Love and Cold Winds: Part Two

    Lym'rothlin Badgerheart (Also know as Lym to his friends and lovers) had heard and sung songs of heroes of happenstance using their wit or dumb luck to accomplish their goal. The handsome halfling had no idea he would ever find a living soul that would have both aspects wrapped in a uniquely eye-catching package such as Vort. 
    Norra was a hunter down to her core, born and raised in the dense Novera Forest. She knew how to track, hunt, and even cast a little magic to give her arrows and knives enough of an impact on monstrous beasts. Caution and distance had been her only companions 'till a boy with storm colored hair saved her from the club of a berserk minotaur, and so the wood elf swore a life debt to him.
    Their reasons aside, over the year of travelling and performing feats to gain a decent reputation, the three found themselves becoming fast friends. And while they decided things by diplomacy, Vort's cheerfully chaotic disposition often led them down very interesting roads. In this particular instance it had led them to the human settlement of Parnattha on the edge of Garr'thd's Swamp.
    Within this particular town was a Tavern (non) ironically called The Slippery Fish. Garn found himself sitting in a back booth with Vort and aforementioned company. His prospects of ale-powered flirting was dashed as he looked between the chipper bard and the ranger oozing stoicism out of her green cloak. Vort had sat himself right next to Garn while the height-apposed duo sat opposite of them. Lym had just finished regaling everyone within ear shot of the perilous tale of how the party got its name, The Happy Accidents.
    "Well...An excellent song." Garn finally said. The halfling stood on his seat and bowed, eliciting a smattering of applause from nearby patrons. To think this all stemmed from the harmless question of, "So, who are you?"
    "Anyway," Norra said, "Lets just cut to the chaise. We need a fourth member to get into the higher levels and you're the best option for miles."
    This was not the first time the dragonborn had heard this line. Once he left his little village and started making a splash in his newfound profession, a representative of the nearest local guild (The Hardy Serpent) came to fill him in on the way of the world while attempting to recruit him.
    In times long past past the five great heroes of old formed the first guilds to combat the evil sweeping across the land. The High Guilds are those guilds which follow the highest orders of the High King and the Collective Kingdoms. From each region they oversee the Lesser Guilds, those formed by seasoned adventures to tackle greater challenges and tasks with all the benefits involved. Further segmenting this are Parties, smaller bands of adventures who are either in a guild or trying to get into one. There are also Mercenaries, those who prefer the independence away from the political  and cutthroat practices guilds tend to accumulate in their ranks.
    Any adventurer also had a Level, which was a short hand for their experience and prowess, and depending on the guild the process of leveling up could have been stupidly easy or easily frustrating. Garn happily skipped all this nonsense and marked himself as 'Mercenary, not taking requests'.
    So, why would he even hear them out now? One could blame the small man with storm colored hair that bitch slapped him into a wall. He of course would not admit that to himself or anyone else.
    "I don't know, what's in it for me?" Garn finally said.
    "A chance to actually be challenged again." Vort spoke up, "Plus, the money isn't half bad!"
    Garn blinked and looked down at the smiling human. Given he was the one who bitch slapped him an hour ago this sentence out of context would have been condescending. However the sheer sincerity it was spoken with, combined with a very honest assessment, Garn had begun to feel ever so slightly bored with his lot in life. He had left his home village to experience the world, and only took the job to hone his sword skills and get some gold for himself.
    Given the mediocre challengers he was put up against, he was made into the child with the biggest stick in the age old game of 'don't hit me with that'. He was tempted to say no to them much like the other parties and guilds that had attempted to recruit him, but he was more tempted to say yes (definitely not from the silly flight of having a crush, how dare you imply that?).
    "Alright," he said finally after the correct amount of tension built. "I'm in."
    "Yes!" Vort shouted joyfully. "Drinks are on me!"
    The whole party cheered, and proceeded to partake in the age old adventuring bonding experience; Becoming amazingly drunk and rowdy for the rest of the night.

