Futuristic The Sacred Flesh

[Grey]

You must be dreaming; asleep or anesthetized.


Dreaming of black cables rising like towers into polluted skies. Dreaming of motes of blue light dancing in cathedrals of bone. Dreaming of grey-black blood, slick and coveted.


Some part of you perceives voices. Or perhaps you imagine them.


"...any idea what you are asking? Ascending this one is a grave trespass. Archthing Tartarus will destroy you! Perhaps me, as well."


"Has she reapplied your engrams? Have you no faith? The Archthing is wise, yes, but I have heard the voice of the God-Engine. This one is not meant to scour ventilation shafts."


"Fine. Fine! What is the form it must be given?"


"It has been indoctrinated to tell you - demand an answer and you will feel the response."


Something reaches into your sleeping mind, shoves roughly at the fabric of your psyche. What is your purpose...?

 

[Silvertongued]

To administrate. To ascertain and respond, to send forth accordingly.


...to command.

 

[Grey]

"Ah, it is to be a Priest! This is blasphemy, Iriael. I am not authorized to..."


"Rebirthers take you, Rulat, you have the highest clearance! This is a sacred task."


"...This. This is sacred. Yes..."


Once more, the mental probe brushes the upper reaches of your mind, feeling for the implanted response. Where are you intended to serve?


>The Temples


>The Core


>The Underbelly


>The Wombs

 

[Silvertongued]

Not to serve gods, nor command upon the works of others. It would seem fitting to start from beneath. To see how far one could climb from the very bottom.


The Underbelly.

 

[Grey]

"More and more this seems to prove you true, Iriael. Forgive me."


"You are forgiven. I would have said the same."


Once again, a touch that has come to feel like a lover.


Specific functions?


>Investigating Heresy


>Directing a Temple

 

[Silvertongued]

Again, we should build, not tear down, at least for the moment.


Directing a Temple.

 

[Syndrome]

Directing a Temple.

Seconded.


One supposes that this is an acceptable outlet for eventual creation through the affluence it will hold on possible religious sects.

 

[Grey]

"I'm frightened, Iriael."


"I know. So am I. Give it life, Rulat."


At once your senses are awash with violence, agony and ecstasy, and then - darkness.


You open your eyes. Your vision is unclear, at first, in the dark of the factory-temple. But you feel, with an itching sensation, the corpus of your eyes readjust to the infrared. Glancing around the blood-slick chamber of your birth, sealed in, you do not see your creators. But you hear one.


"You needn't know my name, newborn, and you may name yourself. We cannot see you - ever. Your cultural engrams will trigger soon, and you will understand. You will answer to me, do you understand?"


As the voice speaks, you look at yourself - very tall, slender, bone-white and spongy, vaguely humanoid. Your flesh itches to take shape.

 

[Syndrome]

@Grey


So are we naming ourself, or taking a form? (Sorry for putting this here, didn't see an OOC tab. I can edit this with my next course of action)

 

[Grey]

Both. Although some standard shapes for priests will develop, too - a head crest, no eyes, a biological cape, that kind of thing.

 

[Silvertongued]

To command, one needs to be commanding. Tall. Lithe. More than one set of arms. A thin long *strong* tail, capable of supporting our bodyweight.


As for a name...


Atara.

 

[Grey]

Taking shape is an odd sensation, by turns a fierce itching and sensual satisfaction.


"Good. Good," the voice responds. The tone implies discomfort - at your own disconcertingly blank voice. This is your social analysis programming activating, you realise.


"There is time to make some minor alterations to you before we prepare you for transit. Is there anything you need?"


You already have your communion node for accessing the Mysteries, and the appropriate suite of memetic weapons for inspiring faith and terror. Your form is comparatively fragile, but in the event aggressors are not cowed by your authority you will have a chance to assign bodyguards.

 

[Silvertongued]

"Perhaps information," said quietly, thoughtfully. "The what is freely understood, but the question of why... why am I?"