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tampered2006-09-27 04:31 pm
one-of-heaven.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-09-27 04:31 pm
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Rating: will go up to R due to imagery - subject to mod decision, if not?
Characters: open for all
Summary: Rituals and worship and Sacrifice. May the City Gods be pleased, let them come to War otherwise.
Log:
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shinobi_of_ice ::Touya had no idea what Rosiel had in mind when he requested a statue made of ice. The demon had never expected to have to make a statue of a god of the City, especially one made of diluted blood. Anyone else probably would have refused, but Touya had agreed, and backing down now would not be accepted by Rosiel, that much he knew for certain. And really, the scent of blood, even diluted blood was familiar to him, as a shinobi, assassinations were a regularity for him.
So, kneeling down before the liquid presented, he ignored the ramblings of Rosiel in the background, and concentrated his aura into the bloody water. The statue was to be large, and after the details had been explained, Touya decided to create the monstrosity in layers. He started with the central pillar where the still beating heart was to be placed, after that, layers of red ice built around it, slowly becoming the likeness of the Deity of the City, Lanika .It took around forty five minutes for the statue to form, Touya knelt at its base, aqua eyes closed to concentrate on what he was trying to form. In the end, when he pulled his hands away and stood up it was finished, a replica just as Rosiel had wanted. Turning, ignoring stuff limbs from staying still for so long, he looked to the insane angel. “It’s done.”
:: Rosiel ::
one_of_heaven ::Their devotion was a blade well honed and the newly wed corpse of opportunity.
The statue was perfect – ah, sweet Lanika, the name such hemlock of diction on a spoiled tongue - the height of it was perfect, the chute dug rather auspiciously close to the base was perfect too; there must therefore be, he supposed, a degree of perfection even in such an assembly of lovely fiends-no-demons-no-creations that had prevailed over personal ambitions and strength of character and – dare he say it? - united in their doings.
They’d danced at first a cautious dance: a smile, an omen, the blurred line between open flirt and bribery; some had come for blood, others for interest, the most for the Hunt. And to think of how many of the Cattle his little ‘acquaintances’ had detained, they’d not gone without game, surely.
He fell to his knees, bloodied and bony and sickly white, never mind that Archbishop Enrico Maxwell, likely stoic, sermon ready, could see him; Rosiel was there, angel, monster, human and weakness, and from his place at the very top of the statue – the privilege of wings - for a moment, he could see them all.
Katan, nearby, silent and still. Always.
The pet in the chute, lying low in waiting.
The guards and abductors, still minding their trade.
The Sacrifices, being led near the Statue at cautious step, wavering in despair or anger or something of the both.
Indifference, disgust, arrogance – no love, no sentiment, no delusion – nothing for redundancy, for human beef.
Sacrifices – cravens and fools and condemned to their ignorance. No shying, no regret. He would not think of the gloves on his hands, black from a superstition marinated in religious privilege; he would not think of the flesh burnt underneath, if only to kill the smell of innocent blood that had needed spilling; he would not think – he couldn’t.
“Thy Kingdom come,” he said anew, though no V here to spite him. “Thy Kingdom come.”
The Sacrifices had all adjourned.
And he said unto me, These words are faithful and true: and the Lord, the God of the spirits of the prophets, sent his angels to show unto his servants the things which must shortly come to pass. And behold, I come quickly. Blessed is he that keepeth the words of the prophecy of this book :: 22:6 - 22:8 :: Apocalypse after John
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:: Enrico Maxwell ::
chief_judas ::- sermon recorded and redistributed :: origins of influence for the religious critical study unknown -
- Last Gospel's direct influence acknowledged by the Holy Archbishop -
"Hear this, lost lambs, you who are blackened by misguidance! You who tremble now in fear of what you expect to see. Good! Fear the Lord, for lest you be of the most pure spirit, you will suffer the wrath of the Most High. You hedonists and heathens, you worshippers of idols, you who lost faith in the Truth--you all will perish, for He will come down upon you not for peace but for retribution.
There is no God but He, seated at the Throne of Heaven, who abhors all who speak falsely. Hear this, heathens! You have been led astray by the plots of the Devil. It is he who colored you black with his wickedness, he who rotted your minds with his sweet poison. And now look at you--you dogs, you pigs, you who accept the deities when the only omniscient and omnipotent being is the Creator Himself.
And so it was written: "If any man worshippeth the beast and his image, he shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is prepared unmixed in the cup of his anger; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb: and the smoke of their torment goeth up for ever and ever; and they have no rest day and night, they that worship the beast and his image."