Shapeshifter: Part V

Shackles holding me upright against a smooth stone surface, I awoke to... a different realm entirely, turning my stomach to shreds and stealing my breath from my heaving chest. Spheres the size of houses tumbled and turned in a black infinite abyss, dotting the vista with stars of lost hope above and around me. The spheres barely missed me, but those dots in the sky didn't look quite right either, almost as if each one had its own expressions and emotions as if they were some how alive. This turned my vision blotchy, and I attempted to close my eyes but it burned with the strength of a searing pan from an oven. I didn't dare look down in the horror that I may have been, in fact, floating, as my legs dangled past the slab I was tied to. I tried to close my eyes but they refused, and my body screamed as I opened my mouth and no sound escaped, as if I had never had one. I saw nothing of myself besides my left arm, which looked darker and skinny, a long hand sprouting forth with even longer fingers; I wasn't sure I could get used to the sight of it and panicked even further than what I believed my limits were. The unease in my stomach came to a vomit as I felt something alive within me, trying to emerge (crawl?) up my throat. The lack of breath running through my throat did not disturb me in the least, as if I never even had lungs. A windy whirring sound caught my attention for a brief few seconds, which came louder and louder, as if something were moving towards my dangling, infinitesimal body in this chaotic world of the strange. The thing in me was slimy and was coming out any way it could, a few tendrils, possibly even tentacles, at a time. Expanding and stretching, I felt my throat about to burst.

I woke up face-planting the floor again, this time too late, and I squeaked with a half scream into the solid floor when I turned my head. With a muffled thud all of me landed without too much harm done. I coughed and gasped loudly, a horribly loud cacophony of wheezes coming from my exasperated body. I writhed along the floor and held onto the rug until my breath finally slowed a bit, sweat covering the once clean, pink fluff of my small rug. I felt the terrible stomach drop of foreboding and with a start, I paused, and ran to the bathroom to vomit what was left of my dinner.

I'm never eating calamari again, I repeated in my head like a broken record, tears flowing down my face from the toxic taste of bad, half-digested seafood and bile.  After hours of retching, I was finally empty and laid on my side on the cushy blue bath mat, my muscles aching and my stomach feeling like I had swallowed needles. 

"Water..." I croaked to the air, pushing on my leg to slowly shamble over to the kitchen to get a glass, nearly falling with each reach of my now weakly legs. The walls were an excellent tool for catching myself, at the least. The cool liquid soothed the irritation while that sustenance helped my stomach stop turning with every second gone by. With a fumble or two, I hastily searched for my phone, the only device between herself and I. My 'men's' flannel pajama pants tried to contain the phone forever, but alas, I beat them at their own game by taking the phone out of its textured, industrial case. No new notifications lit up the bleak, depressing screen with 9:52 A. M. read on it. I opened the texting app and quickly typed out "Good morning. It's Annabelle" before staring into the white, infinite light that was the message box.

If I put a winking face after, it might seem too forward or creepy. But if I put no smiley I might sound like an ass. But if I do use a smiley she might think I'm too friendly. Or she might hate smileys. Goddamned human norms...

I started breathing shorter and I placed my phone down, closed my eyes, and inhaled with all of my might. My lungs were squashed like the gods were clamping down on each one with a large, muscular hand.

Calm down, Annabelle... You idiot... I really need to do something about this anxiety, and this weird lung-squeezing sensation.. It's going to become a huge problem. And with that thought, I forced my shaking hands to pick up my phone, type a regular smiley face and send the message, then dragged myself over to the marshmallow couch with frailty. I let the couch devour all of me that it would allow, with a box of crackers in one hand and The Dreamlands Journals: X in the other.

Serena will be here soon, at least. Hopefully she's good. I'd hate to lose another mundane servant...

The Dreamlands series didn't sit as well with me today as it normally would, as I kept flashing back where I was a few hours ago. Each time I saw the long, thin, brown arm coming out of me, my stomach turned once more. My body crawled with specks of pins and needles all over with my strangely quick, but quite normal healing abilities. The clock chirped as it struck noon, and my crackers were running low. I prepared to see Serena by primping my messy bun and wiping off my streaked makeup from some days prior. After all, who doesn't love a post-scheming B. O.?

Serena was normal, to say the least; 'Mundane' and 'inconspicuous' were her middle names. The stomach churns pried my attention from The Journals and, giving up, I decided to watch Serena instead. I had barely noticed her coming in as she gave a mousy "hello!" and begun the work I was paying her for immediately. She had shoulder length wavy brown hair pulled into a top knot with a bandanna over most of it, with dark brown eyes and an earnest vibe that seeped into everything she touched. She was perfectly normal, for hired help. The best part about her was her lack of awareness of my false walls.

My leg itched when, with a buzz, my phone finally vibrated. I picked it up, and it was her.

"Good Afternoon :)

You and me, martinis, 7 o'clock tonight. You in?"

