Disclaimer: The following document fragment is presented from an in-character perspective, it should not be taken as the truth of the setting.
Context: Today I am once more showcasing some writing from my precious collaborator, Dolly. This first one touches on a cult. Wrong or right, in a world where magic exists and there are things beyond the comprehension of the common people cults present an elevated kind of danger. And as such, they prompt mages to investigate.
An excerpt from “Hymns of the Ur-Mother” (Kenneth E. Doyle, 1967);
Hymn 36:
“And Mother’s words will open up the sky
And Mother’s hands will reach down through
For every child stolen from her love
For every puppet of borrowed flesh lost of its string
And Mother will come
And Mother will harvest our sickness
With her kisses she will consume our frailty
With her hands she will take our doubts
She will free us all from the flesh we stole from her love
She will free us”
Kenneth E. Doyle (real name Aleksis Cyril Mickiewicz, born October 28th, 1918 in Krušetnica, northern Slovakia) was the former Professor of Folklore at the University of [REDACTED] and self-anointed ‘Grand Liturgist of the Ur-Mother’ of the Ur-Mother’s Childe.
The Ur-Mother’s Childe is a pagan doomsday cult primarily operating out of eastern Europe (and to a smaller extent the United States) that saw its rise to prominence in the early 50s. The cult believes in a primordial entity referred to as the ‘Ur-Mother’ (polish: Pra-matka) from whom they believe “the flesh of all things” was stolen from – and will one day be returned.
An excerpt from “Whispersongs of the Grand Liturgist” (Aleksis Mickiewicz, 1955, translated into English by Katherine O’Brien 1958 );
And through chaffed lips the woman hissed, her body wrought by syphilis,
“For see what the false love of the earth, of the False Father
Has wrought upon this child of mine
Her skin cracked and breaking, her bones fragile and useless,
She will fall apart for she knows not my kiss
But through you the world will learn
By my words on your flapping tongue
You will teach them my everlasting love.”
Despite their teachings preaching about the end of days, the Ur-Mother’s Childer are remarkably passive (if isolationist) for a doomsday cult. Besides their alleged involvement in the Poznań Protests of 1956 (an accusation which caused their leader, Aleksis to flee to the United States under his current pseudonym, Kenneth E. Doyle) most of their ventures have been particularly small-scale; whether economical investments in supporting local politicians (see document ‘Political Investors in Senator Hubert Kenneth Armstrong 2013’) or ordering disproportionately large amounts of fertilizer (frequently used to make improved explosives, see document ‘The Occultist’s Relationship With Domestic Terrorism’) supposedly for the sake of ‘harvest’, they have only shown hints of any potential plans, but [REDACTED] have decided it neccesary to keep an eye on Aleksis and his Childer.
An excerpt from “Instructions for the Ur-Mother’s Handmaidens” (Katherine O’Brien, 1967);
“All Childer must remember not to hurt the flesh for it is the Ur-Mother’s blessing.
All Childer are to fornicate freely, unbidden by textile or shame; we must love our flesh for it is Her gift.
All Childer must have all earthly possessions confiscated. They are products of the False Father. Erase them if you must.
All Childer must learn to craft His Words. They are not for flesh, but for the hate of earth, the False Father.
All Childer will only speak to the Childer lured away by the False Father to spread Her love.
All Childer will obey the words of the Grand Liturgist, for he sings the Ur-Mother’s love.
All Childer shall welcome the Ur-Mother’s arrival with open arms.
All Childer must prepare.”
The Angel’s hands crooked and perfect like giant opening Wings dripped and spilled down from Mother’s love like her Tears. Their love-fattened corpses formed the clouds in still, like touches of Milk in Blood. The Virginal Believer-Son gutted at the hands of the False Sinew-Parent, his Synapses like guiding, growing finger-roots and his marrow boiled and ground into Soil, his skin stretched like Artist’s Tapestry the sky, his quivering, frail and Stolen Flesh our Birth.
From his Death, we Grew. Breathed his last gasps with lungs we cruelly Stole as our naked, puerile bodies met the scorn of our False Sinew-Parent like a whip to blued Skin and Muscle. Our first and only Lesson was to kneel before his imagined resplendence, to let his lies invade our vulnerable skulls like Gospel. But Mother knew. Her voice so Coarse and Effervescent she sang the Sweetest Songs only so quiet the False Sinew-Parent could not hear, sang Whispered Lullabies for all the Children who’d dare open their ears and Listen.
The Gross Tongue of Manna, transcribed by Our Beloved Sisterson Ahzkiel
Esoteric Musings... 