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Life and Death are two sides of the same coin. Thanatos and Eros. To remove one aspect is to essentially remove one part of the whole equation.


However, what if I told you there’s a way to circumvent the whole dying thing humans have obsessed over for so long? And hear this, it's rooted in pseudoscience of all things. Yes, really! We really should’ve weighed all our options, but to be fair there’s an infinite number of combinations of complex rituals one can perform that may or may not have the desired outcome. That’s just a sad reality. For the majority of you still alive, anyway.


As a forewarning, you will have to perform a trepanation on yourself. If you’re confused as to what that is, Google it. I’m not here to sugarcoat the process; this ritual is not for children or cowards. The key is in the ingredients and timing.


Firstly, you’re going to need to begin preparations one week before Halloween. It doesn’t matter the time, just make sure it's at least 7 days before the day comes. This is to symbolize the divinity of the process, so don’t fuck it up. Collect one (1) of each the following:


  • A book of matches or lighter
  • A pottery bowl and pestle
  • A candle colored pale blue or green
  • A leaf of Artemisia absinthium, or common wormwood
  • A deposit of Myrrh, at least the size of a marble
  • A glass of red wine
  • A drill and surgical aid
  • Any excerpt you can find from play of “The King in Yellow”


Mash the wormwood leaf or leaves into a fine powder, making sure none sticks to the pestle. Heat up the myrrh deposit to at least 150 degrees Fahrenheit or 65.3 degrees Celsius, so that it becomes more of a sticky resin. When that’s ready, combine it with the mashed wormwood. Pour in your portion of wine and stir until it is all thoroughly mixed.


Light the candle you procured beforehand and light your stew: the flame of the candle should burn a sickly greenish-blue, and so will your concoction. This mix will continue to burn for the duration of the ritual, for 7 days. Make sure nobody sees, touches or puts out either flame or the entire process is rendered null.


Halloween Day will approach rapidly. Think not of your family or friends, for they will cease to be relevant once you’ve begun the final steps.


Find a clearing somewhere you can be alone, but where the light of the heavens is abundant. A forest is preferable, but an opening above you for light to filter in will suffice.


Drill a hole into the skullcap at least 1.75 inches deep, on the seam between the parietal and cranial portion. You will bleed quite a bit, so make sure you have the proper first aid on hand. You will not die as long as you keep the wound clean and avoid animals for the duration of the ritual.


Recite your chosen verse from “The King In Yellow”, word for word, without viewing the portion. Once you’re done, throw it into the flaming bowl which you’ve saved for now. It should be incinerated instantly. If not, you’ve done something wrong and failed.


As you allow the lights from above to filter in through the opening, into the hole in your skull, pour the contents of your brew into the trepanated wound. The flame will rise up and out of that hole, clashing magnificently with the radiant knowledge of the Great Ones: recite your verse once more to complete the first part of the finale.


For the second part of the finale, kill yourself. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but whichever form you’re most comfortable with will suffice. Try not to leave too big of a mess either, it just causes more trouble down the road.


You will wake up on November 1st the next day, completely and utterly immortal. Congratulations, you are now a Carcosian Lich and your soul lays fealty unto the Tattered King, our Xanthous Hastur. The flame upon your head - colored with corpsefire - will occasionally burst with sickly, golden flecks.


But hear this. Whatever form of death you thrust upon yourself will be your sole hindrance, a reminder of the price you paid to be rewarded thusly.


A long time ago, I chose my Exalted Death hastily. A semi truck, I thought, would be sufficient. Of course it was … and I cannot regret my choices now. Even though through several layers of bruised skin, I can feel my flesh wobble. Even though bones prod the odd corners of my limbs, and my eyes pulse with feverish pus. The fingers on my left hand no longer work and my head now precariously balances on my twisted stalk of a neck.


Despite all this, I’ve remained loyal, as the flames of the Xanthous pledge weave their way into the form of a yellow shroud, which will wrap itself around my head and shoulders. Becoming my crown. Becoming my mind.


So that I may pledge utter loyalty to the King in Tattered Robes.



Written by William See
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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