Her forwardness never ceased to impress me, and I dropped my phone onto the wooden table with a clatter while holding my breath. I read it over once, then twice, then three times, after picking it up with a careful grip.

"She wasn't supposed -" Serena turned and looked at me, listening, as she was the only person here. "I just -" I stopped at that, feeling my mind start shorting out, and made a heel turn before swiftly sliding on my striped socks into my bedroom.

"She wasn't... She wasn't supposed to ask me out... THIS soon..." I half-breathed to the air. The other half was a loud, ever increasing wheeze. My senses began veering, as I then heard the ticking of the analog clock as if it were right next to my ear, TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... The ticking began to drift away, but before I could feel relief, I smelled the cleaning solution Serena used in the kitchen filling my nostrils with ammonia. My nose and sinuses were on fire, and I threw myself on the bed at the woozy unraveling of my balance.

After what felt like a whole day of having my eyes closed, I then could hear my phone vibrating inside my brain, my skull, my bones, like magical vibrations were torturing and sensationalizing my unassuming body before I even knew what was happening.

Magical seizure? The words came to mind, but I hadn't felt anything like it before in the 106 years I had been on this strange earth.

Asthma... Magic... HALT. I gathering up all the Willpower I could within myself, feeling it flow through me like a warm, violent liquid. That I could concentrate was certainly a miracle, allowing me to finally end the curse Annabelle had been stricken with from infancy. Warm liquid pooled in my lungs and it stung and burned as hot as lava. If you could imagine pouring bleach into your chest cavity, that wouldn't even begin to describe the agony I had just begun putting myself through. The pain in my chest completely covered all of the pain I would have had to bear within my skull.

I maintained a firm grip on the flannel sheets and quilted blankets of my bed, just barely being able to direct my screams into the bed, hopefully muffling them enough that Serena wouldn't hear.

I awoke several hours later facing my ceiling, all of my pain and mental anguish finally gone. The relief overflowed within my soft, squishy shell of a body. My lungs felt oddly clear and free from strain, and my head was sorting itself out at a quick and steady tempo. "Thank the Gods." I whispered to the peace and quiet of my room. The different recesses of my mind, no matter how deep, had been knocked around quite a bit. I could feel the disarray cluttering corners and niches of the dark halls that mapped my thoughts. My palms stung with nail marks where I had clawed through the silk, violet sheets, drawing drops of blood.


I rolled over with more ease than ever before, my new body finally becoming accustomed to my unfamiliar spirit. Enjoying the lifting of weights off of my chest, I reached for my phone on the cold, solid end table.

It was all real, right?
To my delight, the message was actually there. The anxiety of the day that had melted away was soon replaced with overwhelming determination. I caught myself smiling at my phone as I answered, "Sure! I'd love that." 

