ELL-OO-GA !?!?!, ummmm, wiping his nose jerking his head to the left, :sniff: has anyone seen him? He was gonna pway wit me. We wud gonna watch the burds, :sniff: , he wipes his nose again as a booger got away, jerking his head to the right this time, ELL-OO-GA !?!?!,
DID ANYWUN C DA KID, EL-OO-GA ?
HM Mafia, 11:00PM, SERIAL #2: To Pagan Gods
The Santeria priest ambled down the hallway, quite aware of the evil in this place, and quite prepared for it.
Settling into his selected bedroom he started his preparations for the night, clearing the center of the room of any furniture or adornments. Carefully, on a nightstand he had pulled closer, he layed out his tools. A skinning knife, a vial of mercury and several other, harder to find spiritual foci.
Smearing some blood, pigs blood from an earlier sacrifice (you couldn't carry around enough livestock these days, so sometimes he had to make due), on his chest, arms, and face, he began weaving back and forth in slow time to the rhythm of his own heart beat. Gradually, his heart sped to a faster pace, and in turn so did his rythmic dance.
His chants began to echo off the walls, and even deeper, in his own soul. He called out to Ibeji, seeking favor and protection from sorceries and demons, he called to Babaluaiye seeking to purify the sickness that so obviously infested the house and his companions. His eyes, unseeing, began to flutter.
Drinking the vial of mercury, he reached for the skinning knife, only to find it missing, irritated, but fearful of angering those gods he was honoring, he searched with his hands, feeling his other tools, but yet he could not find the knife.
In a state of ferver he spun abruptly, willing the spirits out of the room, and screaming at them in his tongue.
"Your foolish prayers can't save you now," came a voice, from somewhere deeper in the room.
Trying to clear his mind from the cloud of the ritual, Elegua glanced frantically around the room. The source of the voice, however, couldn't be seen.
Crying out again to his gods, asking why he was being tormented so, his plea was cut short when suddenly the tip of the skinning knife erupted from his neck with a spew of blood and spittle.
The candles were extinguished by a sudden gust of chill wind. Seconds later, their wicks reignited with black flames, flames of murder. Their center burned darkest, like the soul of the assassin - full of greed, hatred, and insanity.
Turning as he fell to the floor, the preist saw the outline of his attacker, saw the killer enveloped by evil and hatred. Then the darkness consumed him.
~.~
Dropping the knife next to the corpse of the Cuban priest, the killer stalked away from the room. The candles burned low. Under normal circumstances the lighting might be romantic, but with the blood and life still draining from the man on the ground, it was anything but a pleasant sight.
The killer left without further delay and walked alone in the halls, accompanied only by the sound of a thousand clocks signaling a new hour, and a new corpse.
Aramous
21 years ago
Jinheim
21 years ago
Dear diary,
I am scared completely shitless. The Victor guy was the first person here, so I thought maybe he was in league with the hosts of this event and his death was staged (albeit very convincingly) in order to scare the shit out of us. I have seen a lot of cows butchered in my time on the ranges, but I have never seen anything like that. I've also seen young studs so cute that I just wanted to eat them up, but not in the literal sense. What kind of sick fuck actually eats people?!.
This third death, the death of the scrumptious little Puerto Rican, or whatever he was, proves that this is not a hoax, and it is not a coincidence. It's a damn shame, too. That lady that died was an annoying alcoholic drama queen, but this one was a damn fine piece of man ass, and I bet he was kinky, too.
But I digress. I am starting to have serious doubts about whether or not coming here was a good idea. I wanted to have an adventure, not get myself killed. I wasn't opposed to a little danger along the way, but I guess, in my naivity, I thought that in the end, the good guys always win. That's not true, is it?
As a gay cowboy, my heart is mainly filled with love for the masculine charms of men and admiration for the quiet nobility of cows, and there is little place in it for God. I am seriously starting to reconsider my stance regarding the man upstairs. As I write this, I say a silent prayer (the first in many years) that I hope he hears, and allows me to live out the night.
P.S. that little brat that talks to herself is really starting to piss me off.
Yours Truly,
Alexander Richards, the Last Gay Cowboy.
I am scared completely shitless. The Victor guy was the first person here, so I thought maybe he was in league with the hosts of this event and his death was staged (albeit very convincingly) in order to scare the shit out of us. I have seen a lot of cows butchered in my time on the ranges, but I have never seen anything like that. I've also seen young studs so cute that I just wanted to eat them up, but not in the literal sense. What kind of sick fuck actually eats people?!.
This third death, the death of the scrumptious little Puerto Rican, or whatever he was, proves that this is not a hoax, and it is not a coincidence. It's a damn shame, too. That lady that died was an annoying alcoholic drama queen, but this one was a damn fine piece of man ass, and I bet he was kinky, too.
