Re: The Trump Card
The Gorges of R'lyeh are alive with sound. Not with music, but with the ceaseless screaming of the Polypal mothers as they pay homage to the Great Race and to Sijansur, god of the Aboleths.
The screams carry well through the depths of R'lyeh, but there is one place, a lightless place beneath the fields of Polypal mothers and the sea floor itself, where the sound reverberates and is amplified immensely. Here, the stone itself vibrates. This is a holy place, where the proud Atlantean princes are taken to be broken and where Tsagosh, prophet of Sijansur, now awaits communion with the Master.
A rush of cool water behind the once-noble Atlantean indicates that the portal has opened; the seas are cold where the Master now hunts. The darkness itself seems to dim, and the screaming to become less distinct. He dares not turn, not to move, for the Master accepts no thought, nor impulse, that is not his own.
"Tsagosh. Pillar. Surface. Obey. Baracus. Hannibal. Gordius. Obey. Starlight. Doorway. Cliff. Obey. Sijansur. Airlife Rings. Obey. Soil. Sissassuss. A Light Rain. Obey. Tsagosh. Chutirel. Oil. Obey. Mord. Gordius. Apogee. 38. Obey. Obey. OBEY..."
After a time, the Master's voice fades to a mutter and is subsumed by the dim screeching of the Polypal Mothers. And abruptly, as if waking from a dream, the vibration of the screams again batter the inside of Tsagosh's skull. The water about him becomes temperate once more. The Master is no longer present, but Tsagoth cowers in stillness for a time before turning and gliding from the chamber. The Master must be obeyed.
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