Love and Cold Winds: Part One: When Losing a Tournament is a Good Thing

   In a world as fantastical and filled with adventure as Tellardrin, one could not contest that huge shows of spectacular violence makes everyone happy. The small Colosseum, built by some hopeful entrepreneurs, literally banked their hopes and dreams on it. And by the grace of the Gods of luck and gambling it was paying off.
    This was mostly in part to Garn, of whom to the proprietors had crawled out of the western swamps just to claim the title of champion. It helped the alligator-like Dragonborn was 6'7" and built like a barrel with several logs wrapped in dark green hide topped with another log filled with teeth. He had even gained enough money to gather enough leather and metal to create an intimidating metal sleeve and threatening belt. Of course, arrogance and a swelled head followed, as who could beat a literal giant lizard with a sword that could double as an ironing board?
    Garn certainly didn't think it would be the tiny human who cheerfully entered the ring, his friends equal parts wishing him luck and asking why he believed this was a good idea. He toward over the little human, watching the cloud of storm colored hair and dark grey robes flow as the wind kicked up.
    He had with him a long and thin sword covered in strange marks, and a overly friendly smile. Garn raised an eye ridge at this newcomer. The proprietors had informed him he would be fighting a formidable adventurer, but the little thing before him looked out of place within the rough sand and high walls of the arena.
    "And who are you?" Garn bellowed over the crowd, as it wasn't hard with all the bass in his voice.
    "Vort of The Grand Peninsula." He returned, only loud enough for his opponent to hear.
    "Let us hope you fight as grand as your title." the dragonborn moved into a fighting stance.
    Vort simply smiled and took up his own stance. And when the call to begin came, he flew. Garn watched as the little human dashed forward and hopped into the air, sword poised in a thrust which led towards his opponents un-armored shoulder. He managed to just barely avoid the blow, staggering back as Vort skidded to a halt and retook his stance. 
    The objective of this battle was simple, hit one another until one was incapacitated. The local Mages had enchanted the stones of the arena to dull any attack so one could not be killed, only bloodied. Garn steadied himself and grinned as he raised his blade.
    "I didn't know I would be fighting a Mage." he said.
    "What gave it away?" Vort called back.
    "No normal swordsman would use such attacks."
    Vort laughed, and came at Garn with a fast horizontal slash. Despite his size, the Dragonborn could move with surprising bursts of speed, and stopped the attack with the flat of his own blade, bringing his free fist down toward Vort's head. He rolled out of the way before the scaly mace could make contact,and jumped further back as Garn's massive blade cut the air where he had just been. He let loose a stone-shaking roar as he went on the offensive.
    His massive blade whistled though the air and sent clouds of dust as it hit the earth were his nimble opponent had barely managed to get away. Vort managed to move in close enough to land a blow, but was sent flying by a punch to the stomach. And so they went, partners in a deadly dance.
    Both had equal reach with their weapons, and what Vort lacked in Garn's impressive strength he made up for in his astounding speed and precision. They continued to trade blows, stepping back and coming at each other with ferocity given to those who quickly grew to respect the other's prowess while all the while the crowd cheered, screamed and bet on the outcome of a fight no one would ever guess would be so intense.
    It was when the pair pulled away, Garn knew he had to finish this soon. While the injuries he had sustained were not fatal they were steadily compiling against his stamina. It seemed a much similar case for Vort, blade bobbing with each breath he took. He would have to buy an ale for this one after he won, he thought, prepairing his final strike against the human.
    He had just enough time to realize the long and thin blade coming toward his face like an arrow, and quickly raised the flat of his blade to deflect it. He didn't register the impact of it though, as Vort had seemingly materialized in front of him, hovering in the air as the back of his hand made contact with Garns face.
    This humble narrator would like to pause on this moment to quickly explain something to you dear reader. Many of you are aware of the phrase "love at first sight" but within Tellardrin's western Dragonborn culture (and a few Dwarven ones as well) is the concept of "love at first blow." Sparing the long winded cultural history as to how it came to be, it boils down to similar concepts: a connection with another which brings about strong feelings, outside of the physical feeling of being struck.
    This was the feeling that struck Garn, along with a slap empowered by a storms gale that sent him flying into the nearby wall and into abrupt unconsciousness. It is fairly obvious to admit that it was something absolutely no one had expected, at all.

Shapeshifter -Part IV-

This woman I stole had been in impeccable physical health, but she had the anxiety of someone who had been through more than a few incidents in her life. I didn't have time to reflect on it as she sucked me into this deep conversation that I was letting her trap me into. I was a willing participant, strung up in her web of anecdotes. Her words always gave me both a flutter in my stomach and a tightness in my chest, like a titan squeezed around my lungs with an enormous grip. It was both familiar and incredible, though the squeezing was a bit harder than my liking in this body.

Not showing my unease, I hoped, I forced myself to breathe the best I could, and timed it with the ticking of my designer watch, at the same time demanding my eyes to stop looking anywhere but into hers.

"Do you understand what I mean?" she looked straight at me, a sincerely concerned look on her face. She's been talking this whole time and all I've been doing is breathing. God. Damn. It.

"Yeah. Thank you." I smiled, speaking slightly better than squeaking, this time.

"So what's bothering you? What's on your mind, hun? You look lost."

I looked down awkwardly, trying to use body language to my advantage. "I don't really want to talk about it, thanks though." Damn it, why did I do that? Looking around in a small panic I said, "Honestly I'd really just like to talk with you about other things, if that's okay."

"Oh? Well how would you like to hear about my most recent breakup?" She gave a smile that read about as innocent as a demon of depravity.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Shit. SHit. SHIt. SHIT. 

"Let me tell you something, this lady was incredible. She was beautiful, rich, good at making love, and cared about me. But you know how sometimes people can get a little too into you?"

I stared blankly and just barely nodded.

"She was possessive, you know? She said that she just couldn't bear to see me with anyone else, whether it be an acquaintance or a friend. Total bullshit, if you ask me. Happens all the time, though" she sighed. "Everyone else I know has issues with guys or ladies cheating on them, and I'm over here with the stalkers." she laughed. It sounded like the Christians' version of the Devil in my ears.

