High Priest of Depravity
Dry winds swept over the funeral plains of civilization before stopping at the membranous barrier separating human ruin from soulless desolation.
The wall of transulenct flesh shimmered in the scourging breeze, the shimmering bubble-surface coalescing with foul, festered colours distorting against the breeze. The whisper of currents slipped through its gaps bringing a foreign chill in the temperate if musty, dry domain. It swept against the travelers, prickling against their flesh and digging deeper into the thinking, existing, unearthly existences beneath their skin. As it passed by, swirls of gaseous energy flared into luminescence, a trail of sickly miasma-colours that swept down the spore-choked roads and the fuzz-covered, flaking structures that dotted along the long before them. A thick mist of particles, dust and fertile fragments alike, obscured the dead cityscape into vague outlines - a path forward through the fog remained on a street dotted with the ruins of pre-Birth vehicles and... lumps on the ground that had blossomed into some sort of upwards-reaching, grass like vegetation.
Amidst all of this, they remained beckoned by The Call.
It had not been an easy voyage to the City but they had no choice. Restless nights and lifeless days, mocked and tempted by Its voice and Its thoughts, every waking hour urging them to enter past the wall of ethereal flesh and into its seductive, decomposing depths. There was no respite even when they were hear; the frequency of Its voice diminished but the echoes remained, beckoning forth down the path of funereal moss and ravenous fungal growth.
The city was not silent. The echoes remained melted into the murk of their consciousnesses but other sounds radiated down the long, crowded pathway on the left. Flanging, tunneling drones of gradually altering pitch crept out of a side street further into the distance at the edges of visibility where a long series of partially wrecked walls revealed a detouring path leading deeper into what was once a prosperous commercial district.
If they chose to remain on this pathway, the road simply gave away into bulbous mounds lined with concerte and ripe, bulbous pseudopod-mushroom stalks. It was a crampe and bumpy pathway, one that was akin to a garden made of reeking rot and the foul organisms that fed upon it. Some of them shuddered and twitched as if life crept and swarmed beneath the semi-spherical tips balanced on withered bark-covered fungal stalks.
Another pathway, a rend across the ground to the right tore through a small residential district. A trench made from some massive wound in the ground like a giant claw that had raked its way through, leaving overgrown wires and tangling roots reaching downwards, as if grasping for some sort of salvation not above but beneath. Carcasses long since dried out and reclaimed by detritivore-growth lined it with long, tubular forms and bulbous jellyfish like semi-spherical entities, perhaps slain in some battle over the trench-wound.
The calling voice whispered, waiting for them to enter deeper.