And now you might ask, "What can I do to receive the Lord's forgiveness? How can I repent?" But you sinners are beyond repentance, beyond forgiveness. Your fate is Hell! You gluttons, fated to wallow in mire; you heretics, to be fed to the furnaces; you misers, hypocrites, blasphemers, traitors, fated to suffer eternally in punishment fitting of your crimes.
May the Lord smile upon you pure of spirit, you blessed who shall receive Heaven, but for for the fearful, and unbelieving, and abominable, and murderers, and fornicators, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, your part shall be in the lake that burns with fire and brimstone."
And when he opened the fifth seal, I saw underneath the altar the souls of them that had been slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held; and they cried with a great voice, saying, How long, O Master, the holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth? :: 6:9 - 6:11:: Apocalypse after John
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redhorror ::-
The hulk of a monster seemed dressed for the occasion. The massive steel helmet was scrawled with writing in a chalky white, perhaps from scraped bone, or something more sinister. Say no more tongues. The cryptic message was joined by strange designs, odd, eerie scrawling that didn’t seem to be done by the monster himself. Around the monstrous torso were at least forty black, worn leather belts, hiding most of his bare flesh from view, and from them hung strips of red fabric, each written upon in black. At least a hundred languages could be identified, all of them warnings to the superstitious. Finally, smeared across the butcher’s apron were the words, Bow thy heads, all ye sinners , the words in blood messily written.
The creature stood upon its perch, a large platform reached only by a set of dilapidated stairs. The handrails were rusted over in a few places, in the shape of handprints, where the monster’s timeless transgressions had worn away the steel beneath his touch. He seemed to have a strange countenance about him, as if he were enjoying himself, not just mindlessly carrying out his timeless duty. His weapon lay against the handrail, polished to a bright sheen, the razor-sharp edge free of all knicks and dings. The creature himself stood stock-still, his arms raised high into the sky, as if calling forth something wicked and terrible into his very body.
Yes, the night would be bloody. Bloody indeed.
And if any man desireth to hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouth and devoureth their enemies; and if any man shall desire to hurt them, in this manner must he be killed. These have the power to shut the heaven, that it rain not during the days of their prophecy: and they have power over the waters to turn them into blood, and to smite the earth with every plague, as often as they shall desire. :: 11:6 - 11:7 :: Apocalypse after John
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:: Soubi ::
lying_obedience ::Perfect. Perfect, calm, and stoic. Sentouki.
Pale eyes watched from behind glass as the world fell apart, this City of gods cruel and wickedly unjust. And somewhere, it was beautiful. Painted with the strokes of an artist bred in tempered horror. Amidst it, Soubi stood calm, more so towards an expression of frowning. Only once did his mouth twitch with the softest of smiles, thinking of his Sacrifice safely tucked away within the elegance of the Cathedral.
His disposition would be angry, worried. But the rules were his to abide by, ground, beaten, whipped into him, and to twist them was also his. Soubi did this for Ritsuka, for no one, and certainly not the hellaceous workings of a winged devil.
“Accepted.” A whisper. Influx.
Fingers were already at his throat to loosen the bandages there, revealing the scars, his own claim in the worlds as the wind bit at his hair, his face. Not bothering with his glasses, a simple will of igniting the wick with a wordless command, and the flames licked furiously, spinning and twisting. It fell from the sky to caress enamored flesh, burned the ice goddess into a softening glacier. It touched only her, the angle of control his alone, free to tarnish the glory, his apathy. Soubi did not fear the exhaustion, the puddle of crimson slowly beginning to brush his feet. He did not fear the tilt or sway, pushing and pulling of the crowd as he stood amongst them at the base.
Soubi feared nothing, and beauty drove the despaired.
And a great sign appeared in the sky: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. And being with child, she cried out, laboring in birth, and was in pain to be delivered :: 12:1 – 12:3 :: Apocalypse after John
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:: Lucy ::
theneweveDo you hear their screams? Do you smell their fear lanced with fresh spilled blood? Beautiful… The voice was lower than her own, buried deep inside that part of her mind that Lucy had repressed for years by taking control of her fate. Diclonius. But it had awoken, stirred by the human sacrifices (Cattle, as Rosiel had called them, even if he employed some into his service) displayed before her eyes.
I know. The world… the world has become red. Finally.
Red eyes surveyed the destruction of the statue, the frosted crimson masterpiece melting away and pouring on the floor, staining her bare feet, touching the hem of her yellow robe. She was not completely pure, lily, wearing white would be improper. This show was not fit for innocent eyes, even if Lucy considered all humans guilty of existing.