I believed that I was keeping my calm well, until I realized my eyes were spread wide in amazement. My mouth was definitely also agape. "I suppose I can imagine what you mean... After all, people need their space, right?"

I frantically searched my mind for hundreds of ways I could distract myself and have time for myself while dating her, and exactly zero of them were appealing to me. Reading? I've read every book I own plus I already read two books per day from the library. Painting? Boring. Music? Already d --

"Damn straight... What was your name again, sweetie?"

We exchanged names and numbers, and that was the moment I made it my mission to let her have time for herself at all costs, for the fifth time. The first time didn't count, since I didn't truly know her until it was too late. But this time, the sixth relationship, I am making my fifth attempt at this 'space' thing count.

That evening after I went home, all I could do was sit and breathe while my mind gradually churned slower from the excitement that afternoon. I sipped my finest whiskey with my back slouched into the new marshmallow couch I had delivered a few days prior. Even though the television was on, I didn't see it. I didn't even truly hear it. My eyes looked but the rest of me was seeing micro expressions, blinks, shimmering hair, all belonging to her. Why did I have to choose a body with such bad anxiety? I agonized over how the conversation went, over and over through my chaotic brain.

Though, after a while, it turned into my past faces, my new face, my plans, my life... And
like the waves of an ocean, my mind caressed the edges of the coast of where my wonder sat. Why am I the way I am? And if the Gods made humanity, then who made ME? I jumped out of my seat as I saw Vincent's face stare back at me from the lit screen. And now I'm hallucinating again. Great. My whiskey now covering the nearby rug, I wandered to bed and laid in the darkness, truly feeling how alone I was for the first time for as long as I could remember. Those questions lurked ever closer than before, creeping about the corners and niches of my mind while I tried to focus on anything, everything else. Each and every one haunted me into my sleep.

So you Wanna Leave a Cult?

