A smoking skull

The Gaslight Chronicles

History: The Carnal Period

The Carnal Period

In the dystopian depths of New Gaslight, where despair and desolation reign, there exists a sinister undercurrent of debauchery and pleasure—a realm where the boundaries of morality crumble, and the masses surrender to their darkest desires. It was in this forsaken city, in the aftermath of victory over the Martians, that a cataclysmic transformation took place—a rebirth of Dionysus, the god of ecstatic revelry, and the emergence of Hoo-Ahkoo, a deity born from the debauched soul of humanity itself. It was a time when the pendulum of humanity swung away from the centuries of war and despair, propelled by a twisted hand of fate towards a maddening crescendo of pleasure and revelry.

The aftermath of the Martian war was a turning point—a moment when humanity, for the first time in centuries, glimpsed the tantalizing possibility of peace. The streets, once haunted by the specter of death, now became a stage for the unfettered expression of hedonistic abandon. The shattered remnants of civilization were swept away by a tempestuous wave of catharsis, as if the pendulum of fate had swung to an extreme, releasing a flood of pent-up desires and unspoken lust. For a fleeting moment, the suffocating weight of their reality was lifted, and they were transported to a realm of twisted ecstasy and sinister delight. They danced with abandon, their bodies moving in syncopated rhythms, as the cacophony of music and laughter weaved a hypnotic spell.

Carnal parties erupted throughout the city, fueled by an insatiable hunger for pleasure and a thirst for liberation. These gatherings, orgiastic in nature, became the crucible in which Dionysus found his resurgence. As humanity drank deeply from the sacred liquors that flowed like rivers of abandon, their inhibitions crumbled, giving rise to Dionysus, the god of wine and ecstasy, whose spirit permeated the air like the heady aroma of fermented grapes, himself. The God of fertility and insanity, once a distant legend, now walked among them, a living embodiment of their frenzied spirit. Drugs, lust, and all things indulgent. This state of baccheia ran wild though the psyche of mankind.

Illustration by Aubrey Beardsley

From the swirling mists of intoxication, another deity emerged, this was a Goddess of festival and laughter, of unquenchable lust and opulent costumes. Born from the depths of Dionysus's psychedelic cup and the collective sexual consciousness of humanity, a genderless God of unparalleled mischief and allure was born—Hoo-Ahkoo. This divine offspring, draped in the vibrant vestments of an eternal jester, embodied the frenzied spirit of festival and unbridled passion that swept through the city. Like a spectral jester emerging from the depths of the collective unconscious, Hoo-Ahkoo donned the vibrant vestments of a carnival, their visage an intoxicating blend of joy and madness. With every uproarious laughter and every lascivious dance, Hoo-Ahkoo grew stronger, their influence spreading like wildfire through the hearts and minds of the people. Within the nocturnal embrace of New Gaslight, the dance of Dionysian ecstasy intertwined with the transformative power of Hoo-Ahkoo's revelry, creating a fusion of lust and horror that defied comprehension. It was then, that the now common phrase "A good day to you, and Hoo-Ahkoo!" was born.

These were the days when masquerades and debacherous parades painted the city with a kaleidoscope of colors—a mosaic of pleasure and decadence that ignited the mammalian desires within each soul. The worship of Hoo-Ahkoo became a refuge from the harrowing realities of New Gaslight, a sanctuary of temporary respite amidst the dystopian chaos. The deity's followers, known as Hoo-Ahkoovians, reveled in the intoxicating blend of pleasure and grotesquerie. They adorned themselves in extravagant costumes, their bodies transformed into living canvases of vivid hues and twisted designs. The streets teemed with Hoo-Ahkoovians, their painted faces and adorned bodies a testament to their devotion, as they unleashed their desires with abandon. The masks and costumes became a second skin, concealing the identities of the participants, allowing them to cast aside their mundane existence and embrace the thrilling anonymity of the night. In these nocturnal masquerades, the boundaries of morality blurred, and the depths of human depravity were laid bare.

Within the pulsating heart of these festivities, Dionysus and Hoo-Ahkoo reveled in the intoxicating chaos, their influence pervading every corner of New Gaslight. The air was thick with the heady scent of sex tinged sweat and perfume, the sounds of unabashed laughter mingled with the rhythmic beats of music that seemed to pulse in time with the accelerated heartbeat of the city itself. In this den of iniquity, the human spirit was both liberated and corrupted, entangled in a web of desire and hedonistic bliss that only seemed to fuel the black magick that had proliferated into the very essence of the human experience.

Yet, amidst the relentless whirlwind of pleasure and indulgence, a fragile beauty emerged. In the embrace of Dionysus and Hoo-Ahkoo, the masses found solace—a fleeting respite from the suffocating darkness that clung to their lives. The carnal parties and pleasure festivals, although born from the twisted hands of fate, allowed humanity to momentarily transcend the anguish of their existence. It was a bittersweet reprieve, a symphony of desires played upon a backdrop of despair. The rapturous pursuit of pleasure, the intricate dances of masquerade, and the intoxicating blend of Dionysian and Hoo-Ahkoovian rituals serve as the lifeblood of this twisted society

Over a century has passed since the rebirth of Dionysus and the birth of Hoo-Ahkoo, yet the legacy of those revelries endures. New Gaslight, a hellscape of dystopian nightmares, still finds solace amidst the madness. The worship of Dionysus and Hoo-Ahkoo persists, their influence reaching into the hearts of the broken and the damned. Countless sects of Hoo-Akoovian worshippers have emerged, each with their own style of costume, make up, and revelry. Some adorning complex peacock-esque suits, and head pieces, others adorned stark black and white face paint, mimicing the death that forever haunts this world. In this chaotic realm, where the boundaries between pleasure and pain blur, the carnal parties and masquerades remain as a fragment of hope—a defiant monument, a final bastion of humanity's capacity for joy, however fleeting it may be.