The Cacophony has experienced a lot of changes recently! Including a brand new Baptism for GR3. It's uh.. A little rough. @Ophion was the first one to experience it since everyone else was over GR3. Some of the emotes are a little messed up because this was our first run-through, and poor @Vatul is sick as all heck. But I mean, 10/10 Mag ritual
You say, "I remember when I was small and the baptism first came into being."
You say, "It was slightly more violent then, and as the world changed so did it. No more death, no
Before the Altar of Screams.
A chorus of screams swirl around this dark enclave, filling the air with wails of despair that
intermingle into a sweet symphony of endless agonies. Dominating the enclave is a foreboding marble
altar of purest midnight, marked with the symbol of the Ouroboros and bearing plates of offerings to
Lord Morgfyre, the Legion. Dried blood is encrusted on the altar, and splattered liberally across
the floor in splotches and streaks of dark red, brown and black. An acrid, unholy scent wafts across
the air, harsh, heady and exotic. In the distance, the faint beating of drums can be heard,
heralding the footsteps of doom. A forbidding marble altar of purest midnight black rises up, marked
with the symbol of the Ouroboros and littered with bloody offerings. A sigil in the shape of a small,
rectangular monolith is on the ground. Penitent Adal is here. She wields a silver ritualistic dagger
in her left hand. Deathsinger Ophion is here. He wields a darkly majestic viola in his left hand.
Gavriel is here, his feathered wings wrapped around himself. He wields a short, viscera-laden
flensing whip in his left hand. Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre is here. She wields a
charming violin hewn from aphotic willow in her left hand.
You see a single exit leading southwest.
Ophion glances about briefly at those gathered, then returns his focus to the altar.
You say to Ophion, "You understand the sacrifice involved in this, Contortionist?"
Deathsinger Ophion says to you, "I do, Conductor, and it shall be one gladly made."
Vatul turns a hand along the air, as if brushing the very sounds that echo along the enclave. Their
tones seem to intermix in an exotic, discordant air - dry, sensual, and modal. The fragrance of the
chamber shifts, sickening and choking with the aroma of coppery viscera
You say, "And you understand the connection forged through this ceremony?"
You say, "Your song will be connected to ours until the Fates fade away."
Deathsinger Ophion says to you, "So I will it to be."
Standing before the Altar of Screams, Pectus De'Ancariisa lays loving fingertips
upon the dark marble. With her free hand, she lays a violin of clockwork delirium amidst the thick,
congealed blood of history past. With curling fingers, she beckons Ophion forward to the Altar.
You say, "Place your viola beside mine, Deathsinger Ophion. Let the blood given freely by Divine and
mortal alike connect you now and forever to the Necroscream."
Quietly and with reverent step, Ophion approaches the altar, and places his viola upon it, as
Her voice lilting and melodic, joyful in veneration, you sing, "By the Darkening Scream, we are
The congealed blood upon the Altar of Screams begins to recede, drank in by the black stone until
nary a trace remains.
Pectus's voice continues to rise as she carefully removes the violin and viola from
the now pristine stone. Lingering traces of blood remain on both instruments, disappearing into them
before your eyes.
You sing, "With this gift of blood, you are given parts of our Scream. The Screams of those who
walked these Catacombs before you."
Pectus De'Ancariisa rests her hands on Ophion's shoulders, her touch gentle but
sturdy. She presses him towards the altar, urging him to kneel.
The skirt of his robes forms a pool around his feet as Ophion kneels before the altar, lowering his
You sing, "By screams given freely, we empower that around us."
A wailing scream from the space about the Altar rises in volume, gaining corporeal shape in a dark,
fluid torrent that winds about your hand and forearm, chilling the air.
Her hands unyielding, you sing, "By screams forcibly taken, we draw sustenance."
The scream suddenly erupts in a deafening cacophony that reflects again and again from the walls,
even as the shadowy substance jets in a stream across the Altar, coating its surface and running
down its sides.
Pectus De'Ancariisa grabs Ophion's hands roughly in her own, thrusting them into
the substance streaming from the Altar. It stains their hands where it touches, crawling like a
living thing up their extended arms.
Though visibly affected by the experience, Ophion appears to recover and bear the gift bestowed,
remaining where he kneels as the substance continues to spread.
Now her voice a screaming, ragged thing full of chaotic notes and tones, you sing, "By song, we are
The Altar of Screams flares with a dark nimbus of energy, the discordant screams about it
oscillating wildly through scales and octaves that pierce the air.
Vatul wordlessly parts her supple lips, as song begins to rise from her - wailing, terrible and
beautiful. The substance along her seeps into her skin, as the piercing notes echo higher and higher.
Ophion joins in song, not his momentarily weakening voice nor the discordance it carries apparent
cause for hesitation.
You have emoted: The shadowy mass now well past their shoulders, reaching its tendrils towards their
singing mouths, Pectus De'Ancariisa releases the hands of Ophion to the Taint consuming the three of
Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre sings, "By Taint, we are empowered!"
The energy about the Altar expands, the tainted wisps of smoke fueling its influence. The wailing
chorus deepens, its wordless cries taking on a semblance of disjunct, harsh music.
