Rolzup
First Post
Cake And/Or Death
And indeed, there was cake. Dark cake. Foul, vile cake, as evil as...something very evil indeed.
BURNE HAS A GIFT FOR METAPHOR.
"Devil's Food Cake" of the most bleakly literal sort, in fact.
MATCHED ONLY BY HIS CUDGEL-LIKE WIT.
But I get ahead of myself.
In basic appearance, this underground chamber was not unlike a typical church. Rather darker than the norm, and with more than the usual number of dismembered corpses scattered about, but for all that, none too unusual.
There were no pews, of course, or even -- as more usual in a temple of Kruetzel -- a central buffet table. But there were alcoves to either side, and I strode boldly towards the altar I could not help but glance into these openings as I passed them.
In each, there was a painting. The central figure in these portraits was the Bishop, whose face I recognized from the statue which had formerly stood above the entrance. He was surrounded by children, capering and prancing in an inspidly joyful fashion. While I am no art critic (being, rather, a man with a valid reason for drawing breath each morning)...
IF YOU CONSIDER PRACTICING BIGOTRY OR A PORNOGRAPHIC OBSESSION WITH FIRE
VALID, THEN YES.
...these paintings seemed crudely done, at best. Proportions were wrong, perspective all but non-existant, and the colors flat and poorly-chosen.
As I continued on, glancing from side to side at each pair of paintings, my steps slowed without my full awareness. In each case, the paintings improved between one alcove and the next. And at the same time, they became much, much worse.
Technically, yes, they were beautiful. By the time I came to the last set of paintings, they had become stunningly realistic. No, better than merely "realistic". They seemed sharper, more clear, more perfect than mere reality could ever aspire to be.
THE ONLY REALITY THAT I ASPIRE TO IS OBLIVION.
But the subjects of these paintings! I consider myself a strong man, one unburdened by sentiment or pathos. But these pictures...well, I cannot remember them without shuddering.
The Bishop himself grew steadily larger, more sinister, and less human with each successive painting. His kindly smile became a leering grin, his outstretched hand grasping claws. The children continued to dance, and their expressions changed little from painting to painting...but their dance became more and more frantic, and somehow their joy became outright terror.
They grew thinner as well, like victims of famine. And they began to lose...things. Extremeties, at first. Then entire limbs. And then whole sections of their bodies, bitten away in bloody chunks.
But in the paintings closest to the altar, three new figures were shown. Three women, beautiful of form, with wings. Their faces could not be seen, but somehow it was obvious that the three were sisters.
And one last painting stood leaning against the altar itself. It showed the Bishop, once more shrunken in stature to the height of a normal man, being led by the women through a dark archway.
The altar itself was oddly simple; a thing of graceless stone. Atop it sat a silver tea set of exquisite worksmanship, a small prism-shaped stone, and a silver tray. And atop the tray was a piece of cake.
Cake that Meiji was eying with an unhealthy interest.
Moving the foreigner aside with a fierce glare, I glanced into the teapot. It was brimming with a black liquid, that seemed almost like blood in consistency. Not, I thought to myself, a good sign.
I could not dwell upon this dubious beverage, however, as my eye was suddenly caught by something of even greater import. Behind the altar, between two stone columns, was an archway identical to that shown in the final painting. And that archway was filled with a field of... nothing, a kind of energized emptiness, cold and lustreless black in color.
"Meiji," I asked, abstractedly, "Would you mind touching that void for me? In the interest of scientific inquiry?"
The coward made no direct reply, instead wondering aloud what flavor of frosting that the cake might have.
"The flavor of corruption," I opined, "And of evil."
"Not chocolate, then?" he replied, sounding disapointed.
Joachim, even more appalled than usual, was wandering about the chamber with a look of horror upon his face. That a member of his own church could have been so vile, so debased? It shook his faith, I think, and more than a little.
Good for him.
I snapped my fingers to catch his attention, and then directed him to go to the Temple of Kruetzel post-haste. "Your superiors," I informed him, "Should be told of this. Perhaps they can shed some light upon the subject. Go and fetch them, forthwith."
With a bow, off he went.
ANYTHING TO ESCAPE BURNE'S PRESENCE.
