#sluaghter

✦✦✦ ─────── EACH STEP felt like boulders strapped to his ankles, weighing him down as he followed along the river. Mud beneath the soles of his shoes pulled on every march forward, threatening to swallow him alive if Howard did not move fast enough through the winding path. Sopping wet with only the clothes on his back, he gripped onto his own body as if he was cold, his breaths laboured and heavy.

There up on a hill lay a church. Somewhere beyond that must be a road leading to a village, to a town, to a city. Where next, only the Lord knows, but this far into Ireland already, perhaps home is not too much of a wish to hope for?

He arrived by the wooden doors shivering, eyes glazing over small posters about the upcoming activities for the congregation to join in on. Knitting, choirs, mental health talks. Opening hours. Opening hours. Opening hours.

No notes on the opening hours. Howard gritted his teeth, and tried the door regardless. It swung open with a heavy groan, perhaps cursing the arrival of the cursed son. Not wanting to soil the pews, he dragged himself through the aisle and sat before the Son of God. Not praying, not hoping for an answer, not anymore. Merely… taking shelter.

The Lord was quiet in His eternal suffering up on the cross, head low, blood pouring from the palms of His hands. Howard wondered if some day he too would be lowered from the crucifix he was mounted on, in this hellish unending purgatory of unliving. Perhaps, if he tried to pray, battered black and blue as he were too, they could find common ground in the shared understanding of pain.

He shifted now to kneel properly, clasping his hands in prayer, closing his eyes.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven."

What next, Howard? Would you wish for your daily bread, and for the Lord to forgive your trespasses? You've murdered and murdered again, your teeth animal, your maw dog. There is no place for you but Hell itself, burning and burning and burning and burning--

He jumped at the sound of shuffling within the church, footsteps perhaps of a night guard. Quickly he looked around for a place to hide, and found no other place but the confessional booth. Quickly Howard half-crawled, half-sprinted towards it, tracking mud and puddles of footprint-shaped water on the stone floor.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 .

@sluaghter : “ you have something that is mine . ”

❛ it was him, uh— ❜ he stammers, reflexively shifting the blame when the other catches him with the carved rune. siegfried makes a move to put the piece of wood back where he found it, but his movement stills. instead, he waves his hand around with it undecidedly. he stares at nicholas until some courage slowly returns to him. despite his hesitation, curiosity narrows his eyes.

KMSD. no but srsly. i'm putting this under a readmore cuz it's loooong and got way more into me deep-diving into a core theme and question of this blog: how does a non-human biological system, like a perisi's, process universal forces such as love (this is dependent on the statement / pov i'm making in this blog that Love IS a universal entity all creatures interact with to some capacity) ?

tl;dr for the readmore: as a perisi, adella doesn't experience romantic attraction by default or even most of the time. rather, she's "attracted" either 1) to what she perceives as prey or someone she can entertain herself by toying with -- soft, open, submissive, targets OR 2) to dominant personalities she considers to be a rival or equal -- but this is more a tactical / survival-based attraction mirrored to what relationships in perisi ecosystems look.

neither of these are within the scope of 'i gravitate to you because i like you want i wanna be committed to you'. this is like 85% of her interactions or character motivations, unless we've deeply plotted w/ each other.

and some funky precarious mix of both imo leads to romantic attraction / a soulmate type.

Sacrifice: Torment in Fire (1986)

You know you're getting old when second wave '80s thrash metal albums are celebrating 40th anniversaries; albums like the oft-underrated Torment in Fire, by Canadian speed demons Sacrifice.

Technically released in 1985 through twin Canadian independent labels Diabolic Force and Fringe Product, the album's distribution was very limited until Metal Blade licensed it for the U.S. and Roadrunner for Europe, in the early days of 1986.

I, for one, don't recall ever seeing Sacrifice's debut in my local record stores that year (which started in Milan and ended in São Paulo), and I didn't get to hear it until the Internet began solving the music accessibility and affordability problem.

You Millennial and Gen Z music nuts will never really know how lucky you are ...

Anyway, despite those setbacks and sharing their name with over a dozen bands from almost as many countries (Germany, Japan, Switzerland, Ukraine, China!), nowadays these Toronto natives are usually top-of-mind when the Sacrifice name is uttered.

And with good reason, because vocalist and guitarist Rob Urbinati, lead guitarist Joe Rico, bassist Scott Watts, and drummer Gus Pynn arguably took pole position among Canadian thrash bands with this violent and explosive debut.

Younger and faster than the pioneering (but already fading) Exciter and rather cartoonish Anvil, more instrumentally adept than Slaughter (the other one) and Infernal Majesty, these guys were an absolutely devastating proposition by Great White North standards.

In fact, blistering assaults like "Sacrifice," "Turn in Your Grave," and "Beyond Death" share their harsh, melody-free vocals, blistering buzzsaw riffery, and occult subjects with some of the era's most extreme heavy metal warriors: Bathory, Kreator, Destruction, Possessed, Sepultura, and yes, Voivod.

What Sacrifice lacked at this point was songwriting distinction (that would come later), so even though sheer force and intensity will probably keep you riveted throughout these 36 minutes, just a few songs ("Warrior of Death," "Infernal Visions," "Necronomicon") may stick with you when all is said and done.