Ophion closes his eyes, taking deep breaths as his song grows quiet before the glorious chorus.
Fanatic joy evident on her face, Pectus's song matches to that of the chorus,
screaming emotion to the Altar's music. Her blackened hands lift in the air, eyes cast to the Taint
as it reaches her chest.
Vatul dips her head back, evidently caught in rapture as the chorus continues. About her form, the
darkness of the Taint emerges, burning with acrid hues of oilslick.
Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre sings, "By the Demon Lords of Nil, we are empowered!"
The graven sigil of the Ouroboros suddenly glows with a sickly green light, causing an immense
presence of palpable evil to suddenly encroach upon the room, giving the chamber an air of
oppression. The energy about the altar begins to turn in a circular fashion, mixing with the screams
of invisible victims until a dark, tangible maelstrom of discordant cries surges around the chamber.
You shriek, "Empower me!"
The maelstrom about the Altar suddenly constricts, funneling into a gleaming silver dagger with a
cacophony of damned screams. As the vast amount of energy sinks into the blade, a last, piercing cry
is wrenched from the air before all is silent and the Altar is inert.
Waves of energy wash over the form of the dagger as it quickly darts into your hands.
Vatul caresses her throat, the placid fear within her eyes rising momentarily before a gleam of
pride flickers across her visage.
Vatul takes a deep breath, her fingers rapidly strumming over her instrument.
Ophion's expression adopts a strange mixture of fear, pride, and excitement as the tainted substance
ascends his throat, and slowly encroaches his mouth.
The Taint finally reaching her mouth, thick tendrils shoving their way down her
throat to find her vocal cords, Pectus gives a gurgle of barely heard laughter. Her song falters as
the Taint works its way down, leaving only the sound of the chorus.
With choking gasps for air, Pectus De'Ancariisa thrusts the ritual dagger deep into
the heart of Ophion. She sinks the tortured weapon deep into his flesh and twists with a vicious
A slight grunt of response is heard at the daggers plunge. From the peripheries of perception, a low,
throaty hum, almost more akin to a groan or a growl emits from the young viscanti. It is without
emotion, its monochromatic monotony bordering on the uninspired as it gradually climbs in volume,
when suddenly a quick, fluttery shiver of his body winds Ophion s tone down, and sees it joined by a
second note held at a higher pitch, yet highly irregular as its complement. As the sparse plumage
silences, the hum diminishes until it is no more, and all left is lonely, staccato chirping,
piercing if not for the cacophony it followed. It ends rapidly and abruptly, not a second of pause
heralding the crackling of a jarringly unpracticed voice, which gradually, as the varied notes
collect within the songs progress, becomes purer, less displeasurable to the ears. Slowly, the dusky
viscanti opens at last his starkly violet eyes, and with a grin, parts his narrow lips. Whats
unleashed is a call from the depths of his lungs, demonstrating fearlessly the imperfections of the
limit of his range, from its surprising depth to its shrieking heights. Beaming, the young mans
voice grows silent as the last of his breath is exhausted, and he denies drawing another, content
instead to let the taint take its place.
Vatul looses a piercing wail, the very sound slipping in between that of the young viscanti as if
she had been struck with the dagger herself. The sound is both torturous and denotes something of a
dark promise, the rasp of her vocal chords cutting off as silence strikes her.
Vatul brings the killing note of the song to a screaming conclusion. Harmoniously screeching with
each rusty turn, the spinning spiked iron bands close around Ophion, who screams as he is chopped
into a bloody puree.
Ophion has been slain by Vatul.
The ghost of Ophion turns to a dark, murky miasma, which slowly solidifies into a foul, undead
Pectus's breathing burbles and hisses as the shadowy substance forces its way down
fully her throat. She collapses to the floor, dropping to their knees, fingers clawing at the stone
floor. Their Scream is ripped painfully from their throat, It begins with a joyful song, sung high
and loud, speaking of safety and home, of love and children. Words of sorrow weave between the
happiness, slowly at first and then growing stronger and stronger as the loves fade and children are
lost to the Fates. Wear begins to grate on the song, and it turns jagged. Where once joy flourished
now sits heartbreak. Sing song words of friendships replaced by heart-aching cries of despair.
Occasionally, the tune will turn to love again, only to be cut short in a gut-wrenching sadness.
Without warning, it ends. The emotion lost and the aria stopped mid-note to be replaced by a
monotone hum.. The substance withdraws, a visual mimickry of the Screams clutched in its tendrils.
Both Ophion's scream and hers are dragged into the Altar, joining the echoing chorus that lingers there.
A silence follows, the presence gone, the Song barely a memory on the edges of your mind.
Her voice jagged and abused, you say, "Empowered thusly, you shall forge a path of Transformation
through the land. Welcome, Cacophone Ophion."
Hollow, Spitfire Gavriel d'Vanecu, Demagogue of Dissonance says, "Welcome, Cacophonist Ophion."
Her eyes flashing in the dim light of the dinge, Aois-Dana Vatul d'Noceur, of the Danse Macabre says,
"Well done, Cacophonist."