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Did You Just Romance Cthulhu/Noble Space Savage (Or, Before Prologue)
Firstly, something to listen to: here.
Next piece: April 17, 2013
In file form: Before Prologue
(Next time there will be a file with all of the chapters to date, and so on.)
“Did you just Romance Cthulhu”/”Noble Space Savage”
Chapter One
This one often thinks that things are much less to circumstance and coincidence than things are generally imagined; it is not that these things are preordained, or that there is some power at work… it is that this land that we call home is contained, between sheets of paper, and the power of nuance. I am certain there is some sort of methodology to the madness, and in some ways, only one person could possibly be to blame; his name is the writer, and he knows all, before it even happens. There’s something lovely at foot, but that is not your concern as of the moment; the concern should be that this one is your narrator — for the time being, at least. This one is not the writer, but he is always looking onto the situation. This one’s name is Talira Bosulrus, and I am the evil one in this story.
But not by choice. There is something at work that keeps me at service of such evil; it is an evil to evils, and it goes deeper than such. One of my many labors of import is to keep watch of the lady, who is almost always kept unawares of her position in these matters, but in the long run, she must be surveyed, and kept tempted by the erotic swarm that keeps me under employ. It is this name which this one and so many others call him so as to continue to remain competent in their speech. For his name, which should not be uttered, only wrote is: Y'ltshalath. This one is still unsure of the syllables that go into the creation of the utterance of it; for this reason alone, he does not attempt it.
One would run from this name, surely. It has all of the makings of something evil, and perhaps it does, and this one has grown complacent. This one was at first somewhat terrified. His first words were ‘how do you do?’ and the most honest part about the fright is that this one could not see the mouth from which it spoke. This initial terror wore off after I realized that it did not speak per se. It writhed in convulsions -- attuned itself with the target -- transmuting its message into any language that was needed, and it was so. There was the necessary sensation that one was speaking of course, but that was only a formality. By the time I was in the erotic swarm’s service for over seven months, I had forgot about this altogether, and it seemed like he was in my mind all but the times this one had left the keep for somewhere far, far away. It was something that this one wished would happen more often.
—
This one wakes to the morning, where he addresses the door with care. This one has not seen the lady in quite sometime, so is very cautious in sliding it open, the rock of the keep cold like the steppe grasses on Larnaras that kept my bosom so tender on all of the nights all so many years ago. This one opened the door and saw that the lady was finally coming to her senses, which was a problem in this specific case. “Lady Tsvinsky! Matriarch Urar! Your love will see you now!” It was poor that they could not maintain themselves similarly. Urar was a mere, fickle human. In the last five years, she had shown senility, and was growing more and more improbably off the ball than usual. Perhaps the erotic swarm had bothered her mind in the way that his family had too.
The Outer Gods had disowned him for his various philanderings, and he was banished to Earth as a result. For all of the dancing that the Outer Gods do, they sure had a great try at bureaucracy. Urar came with this one, and walked to the den, which was from floor to ceiling a grey stone that had been unearthed from lands far away. The end of human civilization did not bring an end to that love of castles and fortresses that found itself so at the heart of so many inherently evil people. R’lyeh was such a place, until Kassogtha took half of his serviles and half of the city where Dread Cthulhu slept. In my description, I see Urar and the Erotic Swarm together, yet again, I am disgusted, and turn away, as I see the worms writhing to the the various orifices of the body. For once, for the first time in this week, the swarm lived to his name, and it bathed the lady Urar in its vain eroticism. There was a moment of silence before it was broken by coos of jubilations and complete ecstasy.
It was nine months thereafter that the starspawn of Y'ltshalath was bore; she was of the human form, but in her heart there was a fire beyond description; it was a hardened, eldritch heart. The swarm and a Urar were all but disgusted at this new child. They struggled to name it. It was… was just too normal to comprehend. There was something just caustic about her unbridled normality. They named it Alice, and then she was my own charge. I took her as my own, and attempted to keep her straight; upright. Like a proper girl. Noble. Strong. Fierce. The belle of the ball. An entertainer in all ways but those that kept harlots in good employ; for my Alice was the thing that kept this job one that I must secure.
Perhaps the swarm had planned this, and attempted to keep me from running. This is why I made Alice keen like a knife and smart like a jumpsuit. This one stands with her, until it is her time to leave me here; like the prophet must not see his most-promised land. This one fears that day approaches soon. Fifteen years have come, and this one doubts she will be of any help in that one’s escape.
