Yes, yes. I know it's still way too early for NaNoWriMo, but I have no intentions of writing the full story before then. Think of this as something to tide you over for the next 4 months. ( ≖‿≖)
This is also what happens when I've just finished the Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath.
--
In unknown locales, a place fantastically placed and well far off from the reach of humanity's feeble imaginations and dreams, laid a court of curiosity. Countless undulating shapes, all of them almost invisible against the infinite blackness of space, moved and shifted in a grotesque parody of a dance, if such beings had ever heard of such a concept; accompanied by the heinous whines blown from alien lips and abject drums beat by supernal projections, all of it surrounding a commodious mass, whose scale stretched the limits of sanity to even contemplate. It was the true body of the Daemon Sultan Azathoth, who was the font of all creation, and at the end of the universe, when his lidless eyes shifted open and his mind roused from sopor, would be its destroyer.
The workings of the mind of such a being infinitely greater than any mortal is one utterly inscrutable and alien to human understanding. The closest analogue would be a gestalt consciousness, a network of trillions of individual minds linked together, aware of each and every other linked with it. It was wholly unnatural, however - the minds were all of different sapient creatures, and very much unstable. Against so many other consciousnesses, no central personality could ever be permanently formed, nor could the consciousness ever focus on any particular task at a time. Given its complete and utter catatonia for all eons past, the being was termed the blind idiot god. It had never seen anything, everything else being so utterly small and insignificant next to it, and it never knew anything, because it didn't need to.
Occasionally, an exceptionally strong willed mortal may imprint his personality onto the Outer God. It is fleeting, a sliver of ice in an open flame - it lasts only a few days, at very most, before it is lost to the sea of screaming minds once more. It is thus, a miracle, an event that violated all logic, that a singular personality had managed to be dominant in the Daemon Sultan for nine months.
It was a human, from a planet too small to matter and too far away to bother with until recently. The circumstances of its creation were no less exceptional; a small part of the dark god was grafted into a human infant, and nurtured as sacrifice. In its apotheosis, it fulfilled the terms of its creation, and now reigned over reality with an iron fist. Only its intelligence remained, of course. Anything else was extraneous.
A human figure, a long haired blonde female sits on top of the rest of Azathoth. She watches the stars click into place, and a thin, malevolent smile plays on her lips.
Time to claim your reward.
--
We now focus on a scene, set in a place of utter obscurity and inaccessibility. It would have been picturesque - tall mountains shrouded in mist, surrounded by stretches of forest that extended to as far as the eye could see. Large patches of this forest has since been cleared, and here laid a stone altar, a slight depression upon its surface and dark patches of rust brown running down the sides. A young girl, clothed only by a thin white dress, laid on top of it, having been long drugged into sedation.
A tall figure approached the altar, while rows of unblinking acolytes watched the procession. This was a ritual, calling upon the gods for a slip of knowledge, giving them a fresh human sacrifice in return. It was never wise to badger the gods too much, even with something in return, but on occasion they would deign to give an answer.
A sharp dagger sinks into the chest of the girl, and he recites the invocation for a shade of The All In One -
a pale conglomerate of protoplasmic globes, a sickly yellowish grey colour comes
and the corpse of the girl reanimates, ripping the stiletto from her chest and stabbing the Priest in the throat, slicing downwards to his collarbone. He gurgles, choking on his own blood, and as he falls the acolytes mass and charge the girl. She whips the dagger back, and goes for the kill.