But I digress. I am starting to have serious doubts about whether or not coming here was a good idea. I wanted to have an adventure, not get myself killed. I wasn't opposed to a little danger along the way, but I guess, in my naivity, I thought that in the end, the good guys always win. That's not true, is it?
As a gay cowboy, my heart is mainly filled with love for the masculine charms of men and admiration for the quiet nobility of cows, and there is little place in it for God. I am seriously starting to reconsider my stance regarding the man upstairs. As I write this, I say a silent prayer (the first in many years) that I hope he hears, and allows me to live out the night.
P.S. that little brat that talks to herself is really starting to piss me off.
Yours Truly,
Alexander Richards, the Last Gay Cowboy.
MEC
21 years ago
/ooc - I was under the impression that victor's life force was fed upon, not his body.
Eve
21 years ago
Alexis had had enough of the shrieking accusations and the rest of the general chaos surrounding the group of would-be killers and potential victims. She grew tired of it enough that even the thought of being totally alone in this mad house was not enough to deter her from leaving the group. Going off on her own, she managed to find that hall of rooms and find an empty one for herself.
She quickly locked the door behind her and rested for a moment with her back against the cool wood. Taking a deep breath, she took in her surroundings and headed to the comfortable looking bed. Sinking into the luxurious bedding, she lay there staring up blankly at nothing in particular. Sleep could come quite easily, if she only let her eyes drift shut. However, given the circumstances of the evening, that did not seem the wisest choice to make.
That thought in mind, she quickly rose back up and slipped her purse off her shoulder. It was one of those large bags, the kind she could probably have carried the kitchen sink in and no one would have noticed. It did make keeping track of the contents rather difficult at times, though. "Dammit, where did my Vivarin go?" she queried of no one in particular. Rummaging a bit more around the bottom of the purse, her fingers finally curled around the right bottle. "Aha!" she exclaimed and wandered towards the bathroom for a glass of water.
She quickly locked the door behind her and rested for a moment with her back against the cool wood. Taking a deep breath, she took in her surroundings and headed to the comfortable looking bed. Sinking into the luxurious bedding, she lay there staring up blankly at nothing in particular. Sleep could come quite easily, if she only let her eyes drift shut. However, given the circumstances of the evening, that did not seem the wisest choice to make.
That thought in mind, she quickly rose back up and slipped her purse off her shoulder. It was one of those large bags, the kind she could probably have carried the kitchen sink in and no one would have noticed. It did make keeping track of the contents rather difficult at times, though. "Dammit, where did my Vivarin go?" she queried of no one in particular. Rummaging a bit more around the bottom of the purse, her fingers finally curled around the right bottle. "Aha!" she exclaimed and wandered towards the bathroom for a glass of water.
Dia
21 years ago
Dia had rushed from the table as soon as possible and searched for a room to collapse in. Her head throbbed something fierce. It was all too much for her to take in. Everyone had introduced themselves but still, something didnt seem right. Something was just off and now, two of them were dead!
Dia squeezed her grey eyes shut. Her hand resting on her forhead she tried to concentrate, tried to think, tried to calm down. Suddenly she heard chanting nearby. It seemed to comming through the wall, she didn know if it was comforting or annoying.
Her eyes felt heavy and she didnt fight them. As her mind shut down and her body went numb she welcomed it. As she went out she heard a final scream and saw the chanters face distorted in an horrific scream.
----30 minutes later-----
Dia woke with a start. Everything was quiet, the chanting gone. She shivered as she remembered the last thought she had before she fell asleep. Her long brown hair was plastered to skull.
"What?" confused she stood up and walked to the mirror on the wall. Her hair was soaked. She must have had some bad dreams to cause this much sweat!
Dia walked to the door and opened it and peered out. She stepped to the neighboring door and knocked, her knock pushed the door and it swung open. The sight in front of her made her drop to her knees. She let out a blood curdling scream and collapsed.
Dia squeezed her grey eyes shut. Her hand resting on her forhead she tried to concentrate, tried to think, tried to calm down. Suddenly she heard chanting nearby. It seemed to comming through the wall, she didn know if it was comforting or annoying.
Her eyes felt heavy and she didnt fight them. As her mind shut down and her body went numb she welcomed it. As she went out she heard a final scream and saw the chanters face distorted in an horrific scream.
----30 minutes later-----
Dia woke with a start. Everything was quiet, the chanting gone. She shivered as she remembered the last thought she had before she fell asleep. Her long brown hair was plastered to skull.
"What?" confused she stood up and walked to the mirror on the wall. Her hair was soaked. She must have had some bad dreams to cause this much sweat!
