sarkic

I often wondered why people are left-handed.

тшибов
Mulhausen

We think ourselves the masters of our flesh, and from afar that argument holds weight. We utilize our bodies everyday of our lives; we walk where we desire to walk, we say what we desire to say, think what we desire to think. All these things come out of a control of our own flesh, so we make the logical conclusion that we are in control of our bodies.

But that is not what ownership of flesh is. We simply borrow it from our parents, as did they, all the way back to the creation of the universe. Yogsoboth gifted flesh to us, combined the meat with our souls and ensured us full autonomy.

And with these wonderous gifts of meat and bone, we belived them. We saw these chains shackled to our souls not as chains, but as wings, allowing us to do as we want.

But soon after our ansestors where granted these gifts, they noticed barriers. When organs where cast out of the body, when the heart or the lungs or the brain ceased its functioning, the flesh would shut down. And with that destruction of the flesh, the soul was carried along with it. Our ancestors cried to Yogsoboth, screaming to take the gift back, that this flesh was a cursing, dooming our souls to non-existance once the flesh failed. But it was no use. We where already in Yogsoboth's trap.

over time, we forgot about these faults. We accepted them as unquestionable acts of life. "Surely," we say, "We cannot stop the pumping of blood from one vessel to another. We would surely die!" In that, you are correct. It seems that there would be no way to free our souls from this hellish flesh.

But I have a way.

—-

Mikhail Tshibov was a frail timid old man. He grew up in a small town in South Sibiria, a days walk from the border of Mongolia, and a year's walk from anywhere of interest. His town was small, barely fifty people. The winters where harsh and the crops where demanding. Hunger was no stranger to them. Mikhail's father, Visili, was an enemy of the state in the eyes of the Soviet government. He had fled his cushy life in Nivhny Novogorod for a safer, simpler one in this small village, with the logic that if the town did not even show up on government maps, the KGB would have a particular hard time finding him. Most villagers did not respect him, as he was an outsider, and even worst, a member of the Eastern Orthodoxy. Mikhails mother was one of the only one to tread Visili with any shred of resepect. She invited him into her home, and soon bonded with him, though she was insistant that Mikhail be brot up in the teachings of Grand Karcist Ion. She died after giving birth to Mikhail, leaving Visili to blame his infant son for the killing of the only one who truly trusted him in his new home. When Mikhail was 10, the KGB finally caught up to his father, not only arresting Visili, but also destroying the church that the villagers had made and arresting the village's Karcist and other high ranking officals of the community. Mikhail was left orphaned, alone and in a community that hated him for not only being of the blood of an outsider, but being responable for the destruction of their church. With the villages anger at him growing each day, and with little way to continue surviving in (()), Mikhail packed what meager food and cloth he had and headed west.

—-

welcome to the first annual meeting of the Brotherhood of New Adytum!"
a small smarthering of cheers and claps was heard, but far less than mikhail was hoping, or even anticipating

Mikhail sat fidgeting in his seat. Across his table he saw the faces of over 2,000 of his loyal followers, and 30 of the most important people in the world to him.

Adytum's Wake - Vivian Durant-Croÿ and her husband Alexander sat

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Gerard asked in a panic, you know that if even one cogsworth recognizes one sarkic, we're gonna have a eighth occult war on our hands."

"I know, i know. I haven't stopped thinking about that in days. But if all goes well, we'll have the upperhand in no time.

he tensed up, then relaxed as he exhalled.
mikhail clinked his wine glass, the crowds roaring discussion slowed to a murmur, and then nothing at all. The silence was palpatable. Mikhail could feel it in the back of his throat. He ignored it. The gains where too important to worry about pain now.

"Good Evening everyone! and welcome to the Tshibov Industrys first Gala!"
a polite smathering of claps was heard, and died as quickly as it began
"First, i need to apologize. I am your host, and hosts arent supposed to lie, and i lied to get all of you here tonight.
quizzical looks and a few concerned laughs where heard throughout the crowd. He fealt the eyes of a thousand men and women closing in on him.
"PLease put your hands at your sides, keep quiet and do not move. If you do move out of your chair, you will be tranquilized." he gestered to the men holding rifles. "Now, if you'll all do as i say none of you will be hurt."

one man got up to run, and was shot by no less than five gaurds. he hit the ground like a wounded gazelle. Several shreiks and distant sobbing was heard across the banquet hall.

"Well, there's one who won't get to join in with the fun." Mikhail laughed, a few laughed with him.

"Ok. I suppose you're all wondering what's going on. Nod your head if you're wondering."
the crowd nodded.
"Alright. Now nod your head if you're roman catholic."
the vast majority of the room nodded. Mikhail focused on those who where lying.
"Alright. Jewish?"
again, confused nods, some waiting too long.
"ok. Now, anyone who just lied to me nod your head. And remember, we have guns to those heads, so lets stop lying huh?"
a few brave souls nodded their head, to which Mikhail gave a hearty smile and a big thumbs up to. "Glad you few came around! Now," he pointed to Henry, who was shot with a tranquillizer.
the crowd was in shock and behaved similar to the begining
"Silence! I know you're all lying. Every single one of you who nodded lied to me. I KNOW your religoins. your actual religions. We have it marked down via seat arrangements. Now, i'm gonna ask again. who here is roman catholic?"
no one nodded.
"Really? Not one roman catholic? strange. what about jews? any jews here?"
one man, who Mikhail later discovered was from turkey, nodded. Mikhail turned to the guard responable for gaurding him, and gave a thumbs down. The man landed face first into his dinner.
"Ok. enough games. Who here is Nälkä?"
the left side of the room nodded. a small mumber of people on the right understood what nalka meant.
"SARKIC SCUM" one man yelped, instantly sending the right side into murmured uproar, some foaming at the mouth while others standing in disbelief.

Black Lodge - Visili Yatotinov
White Worm - Erzsébet Vörös

Karcist Enitan Sabatier must be contacted in order to discover how a peaceful relationship with the cogsworth oxthordoxy was established.

Church of the Broken God - "His Holiness Robert Bumaro, Builder of the Broken God"

the Patriarchs refuse to talk.

Maxwellists send a group of 20 people, from various areas around north america and europe.

"Sarkicists and the Church of the Broken God are both trying to free ourselves from death. Both of us know that death of flesh means death of the soul, and death of the soul means nonexistance. But where we differ is how we achieve this. Neo-Sarkicists believe it can be achieved by toppling Grand Karcist Ion and installing a new leader, one who use Grand Karcist Ion's powers to free the worthy. Proto-Sarkicists believe that loyalty to Grand Karcist Ion will grant them true freedom. The Church of the Broken God believes that flesh must be fully rejected and that the soul must be combined with machinery. All wish to be free of this inevaitble demise, but we squabble like children over the way to accomplish such deeds."

"This," Mikhail gestered at the collar "Is our saving grace. This is what will free us from torture. This is the vision that Grand Karcist Ion wished he could achieve but never was able to! This device will free us!"

"The foundations worst nightmare is the sarkics winning"
"First off, thats offense."
"what?"
"for fuck's sake why did you keep calling us that? "sarkic" oh grand KARCIST ION why do you call us that? karcist is a greek slur that they set up way back in ball scratching time when the only machines the mekhanites had was a fucking wank machine! we are the nalka! NAL-KA. Say it with me
n-nakla