The museum had been almost completely abandoned, even by it's own staf, for a good ten years. Only a handfull of curators and less brave then they let on security guards and janitors remained... And even they, were shaken. Even now, none DARED enter the basement, or the sub-basement for that matter. And such a good thing, two... For it had been exactly three hundred years since the last native americal shaman had shed ritual blood over the obsidian statue... Now, he was awakening...<br/><br/>Now, was the hour of his return. The massive box had been planted in the furthest corner of the backest hallway in the dilapidated basement... Water condencing from hissing pipes, or outright leaking from cracks the boards which boxed it in growing moldy and swollen with moisture. But now those wooden planks shuddered, trembling against themselves as the stone structure within began to crumble. Teathers of black and slithers of pitch oozing from the cracks and crevices like serpents from their den. He had slept long enough... Dreamed of horrors and majesty which this mortal plane sorely needed... He envisioned of sating his hunger and slacking the thirst... Too long had he wondered the madness etched laberynth of his own mind... Now, now the first fiend awoke...<br/><br/>Wood bent, and stone crumbled. Energy hissed and shadow danced. The crate did not explode, no, instead it fell apart, exposing the one lovecraftian esque oblisk. Dark, with forms like humanoid serpents playing across it's chisled surface. Yet, they were coming undone. Power long sinse dormant coming again to unholy life. Finally, a corner exploded, sending shrapnel in all directions. Followed by one of the smoother surfaces, exposing a black leatherclad hand, one too long and thin to be human, with truly spidery fingers ended in metal caps as sharp as razors. The front of it's base blew out, and soon the whole thing began to fall. The oblisk shattered finally upon the wet ground, as if the magma born stone were in fact frail glass.<br/><br/>The form which remained upon the floor rested on hands and knees, his feet too long and too thin to be natural or normal, the long lether boots, lined with buckles were at least to it's thighs, vanishing under two square plattes of leather, one in front and one in back, which seemed to serve as a kilt. Like it's arms, the legs were also so thin, they couldn't have been anything but bone and sinew. the hips were boney, and guant, with a belt of tools, and toys most fowl adorning it. The joint of it's left arm was also made of what seemed a flexable alloy with a vein like filligree engraving. More of the horrific metal encrusting the forehead and right eye of what could only be describes as a pale purple cuddle fish, the lense which served as right eye glowing, much as the fleshy left did in a yellow hue. Five elastic tentacles ringed the mouth in a star pattern, the bottom left and middle right made of metal.<br/><br/>The wretched thing coughed and weezed, expelling slime and dust from it's mouth. The oakleaf shaped shoulderpats wilted with dampness. Buckles lined the arms much as they did the legs, and down the left side of it's flat chest and concave midsection. Yet a pang in the dream snatched it's attention... Something, someone was close... SO near... And so ripe to sate the hunger...  The teathers and snakes of dark energy were already subsiding, fading from being in the physical world... The dreams, and nightmares of the sleeping members of the city were layed out before the fiend like a webwork, and... And how strange... The closest one... The closest did not sleep, yet the ephemeral of dreams clung to it, to her... To...<br/><br/>Could it be?<br/><br/>With a groan, the freakish thing heaved itself up onto long legs, now leaning against the wall... It would take a few minutes to become strong, fir enough to walk unaided... Yet it had to see, it had to KNOW! Was it here? Could it be? After so long... So much time... Was it she, who awoke him? Did his dearest come to welcome him back to the waking world with open arms? Or was she here to put him back, as she did the first... Did she seek forgiveness, or vengence? The nightmare had to know... So so, it reached through the dream with will, piercing her mind gently, like a delicate surgeon's scalple, and spoke to her mind...<br/><br/><i>&lt;Dream Seeker?&gt;</i><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>