    Well hello there! If you have picked up this pamphlet, opened the cover and started reading this then you are in fact, in a cult! It's alright though, these things happen to people with little self esteem and who are incredibly gullible to people who speak with a degree more authority than they are used to. If you feeling offended, then congratulations! You are on your way from leaving the happy little group of suckers that surround the ego maniacal criminal you call a cult leader!
    Follow along these 7 simple steps and you just might make it out into normal society!
    Step 1: Just.Leave.
    Now  I know what your thinking- "If I could just fucking leave, then I would!" and if that is your case, this is not the step for you. For those who just got their feet wet in strange rituals and sabbaths in a spooky warehouse, you can leave! Most cults starting out will always have one or two who drop the cause and return to normal life. They may attempt to reach out to you, so if you find them getting too frequent, best skip town for a while.
    Step 2: Remember that skipping town bit?
    If just now 'a cult' seems like a bad idea after the sacrificial bloodletting binding you all together, then its time to close your accounts, stuff all your clothes and money in a bag and drive. There are two optional places you can hide if your former cult buddies decide "one of the Chosen Children of Chargathum'dall" is too important for the Grand Plan: A massive city, or a small town. Both have their pros and cons of course. a city will offer the anonymity of millions of other people, though so do they if they come for you. In a small town, you are the newbie in a town where everyone knows everyone, and there is a high chance your new friendly (and nosy) neighbors will happily greet you, while simultaneously trying to pry everything about yourself out of you. The trick is to act the right amount of normal to keep the community placated, while being interesting enough to keep them from just dismissing you as "just another townie."
    The con of a small town is that everyone is just too damn friendly. Once your cult finds you via some dark magical means or the paper trail your incompetent ass left, being friendly to the locals will make it easier for them to spill your location to them. But, I hear small town cops are really bored and with something like this, you'll have their full attention.
    However, if you are too deeply entrenched in the eldritch rituals and ceremonies to actually just up and vanish, proceed to Step 3!
    Step 3: Fake your Death!
    Well this escalated quickly didn't it? Sadly, your inability to "just say no" when you performed that rite naked and skin-soaked in a mixture of goat and pigs blood, and your witness of something inhuman peering between the shadowy gaps of the trees scribbling furiously, means it's time to take hold of your gender specific genitalia and start being drastic! This step might be a tad hard to do as they watch over each other like a bunch of paranoid hawks but it is worth trying out at the very least! Due to some legal reasons this pamphlet cannot spell out how to do that, so if you're rather unimaginative and have no skills in grave robbing, proceed to the next step!
Step 4: Time to be a Mole!
    Like any decent cult, yours is bound to be doing something so shady even shadow things raise their shadowy eyebrows. It's time to put your natural ability of ass kissing to good use! Build up evidence against your Leader and the various members of your Cult, maybe set up a camera during the Ritual of Borsha'gthha so you have that rampant animal abuse on tape (best keep yourself out of the footage though). Collecting evidence might be hard if you have to live in a room with four other dudes while your Great Leader has a girl-filled mansion to himself. But hey, if you all have an hour of "private time" then be sure to stash them where no one would look. Finally, once you have enough footage, be sure your one of the few who go into the neighboring town to get supplies, ditch your fellow cult members and sing like a canary hopped up on crack.
    With any luck, your testimony and the various evidence will be enough to have police and SWAT kicking in plywood doors and dragging cultists out. Unless of course, the police are under the Cult's control... Which leads us to:
    Step 5: Time to Hire Investigators!
    Aaah, the bane of any cult: nosy people! Yes while it seems a little terrible dragging other people into your mess, remind yourself you saw your leader summon a black glowing ooze from a ritual circle and it turned Bob into a horrible bloated monstrosity that shambles around the estate, so you're really running out of options! A normal party of investigators come in groupings of 3 to 8, and have a wide variety of skills and knowledges that could be helpful in ending your cult...Or getting them brutally killed, at the least. Fret not, for there always seems to be a unlimited number of people willing to fill in the sudden vacancies!
    As for actually hiring them, its best to hire by proxy! Find a good friend, trusted loved one, or someone the cult has alienated, and promptly beg them for help. 9/10 Times they will happily shell out money or favors in order to bring the investigators into town. If your Cult leader starts to get antsy and look suspiciously at his herd then you know they are here!
    Step 6: Lay Low!
    Again, this may seem rather hard as the gaggle of semi-competent "heroes" you managed to hire happily plow though all the carefully laid plans your leader had laid in place with a frightening mix of pure luck and incredible bouts of violence toward the heart of the eldritch and sordid affairs you and your buddies have been up to. It is here you may start to notice bouts of madness begin overtaking various cult members, including your leader as the amount of black rituals with each gleeful ruination of one of those dastardly webs that were woven.
    Human sacrifice in order to summon up a big nasty thing from the realm of H. R. Giger's nightmares and spell slinging mad men are not far behind you and your choice of wearing your "brand me with dark maddening runes" robe today. Its best for you to stay as far under the radar as possible, and weave the illusion of actually participating. Make the movements but not say those hard to sound words, stay hunched in the back as your leader asks for "volunteers", and above all else- STAY. AWAY. FROM.THE. INVESTIGATORS.
    They are more likely to get you killed than any abomination of nature your Grand Leader pulls from parts unknown. You're still a "cultist" and in 99% of the time you run into them, you will get shot, stabbed, beaten, or hit with a spell. Find yourself in that happy medium and wait for:
    Step 7: Wait Until Everyone's Dead!
    Yup! The final step is to be the biggest coward in the bunch. For you see, in the end once you introduce investigators into the mix the  "Final Plan" will be pushed months or even years ahead of schedule as time becomes a precious commodity. As the party to end all parties gets started, the investigators come storming in, guns blazing and sealing spells at the ready.
    Before that, be sure to have an exit strategy, know the entrance which they will most likely enter, hope you aren't doing this ritual inside a room with only one door, and make your move when everyone is distracted! That's right! Run like your life depended on it (because it does!) Always be sure to be wearing normal clothes and good running shoes under your robe because you best ditch that place the minute you can.
    Its best to find a place to hide and wait it out if you can, as who knows what nasty buggers are lurking around the perimeter? Just don't stay in the main building as investigators have a habit of setting fire or blowing up buildings with cult related activity in them.
    If you can't do this, I suggest stealing some car keys before hand, or learning how to hot wire for a quick and safe getaway. Just be sure to ditch the car after the sun rises! With any luck all evidence of you being in the cult would be burned up along with the corpses of monsters and your former colleagues, leaving you free as a bird (except for those nightmares and therapy!)
    And there you have it! You managed to survive the worst decision in your life, and once again are free to hopefully not join another cult! For additional aid please grab "So, an Investigator is Trying to Kill You?" Who knows, you might need it!