Dia walked to the door and opened it and peered out. She stepped to the neighboring door and knocked, her knock pushed the door and it swung open. The sight in front of her made her drop to her knees. She let out a blood curdling scream and collapsed.
Cobert
21 years ago
On observing the scene, Clara was disgusted. She had avoided the previous death, but her curiousity could not be held back. Blood, burnt candles, and the smell of death were what her senses detected first.
"I will not make myself a victim, not again. We must find whoever did this and bring them to justice."
The crowd seemed to agree.
With nothing else to gain from remaining at the scene, Clara retreated to her room to collect her thoughts.
"I will not make myself a victim, not again. We must find whoever did this and bring them to justice."
The crowd seemed to agree.
With nothing else to gain from remaining at the scene, Clara retreated to her room to collect her thoughts.
Slipnish
21 years ago
The lynching had been most satisfying in some archaic and brutally cavemanish ways. Reverend Bob prayed vehemently for the sinner, but of course loathed the sin.
He shuddered at the memory of the man being engulfed in flames, and wondered briefly what kind of ratings that sort of thing would fetch rather than healing all the shills he stashed in the audience at each show.
A commotion outside his chosed bedroom rousted him from his musings of overflowing coffers and high, double digit Neilson ratings.
He stopped briefly to pat his combover in place, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the antique chair where he had tossed it when he entered the room.
Outside a gathering knot of people in the hallway were talking in muted hushes and flowing into and out of a room just down the hall.
"What in the name of all that's holy, is going on here?" He bellowed down the hall.
"Its the voddo priest," the gay cowboy minced, tears wobbling beneath each eye, "someone's killed him."
"Son, someone didn't kill him, it was GAWD'S JUDGEMENT descending on him for being a heretical chicken killer and despoiler of children. Probably got hopped up on some drugs, and missed killing another of GAWD's creatures, and cut his own head off. "
Reverend Bob paused to make sure everyone in the corridor could hear his diatribe.
"I'm telling you people, it isn't too late. There is still time to repent. GAWD forgives you. I forgive you. But now, this here Voodoo priest," he paused and added italics in the air with four meaty fingers at the word priest, "has gone on to his just reward of burning in Hell for all eternity."
The Reverend turned and headed back towards his room, but paused and turned back towards the cowboy.
He lowered his gaze to the floor and spoke in almost a whisper.
"Son, you know Gawd hates homo-seks-uals, almost as much as heretics, don't you? I think you need to get prayed up, and paid up with the Lord. You never know when your time is up, and around here....that could be real soon.
As the good book says in the Book of the Apistle's Apocrapha, Chapter 19, verses 42-44: 'The sight of one man lying with another is an abomination in the sight of the Lawd. No man who lieth with another shall come to the Lawd, for He does not swing that way.' Amen. Remember son, its Adam and Eve, NOT Adam and Steve."
Reverend Bob turned back around, walked into his room, and closed the door.
He shuddered at the memory of the man being engulfed in flames, and wondered briefly what kind of ratings that sort of thing would fetch rather than healing all the shills he stashed in the audience at each show.
A commotion outside his chosed bedroom rousted him from his musings of overflowing coffers and high, double digit Neilson ratings.
He stopped briefly to pat his combover in place, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the antique chair where he had tossed it when he entered the room.
Outside a gathering knot of people in the hallway were talking in muted hushes and flowing into and out of a room just down the hall.
"What in the name of all that's holy, is going on here?" He bellowed down the hall.
"Its the voddo priest," the gay cowboy minced, tears wobbling beneath each eye, "someone's killed him."
"Son, someone didn't kill him, it was GAWD'S JUDGEMENT descending on him for being a heretical chicken killer and despoiler of children. Probably got hopped up on some drugs, and missed killing another of GAWD's creatures, and cut his own head off. "
Reverend Bob paused to make sure everyone in the corridor could hear his diatribe.
"I'm telling you people, it isn't too late. There is still time to repent. GAWD forgives you. I forgive you. But now, this here Voodoo priest," he paused and added italics in the air with four meaty fingers at the word priest, "has gone on to his just reward of burning in Hell for all eternity."
The Reverend turned and headed back towards his room, but paused and turned back towards the cowboy.
He lowered his gaze to the floor and spoke in almost a whisper.
"Son, you know Gawd hates homo-seks-uals, almost as much as heretics, don't you? I think you need to get prayed up, and paid up with the Lord. You never know when your time is up, and around here....that could be real soon.
As the good book says in the Book of the Apistle's Apocrapha, Chapter 19, verses 42-44: 'The sight of one man lying with another is an abomination in the sight of the Lawd. No man who lieth with another shall come to the Lawd, for He does not swing that way.' Amen. Remember son, its Adam and Eve, NOT Adam and Steve."
Reverend Bob turned back around, walked into his room, and closed the door.