Many hundreds of years ago, there was a chemical spill off the coast of Old Mexico, the largest and most vile act of pollution ever enacted upon the planet. It killed almost every creature it touched, and for generations the damage seeped into the earth and the oceans, until the salty sea turned frothy, and the shores were caked with blackened grease.
Even now, with humanity a scattered, frightened remnant of what it once was, there are none that do not know of this land, and many who have traveled to it, willingly and with due diligence. For something sleeps beneath those waters now, it thrives in a place no other creature could survive, and it must be appeased.
By the time the worshipers arrive each year, the black waters have begun to boil and a pulse can be felt beneath the earth, a heartbeat, the stirrings of an ancient, unfathomable rhythm. But the Doomstar is dim this season, and when you arrive you will be alone, and the waters will be still.
As you approach the shoreline, uncork your offering, any sort of alcohol will do as long as it’s strong. Then, as you empty the bottle into the already polluted dredge, recite the name, recite the rhythm. You know it by heart, don’t you?
Walk out into the water, the sludge will pull at your clothing and slow your movement, but walk as far as you can before you are submerged. The waves will begin to churn and the sand will slip out from under your feet, with almost no warning you will be sucked beneath the current, downwards into the dark, unctuous depths. You might think you are done for, and certainly you should be afraid, but shut your eyes tight and hold your breath for as long as you can. When you think you can last no longer, that is when you’ll feel tendrils wrap around your ankles…
In an instant, you’ll be coughing and hacking up chunks of oily muck and blinking away painful tears, before realizing where you are. Shining lights from seemingly nowhere bound off the slick on the water from which you were rescued (or captured), as well as the walls of the underwater cave, which are constructed of hundreds of thousands of bottles and cans, cemented with slime.
He will be there, watching you, waiting. For an explanation… or atonement.
You see, he had tried everything, for centuries he demanded sacrifices, anything to dull his pain and make him forget what he has suffered, what he has lost. Not a force in this world can bring him the release of death, it takes an ocean of poison to intoxicate him enough to carry him into welcome sleep, and now you’ve awoken him.
The Time Keeper. Dread Tremor. God of Rage, Rebellion and Revelry. The Drunken God. The Drowned One.
P’khell. The Second of the Doom Gods.