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- Tyrannus Sabiru, Augur of Abbadon says seriously to you, "For years you have
- dedicated yourself to the mysteries of Suffering, to the understanding that
- facing, and embracing, our pain is the wellspring of immortality, power, and
- understanding."
- Tyrannus Sabiru, Augur of Abbadon says formally to you, "However, before you
- step out of thine ignorance and into the glories of the Suffering Lord, you
- shall endure one final test of your faithfulness."
- Sabiru approaches a series of steps adorned with countless candles and lights
- the wicks, illuminating the room with a garden of bright, flickering flames.
- As he speaks, a curtain seems drawn against the stained-glass windows that
- decorate the ivory walls of the chamber, banishing the light of the outside
- world and casting the room in the dim, flickering glow of the candled steps.
- Tyrannus Sabiru, Augur of Abbadon says seriously to you, "To wait in patient
- Suffering, to dwell in the majesty of His unfolding wisdom, is to embrace that
- which cannot be endured, and to accept as friends the agonies that your mortal
- mind will mark as foes."
- Distant words echo through the darkened chamber, "You face this final test
- alone, Ruth, as we are each of us ultimately alone in our Suffering, save for
- His presence in the souls of the faithful." As this final guidance trails into
- nothingness, the candles begin winking out until the chamber is cast into utter
- darkness, as black as pitch.
- In the emptiness of the ebon shadows, low howls of muffled screams find you in
- the dark, marking you with vague sounds of inhuman anguish. Never more than a
- whisper at your ear, the cries summon images that lay heavy on your mind,
- terrifying and beautiful.
- Without warning, a flash of lightless fire lances across your torso in a searing
- arc, filling your nostrils with the sickly-sweet aroma of charred flesh. Again
- and again, the flames lash across the back of your legs, over your brow as you
- are slowly burned alive.
- As quickly as they began, the volcanic beatings stop, leaving you hanging in the
- darkness, seemingly held aloft by a cruel string that runs from the base of your
- neck into the endless shadows overhead. You can no longer smell your burning
- flesh, you can no longer taste the air at all. Unable to move, unable to fall,
- you exist as the lingering sensation of unspeakable pain.
- On the edge of your senses, you hear the faint sound of a daemonic chorus,
- rising in the distance like a thousand stained-glass windows shattering at once.
- Once indecipherable except as a cacophonic dissonance, your battered mind begins
- to recognize patterns in the noise, and in the patterns, voices.
- Familiar voices, male and female, adult and child, whisper to you in tones just
- within your range of hearing. Hanging in the black oblivion like so much meat
- upon a hook, the voices begin to crystallize as belonging to your enemies and
- friends, family and comrades. Voices from your past, voices from just the other
- day, and some you recognize as belonging to neither the past nor present.
- No words of kindness, no sympathy greets your ears as the voices become clearer,
- more distinct. Peals of derisive laughter and ridicule mingle with bitter
- accusations, some true, some false. Every failure, every betrayal, your every
- stumble is recalled to mind by the familiar voices, feeding off of one another's
- cruelty in a vicious crescendo of mockery and contempt.
- The visceral laughter and accusations increase in pitch and intensity until all
- that remains are the wild, bestial screams of a vengeful mob. The noise reaches
- a fever pitch as you feel a warm, wet sensation flow from your ears down the
- sides of your face and neck, dripping into the darkness below your feet. With
- the immediacy of a thunderclap, the infernal din falls silent, ringing in your
- mind for a moment before leaving you in utter silence.
- Alone in the stillness, your pain throbs through your being without distractions
- to offer you surcease or respite. After what feels like hours, an oppressive
- change in the very air descends around you, constricting against your skin,
- weighting your lungs until breathing becomes nigh impossible. The pressure
- squeezes until you feel your eyes begin to draw back within your skull, your
- ears singing with pain. Points of light blossom behind your eyes as it seems the
- Suffering Lord, Himself, has caught you in His crushing, agonizing grasp.
- The points coalesce into a single, blinding radiance, as you feel your very soul
- collapsing inward upon itself in a final expression of His divine suffering.
- Consciousness, your last remaining link to your former life, shrinks in the
- presence of His magnificence, dwindling to nothing more than a speck suspended
- in the light of His strength and agony.
- You awake to find yourself lying on the floor, the candles casting the ivory
- tile beneath your cheek in a warm luminescence. Exhausted, your limbs slowly
- accede to your commands, each movement registering a stiffness that is slow to
- fade. Drained and weary, but alive, your eyes adjust to the light, and you find
- you are no longer alone.
- Tyrannus Sabiru, Augur of Abbadon smiles and says formally to you, "Rise, Ruth,
- Neophyte of Exquisite Discomfort, Adik of the Suffering Lord."
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