You hear something. Distantly, it's music. Closer, it's synthesized screams. You haven’t moved from where you are standing, but like a radio tuning and a flintlock firing you hear the staticy sound of an electric brain projected directly into your gray matter.
[[Listen to it.]]
[[Block it out.]]
Everything goes quiet. You don't hear a voice. As a matter of fact you don't hear anything. But you do feel the telltale dribble of blood on your upper lip that tells you the nature of this phenomenon.
The Monster can move through Grave Vents; sphincters in the Mortis. You are granted the visceral sense of passing through rotten flesh and into a space infinitely cold before the next realization passes over and through you with all the heat and fire of creation.
[[Feel it.]]
You're not opting into that Gravemind bullshit, no way. If something is trying to talk to you - they can use their damn mouth.
[[Fin]]OOC:
Thanks for reading this 3pm update!
Wipe your nose!
<3 It's attracted to psionic sources. You know this intimately because for a single clarion moment, you are //also// aware of every single instance of psionic behavior in a five mile radius.
Every throbbing crystal, every gem-studded-brain, every tiny fire on the tip of someone's fingertip to light a cigarette. You pass through and around them as if the knowledge were razors and your conciousness raw and vascular flesh.
You're aware of all of them. And it's terrible.
[[Be lied to.]] Rage. This is not what you wanted. This is not your quarry. You did not want this substance you wanted what it mimics.
Because what it mimics could kill you in the only way that matters.
A tiny scrap of euclidian geometry packed with the most terrible thing this graveyard of flimsy nothing does possess.
[[Step Away]] You stop existing. As if you never did.
[[Blink.]]You come to. You're back where you were. The bustle of the city is muted.
You wipe your nose and it your sleeve comes back bloody. Everyone else is bleeding too.
[[Fin]]