The journey to Sanfield Rock was a risky one. One cannot trust the airlines lately, one must expect delayed departures, security problems, and myriad other hassles. By land, the trip requires ten to eleven hours of drive-time, depending on traffic conditions, and there are but eight short hours of darkness from sunset to sunrise at this latitude and time of year. A younger, more brash kindred might have pushed his luck, tried to make the trip counting on being able to average over seventy-five miles per hour to make up the time. With age, one tends to surmount such egotistical and futile ventures. Survival is what matters, not bragging rights. As such, I crated myself up as I did the rest of my belongings, sealing myself into one of the company’s air-tight sarcophagi and having that crated and loaded into a van which was then driven directly to my new warehouse. We arrived just before sundown, my ghouls un-crating me as the right eye of Horus closes beyond the horizon. As soon as I am on my feet, I make haste past the many dozens of wooden crates strewn about the warehouse, up the stairs to my new quarters where the corpse of the fatman awaits me.

My underlings will un-crate and distribute my belongings as I tend to more vital matters. I must work feverishly to complete my work this night, and force myself to continue well into the daylight hours, as I have never before been able to complete this ritual in less than twelve hours. Yet it is vital that I do, for tomorrow I must present myself to Herr Vanderweyden. Tonight, I will make this place my own. Tonight, I will inform the gods of my new location.

Slamming my tome down upon the pulpit near the worktable, I quickly rifle through to find the spell I seek, though I have performed it many times, it must be flawless the book will ensure that my ego is sufficiently crucified so as not to hinder my progress. Removing the long, bone dagger from the inverted sheath hidden beneath my billowing shirt, I begin carefully removing the perfumed linen wrappings from the obese mummified husk.

As I begin defiling his body, I tell the man a story. It is the meticulous recounting of Set vanquishing Osiris, informing the corpse of Set's subsequent penetration of the Western Lands and the powerlessness of Osiris to stop his progress. The methods and practices that my people put this corpse through ensured his immortal self instant passage into the paradise of the Egyptians. He has had more than a day to bask in ‘heaven’ - more than he ever deserved. Now, I shall call him back, tear his sahu from the presence of the gods and re-incarcerate it within his mummified husk to serve as a gateway.

The serpentine criss-blade is honed better than a razor, the ‘Y’ incision into the man’s chest, through several inches of fat offers no more resistance than cutting water. The ribcage is pried open, his hollowed-out gut is stuffed with dollar bills and coins. I make many minute cuts into his arms, legs, skull and spine, exposing the bone beneath so that I may drill hundreds of steel eyelet-screws deep into his skeletal system. A steel-frame is erected around the body which also has a series of eyelets bolted into it. Through these, catgut strings will be laced, to twist and contort the man’s frame into a tortured and twisted mockery of his sins. His throat is slit, his tongue pulled through the new orifice, dangling down his chest. His genitals are removed and placed in his own mouth, eyelids are cut away revealing empty sockets, which are promptly filled with his unprotected testicles.

Crystalized in the self-inflicted abject misery that was his daily existence, a purgatory of endless consumption, the end result is reminiscent of one of those sitting Buddha statues. Only this would be the shitting Buddha. He is sitting upon his haunches, one leg twisted 180 degrees at the knee-joint, there are filthy dollar-bills emerging from his sphincter, hovering tenuously over a pile of tarnished coins. One arm, distended at a freakish angle, the fat of his thighs butting against the fat of his upper arm to prevent his reaching too far, his fingers grope for that which he has just excreted. The other arm shoves his own penis into his mouth, a hapless and unnoticed bystander to his voracious hunger. His gut and chest splayed open, that one might have a window through which to see all that he consumes fall straight through him. His tongue wagging from his open throat and the testicular orbs bulging from his eyesockets add the last touch to the horrified choking expression on his face.

2008-07-21 15:01:24 Drexl rolls 6 dice to Sta+Occ(Open the Gate) (Diff 9) 3,8,9,10,2, 8,5,8 (2 successes) [Roll to stay awake for ritual (VtM.196)] [Dicepool is restricted to current Path-rating VtM.134]

Stepping back to admire his handiwork, the final step is the reversal of the canopic jar arrangement. Like the inversion of the crucifix, or pentacle, it serves to make unholy what was meant to be blessed.

The southern jar, dedicated to the human-headed Amset, containing the stomach and large intestine trades places with the Northern jar, dedicated to the baboon-headed Hapi with the small intestines. Guarded by Tuamutef, the jackal, the Eastern jar with the heart and lungs changes places with the Western, under the protection of Khebsemuf, the hawk, it holds the liver and gallbladder. This last gesture serves as the combination-lock imprisoning the fatman’s energies within his mummified husk until it rots to nothingness, that I might exploit them at will.

2008-07-21 14:49:20 Drexl rolls 6 dice to Int+Occ(Open the Gate) (Diff 4) 10,5,5,5,6, 10,4,10,4 (9 successes) [+1 Occ die for Talisman, -1 diff for Book of Set] [Dicepool is restricted to current Path-rating VtM.134]

Now, I sleep, tomorrow I shall expose myself to the scrutiny of the Camarilla.

{OOC: the emoticons were completely unintentional, apparently the forum automatically translates certain combinations of symbols to smileys. Such as a colon followed by the letter p, for 'page number'. I was going to change them back, but I feel that it adds something to the post.}

[[occ: i am speechless. a truly profane work of art. well done.]]  

--Last edited by Solomon on 2008-08-25 02:24:30 --

[[Why thank you good sir, I do but try.]]