CallofCthulu is creating
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I know too much, and the cult still lives!
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The Trials of the Old Ones.
Does the suffering never end? Will the torment not abate? Mine is a path strewn with razor blades and poisoned barbs. I will complete a monthly twenty four hour ordeal, struggling through some of the most agonizing experiences available on life, chosen by you, the acolytes of suffering.
About
I am the call. I exist as your priest in the noisome depths of R'lyeh. The most fragile of threads that connects you to dread Cthulhu. Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn! Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!
Location
England, UK
Top PatronsSee all 55
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In the time before time, beings of unimaginable horror and staggering disregard for all life, save their own, stood at odds with each other or in the most feeble of alliances.
Supremely indifferent to the activities of humanity, the worship and adoration cast into the void, seeking a home, and possessed of nothing but the most primal of instincts, they existed in a vacuum of nebulous putrescence.
Throughout the ages, these dread entities fell into slumber, were exiled or slipped away into spaces and times unlike our own. But, in greatest extremis, they can communicate to you through proxy's.
I am one such mouthpiece. Through the silver filigree of the internet and games designed to upset, appall and horrify, do I plant the seeds of delirium, ever waiting for the day that they will bloom into grotesque life and, through us all, double dip the world in delirium.
Supremely indifferent to the activities of humanity, the worship and adoration cast into the void, seeking a home, and possessed of nothing but the most primal of instincts, they existed in a vacuum of nebulous putrescence.
Throughout the ages, these dread entities fell into slumber, were exiled or slipped away into spaces and times unlike our own. But, in greatest extremis, they can communicate to you through proxy's.
I am one such mouthpiece. Through the silver filigree of the internet and games designed to upset, appall and horrify, do I plant the seeds of delirium, ever waiting for the day that they will bloom into grotesque life and, through us all, double dip the world in delirium.