And indeed, there was cake. Dark cake. Foul, vile cake, as evil as...something very evil indeed.
BURNE HAS A GIFT FOR METAPHOR.
"Devil's Food Cake" of the most bleakly literal sort, in fact.
MATCHED ONLY BY HIS CUDGEL-LIKE WIT.
But I get ahead of myself.
In basic appearance, this underground chamber was not unlike a typical church. Rather darker than the norm, and with more than the usual number of dismembered corpses scattered about, but for all that, none too unusual.
There were no pews, of course, or even -- as more usual in a temple of Kruetzel -- a central buffet table. But there were alcoves to either side, and I strode boldly towards the altar I could not help but glance into these openings as I passed them.
In each, there was a painting. The central figure in these portraits was the Bishop, whose face I recognized from the statue which had formerly stood above the entrance. He was surrounded by children, capering and prancing in an inspidly joyful fashion. While I am no art critic (being, rather, a man with a valid reason for drawing breath each morning)...
IF YOU CONSIDER PRACTICING BIGOTRY OR A PORNOGRAPHIC OBSESSION WITH FIRE
VALID, THEN YES.
...these paintings seemed crudely done, at best. Proportions were wrong, perspective all but non-existant, and the colors flat and poorly-chosen.
As I continued on, glancing from side to side at each pair of paintings, my steps slowed without my full awareness. In each case, the paintings improved between one alcove and the next. And at the same time, they became much, much worse.
Technically, yes, they were beautiful. By the time I came to the last set of paintings, they had become stunningly realistic. No, better than merely "realistic". They seemed sharper, more clear, more perfect than mere reality could ever aspire to be.
THE ONLY REALITY THAT I ASPIRE TO IS OBLIVION.
But the subjects of these paintings! I consider myself a strong man, one unburdened by sentiment or pathos. But these pictures...well, I cannot remember them without shuddering.
The Bishop himself grew steadily larger, more sinister, and less human with each successive painting. His kindly smile became a leering grin, his outstretched hand grasping claws. The children continued to dance, and their expressions changed little from painting to painting...but their dance became more and more frantic, and somehow their joy became outright terror.
They grew thinner as well, like victims of famine. And they began to lose...things. Extremeties, at first. Then entire limbs. And then whole sections of their bodies, bitten away in bloody chunks.
But in the paintings closest to the altar, three new figures were shown. Three women, beautiful of form, with wings. Their faces could not be seen, but somehow it was obvious that the three were sisters.
And one last painting stood leaning against the altar itself. It showed the Bishop, once more shrunken in stature to the height of a normal man, being led by the women through a dark archway.
The altar itself was oddly simple; a thing of graceless stone. Atop it sat a silver tea set of exquisite worksmanship, a small prism-shaped stone, and a silver tray. And atop the tray was a piece of cake.
Cake that Meiji was eying with an unhealthy interest.
Moving the foreigner aside with a fierce glare, I glanced into the teapot. It was brimming with a black liquid, that seemed almost like blood in consistency. Not, I thought to myself, a good sign.
I could not dwell upon this dubious beverage, however, as my eye was suddenly caught by something of even greater import. Behind the altar, between two stone columns, was an archway identical to that shown in the final painting. And that archway was filled with a field of... nothing, a kind of energized emptiness, cold and lustreless black in color.
"Meiji," I asked, abstractedly, "Would you mind touching that void for me? In the interest of scientific inquiry?"
The coward made no direct reply, instead wondering aloud what flavor of frosting that the cake might have.
"The flavor of corruption," I opined, "And of evil."
"Not chocolate, then?" he replied, sounding disapointed.
Joachim, even more appalled than usual, was wandering about the chamber with a look of horror upon his face. That a member of his own church could have been so vile, so debased? It shook his faith, I think, and more than a little.
Good for him.
I snapped my fingers to catch his attention, and then directed him to go to the Temple of Kruetzel post-haste. "Your superiors," I informed him, "Should be told of this. Perhaps they can shed some light upon the subject. Go and fetch them, forthwith."
With a bow, off he went.
ANYTHING TO ESCAPE BURNE'S PRESENCE.
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