The blood did not extinguish the flames; fire lingered, consuming the sacrifices to fuel its intensity.
Lucy lowered her lashes and held her breath, enjoying the scent of sweat, tears and despair, listening to their cries and recalling the times when Kouta did not exist as anything but a bittersweet memory. Her horns itched painfully, as if growing, increasing their magnitude, drifting in a daydream of how her vectors could embrace the City whole and crush it.
Shocked, Lucy snapped her eyes open, almost panting for the effort. Biting her bottom lip, she took a leap in the air, remaining suspended above, held by two of her vectors. Tilting her head to see when Rosiel had gave her the signal, the girl focused her actions in the task assigned to her.
Nyuu would not remember - it would be alright. She would never know what her counterpart had done.
No. This isn’t for me, it’s for Rosiel and Kouta. They won’t destroy his world. If I must, I will throw myself into oblivion to protect it.
Reaching out, Lucy commanded her vectors to scout the shapeless sculpture in search of the core, in order to snatch out the heart and put an end to this chapter at last. Invisible fingers dug into the mass until they found their target and delivered the organ to her waiting mouth.
Her real hands did not touch it. They were Nyuu’s hands - they should remain spotless and white. Her mouth hesitated, repelled by the smell of repulsive human fluids, but she could not back down. Kouta depended on her and so did the victory of the war. Just as easily as I broke his heart, I can break this one.
Bracing herself, she took a bite into the raw meat and willed herself to chew on it for a minute and a half. Her face blanched, disgusted by the taste. She had mastered her nausea ages long ago, since her first murder as a child, but Lucy could not deny its terrible flavor. In spite of it, the girl spat the half chewed piece into the ground. Blood smeared on her lips, trailing down her haughty chin.
“Uncle, they must be worthless if their taste is inferior to that of cows and chickens!” Lucy exclaimed while her vectors squished the heart and threw it to the flames. “Unworthy of tribute when they taste no different to mere Cattle.”
After her closing words, Lucy landed behind Rosiel, head bowed. Soon, soon it would be over. Nyuu would awaken to see the reckoning. She was tired and wished for nothing but too sleep for long - forever.
And all that dwell on the earth shall worship him, every one whose name hath not been written from the foundation of the world in the book of life of the Lamb that hath been slain. If any man hath an ear, let him hear. If any man is for captivity, into captivity he goeth: if any man shall kill with the sword, with the sword must he be killed. Here is the patience and the faith of the saints :: 13:8 – 13: 11 :: Apocalypse after John
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:: Rosiel ::
one_of_heaven ::- speech recorded and redistributed -
"Ah, how unkind.
What with all your wailing – truly, now, what is a severed limb or two between friends anyway? - you’ve made our precious Messiah, Lanika cry. And as all ever so true Gods, her tears run deep and of blood making - your blood, your Goddess, you asked – desired - summoned her.
With each day in this City, your intentions to escape atrophy, your ambitions to conspire against a chance preordained by foolish pseudo-Gods stray to nothingness. Lovelym lovely theatrics and drama, to be sure. When they severed you from your homes or the Void, they proposed an invitation to war, however subtle, however guised. Accept it.
Fight – the Curses, the Carousel, whatever your nemesis – but fight, or stand stilled and meek, and therefore worship.
But if you should worship? Do it well, for by the God that anointed me, I shall see their Holy days of Curse respected, their Rituals kept, their Sacrifices honoured. I shall bleed you, cattle that you are, I shall hunt you, I shall humiliate you for followers and slaves lacking volition!
V – how did it go?
Il nemico del mio nemico è il mio amico - your utterance, ser. If your touch of accents is as vile as your tongue, you will have made a mockery of the phonetics - but the principle stands to reason. Acolytes shall pay with and for their masters – such is and has always been the way of it.
Idleness will prove lethal - idleness is the fabric of Sacrifice.
And so, by all means, may you drown in Your Messiah’s tears."
[ooc : What the ritual will include in its whole:
- statue creation;
- sermon on the nature of gods;
- Executions ♥
- statue being half melt;
- heart inside being...played with;
- statue being melted;
- parting "fight the Gods or worship them as sacrifices" speech.
well, we ended up with it earlier than scheduled, but I assume characters can participate? Let us hope…why yes, that is indeed a highly manipped Mistress Nine picture. ^_^ ]
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The blond vampire did a slight smile and raised the jagged snake knife into view. It flashed red, shinny surface relecting the statue's color, "You also have yet to see what I can do."
Ran a gloved fingertip lightly down the blade's edge, "I don't plan on blindly charging in, waiting for the right moment to strike."