But for those of you who like a little hardcore influence in your metal, know that Sacrifice revealed a peripheral interest in crossover thrash with a pair of sub-two-minute efforts -- "Possession" and "Decapitation" -- tucked away near the end of the LP.

The following year's career-best Forward to Termination would find Sacrifice further honing their sound and songwriting around the classic Exodus Bay Area thrash model, but some purists may prefer the rougher charms of this first cult classic.

In any case, Sacrifice undoubtedly deserve belated discovery by modern-day thrash enthusiasts willing to sample the style's rich bounty beyond the Big Four and next dozen or so key contributors -- just don't ask me to rank them today.

I need to get my neck out of head-banging-induced traction first ...

Turn, turn, the seasons, the smoke of the Autumn winds drift away, leaving in their wake a sky stained ripe lavender; the peace of a pleasant winter, before the deep chill truly settles, ushering all beings behind hearth heated doors. The window is cracked, permitting the gentle seep of ice-fresh air to waft through the home, intermingling sweet with the scent of cookies. Adelaide's lodgings are expansive, a suite in the academy where the majority of teachers and other auxillary staff dwelled: styled to her taste with lavish tapestries, cozy crocheted blankets, and shelves upon shelves of books, treasures of the librarian's collection.

The knock upon the door is unexpected. "Ophelia could you see who that is?" Adelaide's hands are drenched in flour, rolling shortbread dough, treats for the students who came to the library early the next day, and if a few ended up being indulged by herself, then so be it!

The heavy brass lock turns with a weighted clunk, from behind the threshold peers Ophelia's wide eyes, always curious and slow to build an expression of any proper reaction. "It's Mr. Teague." She calls over her shoulder, foremost to a greeting.

"Nicholas!" Surprise lifts the angle of her words like the startled song of a robin. "Well goodness dear, don't leave the man out in the hallway, greet him proper and invite him in!"

Ophelia smiles then, practiced and kindly, "Hello Mr. Teague! Do come in." A swing of her arm beckons, Adelaide rounding the corner.

-`𖤓´- 𝖍𝖊'𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝕶𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑, 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖊'𝖘 𝖜𝖆𝖑𝕶𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙. moonlight guides his silent step, pale and dreamlike; proof of nuada's watchful eye on him even here, even now. at last he emerges from the thick summer brush. a light, clinging mist swirls among the yard. the smell of apples hangs sweetly in the air: a promise of bounty. just ahead looms the church-- a forbidding hulk of a place, with its thick stone and slit windows. large, cold, imposing, but familiar all the same. it sticks out against the lush clearing like a sore thumb. in its shadow, the humble rectory lies unchanged as ever.

all at once a woolly body bucks forward, cloven hooves spinning amid flower and fern as if in dance. anyone watching might think the ram mad. luckily for harlon, there isn't a soul in sight. he skips happily, carelessly, toward the rectory. back on two very worn, very human feet, he then plucks the gittern from his pack and begins his midnight serenade: ❝ .. there was a tinker lived of late, who walked the streets of rye; he bore his pack upon his back, patches and plugs did cry; "oh, i have brass within my bag, my hammer's full of metal; and as to skill, i well can clout and mend a broken kettle."

No matter how quiet and reverant his footsteps, Robin's footfalls upon the stone floor still echo in the eaves of the church. He walks, alone, down the aisle, passing rows of prayer books and hard wooden pews. Leaden though his feet are, he comes to the confessional box sooner rather than later. It is a place he both dreads and yearns for. Forgiveness is always sought, yet the confession itself is a process he still finds painful.

He opens the door, closing it behind him as he sits down. The dimness enfolds him, heavy and oppressive as the blackest hour of night. His guilt weighs far more than any darkness ever could. He closes his eyes, lets out a breath. Two fingers rise, forehead to sternum, right shoulder to left.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. Tall, straight, his hands behind his back, strong, slender and smooth. The twisting cord trails down his back. Its tasseled end dangles over the slight inward curve of his lower spine. Elegant. Beautiful. The ache in Lemuel's heart knows him by name, twisting and lurching forth as the gurgling under engraved armor grows more frenzied with each step.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Nicholas need not demand. Before he can finish, steel has already scraped marble. The segments of Lemuel's greaves groan as he kneels before his beloved. Arms fasten around Nicholas' hips. Nose pressed into rich vermilion wool, the rise and fall of his navel comforts him. With the slack tide of his breath, the warmth of his skin, every atom hums in harmony. Nicholas has gotten thinner, again.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"You know I have missed you." He breathes. Quivering. Burning. Lemuel has always been this way. Too easily is he moved to tears and easier still is he moved to his knees for his beloved. "There is no one in my heart but you. No taste on my tongue but yours." Lips fix to Nicholas' knuckles. They ghost over each nail and press into the center of his palm. Lemuel rises to his feet, kissing still at his febrile wrist. A scorching pulse blooms against his mouth.

⠀⠀⠀⠀"I think of you in every moment. I wonder if you've eaten, how much you've slept. I envy the clothes on your back, the sheets around your body that hold you when I cannot." Lemuel curls his arms around him. His breath escapes him as his hips press to Nicholas'. Their bodies mold together; cells give against each other with every touch. Molecule bleeds into molecule. Structures undone as they come impossibly closer. One hand caresses misty silver hair. Their noses brush as he whispers upon the other's lips. "Please don't hold back from me, my dear Nicholas."