torren-Wraeth did not care much for the cruel Goddess, but, in some strange way, Tek loved her. Torren-Wraeth had no way of knowing if the feeling was reciprocated, one never knew with The Crawling Chaos...
Then there were the Insects from Shaggai, who had dwelt in England's Severn valley for centuries, repairing their temple-ship. They brought with them their experiences, their dreams and nightmares of far-off wonders; The cities of long-dead Shaggai, the titanic natives of Thuggon, of L'gh'hx, Xiclotl and Tond. They had finally escaped earth shortly before The Great Arising. They had been cruel and twisted beings, but living their mortal memories made Torren-Wraeth long to visit these worlds, where eyeless giants strode teeming marshes and suns blazed black in amber skies. He sometimes used his skills at bending space and reality to take brief jaunts to these worlds. But he always came back. He could not seem to break earth's hold on him, the ties of birth and blood were too strong.
In his house at R'Lyeh Torren-Wraeth slept poorly. His home, small by Cthuli standards, was the size of a cathedral, one large room with a stone bed covered by warm blankets and a square, shallow pool of flowing seawater that served as a bath. A low stone shelf held an image of Goro, preserved forever beneath unbreakable, transparent alien stone. Several books, scrolls and tablets lay scattered about, and the room, from floor to ceiling, was covered with elaborate carvings of alien worlds and incredible creatures. A grim looking Moai sat in a corner, looking out over the green-black structure. A small chest of amber-colored stone, strongly contrasting the general color scheme, held Torren-Wraeth's clothing.
He rose from his bed and walked across the cool floor to the open portal, staring out at the fickle stars that flickered in the night sky. Isn't it all a lie in the end? He sighed, then turned to the chest and began to dress.
Ho Fong stood at the gates of the Monastery of The Bloated Woman, catching the first rays of sunlight. He was old, centuries had passed since he became high priest of The Order of The Bloated Woman, yet time held no power over him. He appeared to be in his early fifties, without even a gray hair. Someone, an American, no doubt, had once insultingly compared him to the fictional Chinese villain Fu Manchu. In truth, he did resemble a significantly heavier version of the Devil Doctor, complete with the signature moustache. He'd killed the man, of course. The Goddess required sacrifices, after all. As the golden light began to bath the magnificent mountains of China in divine splendor, he thought about The Other. He did not worship lord Tektaktequataquarl, as he didn't seem to desire worship, but was obliged to give him all due respect as the Goddess' consort. Tek was coming, of course. The only constant in that being of chaos' life was his love for the Goddess, a love Ho Fong envied, though he could never bring himself to admit it. He straightened his yellow and black silk robes, the official garb of the Order, and prepared to greet the Hastur-Spawn.
The monastery was fairly new, The Order had once had centers in Shanghai and on Gray Dragon Island, but these had been lost in 1926. Enemies of The Order had overwhelmed and destroyed them. Much had been lost, and Ho Fong himself had nearly been killed. These had been powerful setbacks, but, in the end, they had been immaterial, as both Shanghai and Gray Dragon Island now lay lost beneath the waves. Ho Fong's enemies, The Goddess' enemies, were all long dead. He walked back into the monastery, passing lesser monks and acolytes who bowed dutifully toward him, and approached the great bronze doors behind which the Goddess rested. Two burly monks opened the doors and Ho Fong respectfully approached the screens of yellow and black silk that lay beyond the carven jade sacrificial alter.
The Bloated Woman sat upon a pile of silken cushions, smoking essence of Black Lotus from an ornate hookah, it's pipe in her third mouth. The Black Fan and six sacred golden sickles, used to dispatch human sacrifices, hung from a black silk sash wrapped around her prodigious belly. The priest bowed deeply to his beloved Goddess. "He will not be here for some time yet." The Goddess voice was smooth and sultry. "Receive him warmly." She blew fragrantly scented smoke from her fourth mouth, whilst speaking through her second and first.
Tektaktequataquarl flapped his gleaming wings in the bright morning sun. He felt Torren-Wraeth's approach long before he could see him. He was a good kid, level-headed and thoughtful, the total opposite of Tek himself. Perhaps that was why he liked him, a balance of chaos and order. Yin and Yang, so to speak. Ever since his human confidant had died, the Half-Blood had become more sullen and withdrawn. He needed more excitement in his life. Perhaps Tek himself needed less, courting an avatar of Nyarlathotep. Even Hastur had expressed concern about that union, but love is blind. She was evil, in human terms, but, then again, by human terms she was hideous. He found her beautiful and dangerous. He wondered what their coming offspring would be like...
He suddenly realized something had changed. Torren-Wraeth was in trouble, his life was in danger. He turned back and sped toward the Half-Blood...
To be continued...
Notes:
About Tektaktequataquarl:
His name (loosely translated) means 'Silver Tongues' in Hasturian
He sometimes pretends to be Amatsu-Mikaboshi, Anansi, Coyote, Hundun, Loki or Sun Wukong, adopting appropriate forms for each. It's doubtful any of them approve.
Typical Humanoid Form:
Height: 6'3"
Weight: ?
Clothing- Yellow silk robes, if any.
Alignment- Chaotic Neutral
Class- Demigod of Chaos and Trickery
Group- The Million Favoured Ones of Nyarlathotep
He looks like an angel in humanoid form, but that's just a mask. He almost always appears as a male, for reasons known only to himself. He's actually hermaphroditic, like most Mythos beings, but generally lives as a male.
Grix-
Length- 5'
Weight- 110 Pounds
Alignment- Neutral
Class- Bard
He goes where he's summoned and plays his flute, mainly at ceremonies for various deities. He has no allegiance to any of them, his master is Azathoth. He'd play for Hastur just as soon as Cthulhu is done with his services.
Shub-Niggurath:
Though usually referred to as female, Shub-Niggurath is hermaphroditic, and 'her' avatars can be male 'Cernunos' or female "Cybele, the All-Mother" or neither 'He-Who-Walks-Between-The-Rows.'
Nyarlathotep:
Is sexless, usually referred to as male, and has both male (The Black Man) and female (The Bloated Woman) avatars. Some, like Ahtu and The Black Wind are sexless.
The Insects from Shaggai, Beings from Xiclotl, Tond, etc belong to Ramsey Campbell.
The Bloated Woman and Ho Fong belong to Chaosium and Larry Ditillio.
He-Who-Walks-Between-The-Rows A.K.A. The Corn Demon from Children of The Corn is copyrighted by Stephen King
Fu Manchu was created by Sax Rohmer and is under public domain.
