# The Necropolis
Unlike other cults, those enthralled by the Necropolis rarely realize their situation.

There's no ritual of conversion, no words of power spoken. Instead, it's gradual. A purchase made to a hunting equipment company, a forage into the unknown. Your lust for adventure calls you, and that's how you choose to answer it.

You venture into the frontier, that once-claimed land of endless planets filled with endless beasts. Monsters spew forth in unnatural numbers, from fleshy tendrils that seem to be trying to pull the stars down to the ground.

The beasts beg to be slain. Their tentacles grab at your feet and threaten to trip you up, but you're fleet of foot and well-equipped, and so like a dance you and the monsters chase each other until finally you've answered their prayers- another monster slain.

The adrenaline rush is incomparable. No simulation, sport, or game can live up to the feeling that giving and receiving real wounds in genuine combat gives you. But then the rush wears off, and you notice your blood falling to the ground, and the pain of your injuries starts to matter again.

You don't like or want pain. Nobody does. You've heard what they've said about those pulsing cores that fall from the roaming legion of skulls. Your pain and injuries gone, at a price. You don't remember what the price is. And so the black tendrils race across your body, pulling at you, but pulling you together. Your pain is gone, and you're able to fight another day.

If you can fight another day... there's nothing stopping you from picking your gun back up and going back to your hunting. You're overwhelmed with the dopamine of loot, of glory, of sheer thrills. And there's nothing stopping you from another journey out.

The tendrils pull.
###### tags: `Lore` `Cults`