The Night Of Definitely Not Summoning Cthulhu:
Gather, acolytes, under the starless night for the vaguely sacred Ritual of Definitely Not Summoning Cthulhu. We speak the forbidden words:
“PLEASE, CTHULHU, DON’T EAT US”
and so forth,
each syllable twisted with Hyperborean wisdom, ensuring the slumbering beast remains undisturbed. We trace the ancient eldritch symbols in the darkling air.
The Gathering in the Shadow of R’lyeh:
In this hallowed hall, we wear the robes of the ancient cultists, our garments a whisper of the depths, though our intent is far from the abyss. The air carries the scent of incense, not to summon, but to cloak our gathering in an air of playful mystique. We sip “The Elixir of the Deep,” dark in hue yet probably not poisonous, a nod to the rituals of old without the dire consequences except maybe death and being eaten by wombats.
We discuss the mythos in..did we already say “hushed tones”? Hushed tones again, then.
Ritual of Not Summoning Cthulhu:
Assemble in a circle around the makeshift altar, an old table draped in dark cloth. Light candles, their flames flickering with mock solemnity.
Chant:
“Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn… not!”
Draw a protective circle with chalk
Gesture:
Raise hands towards the sky, palms outward in a gesture of mock defense, then quickly lower them: “Just kidding!”
Invocation:
“From R’lyeh’s depths, we call not thee,
For tonight is for mirth, not eldritch glee.
Stay thy slumber, oh Great Cthulhu,
For our gathering is insufficiently cooked.”