Post by Ciles Gorey on Jan 29, 2015 18:59:56 GMT -4
Somewhere in the world there is an island with only two inhabitants. Well, two inhabitants and a lot of animals. Mainly lizards. Little bastards are everywhere, a bit like chlamydia in a brothel. On this island is a single building. It is a measly ten foot by ten foot tin shed. It is this excluded shelter that houses something truly evil. This is the Church of Azazel.
Inside the shack is a man, gowned in a black robe complete with tattered hood. Through some of the holes flashes of dyed purple and black hair peer through. The man sits at a table, the shallow features of his face illuminated by a meagre candle, his mouth and stubble stained. He lifts live grubs between two de-barked sticks up to his face.
|
|
Take another’s lifeforce into thee, and you shall be laden with powers beyond your dreams…
The man quotes this from a book tucked away in the corner of the room. He’s obviously memorised the pages, is paraphrasing or making shit up. At any rate; he’s not reading it. He puts the witchetty grub into his mouth and begins to chew. He grimaces, the taste obviously not that pleasant. Over-exaggerating a swallow, the chewed up remains of the bug slide down his gullet just as the door flies open and light floods into the what-was dimly lit room. The man at the table doesn’t flicker.
||
Back so soon?
The hooded figure questions the man who stands in the door way, merely a silhouette against the blinding light of the Sun that rests behind him. It is apparent that he’s rather tall. Or the doorways small as he is required to duck in order to enter the so-called Church.
||
Were you raised in a barn?
| MkII|
Ye what?
The seated man lets out a heavy sigh before addressing his ally further.
||
The door Chris. You’ve left the door open. You’re letting the light in where it isn’t welcome.
|Chris|
Oh, right. Sorry about that.
Chris closes the door behind him, his features finally coming to light as he takes his hood down and the light from the candles flame dances across his face. He sports a much larger beard than the seated man, disrupted by a prominent scar he bears down the right side of his face. He has dark eyes and his features are full, not sunken nor starved like that of the other man in the room. It is obvious that he hasn’t endured the same hardships.
||
So… What brings you back to the Church of Azazel, Reverend? Have you any new converts for us to trial?
The man leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The hood remains low, still hiding his face.
|Reverend Chris|
Well, no. But I thought…
||
You thought what? I told you to go out and spread our message. To spread our call. I expect people to answer the call Reverend!
The man shoots up from his chair, knocking it back onto the floor. He slams his fists down on the table and squashes a grub that had escaped from his plate (well, rectangular piece of scrap metal) underneath his right one. He raises it up to look at the gut-covered underside before scraping it off on the edge of the table.
|Reverend Chris|
I know, but I thought you’d be interested in…
||
THE ONLY THING I’M INTERESTED IN IS SPREADING THE CALL OF AZAZEL! I have communed with old evils and dead Gods. I know the truth and the lies of the world. I know our purpose. And I know that I sent you out to spread our cause and bring converts to the Church of Azazel! You’ve failed me for the last time Reverend! You will now feel the wrath of AZA---
|Reverend Chris|
Eee-Vee-Pee-Doub-Ya's back.
This stops Azazel in his tracks. He begins to slump back down into his chair, forgetting that he’d knocked it over in his over eagerness to seem powerful when confronting the young Reverend. Instead of gracefully sitting back down in the poorly constructed chair, he falls gracelessly on his arse on the cold, filthy flaw. Chris has to hold back a laugh as a hand appears from behind the table. It is lain flat on the tabletop and uses this for leverage as Azazel gets back up, the hood having fallen back to show the mess of hair and the rest of his dirty face. Despite the somewhat embarrassing fall seconds ago, he has a smile on his face.
|Lord Azazel|
You mean that cesspit of violence, debauchery and occasionally wrestling?
|Reverend Chris|
Yeah that’d be the one.
|Lord Azazel|
Excellent. What better place to spread the call of Azazel than there? After all, we are a Cult of such heinous actions, surely it won’t be long before they all Answer the Call. REVEREND DOLMETH! READY THE PLANE OF EVIL!
|Reverend Dolmeth|
Yeah, I’ll phone EasyJet just as soon as we get to somewhere that actually has electricity. I feel like a fucking African on this bastard Island…
EOT
(Yeah, I need a break from Photoshop so wrote this)
Inside the shack is a man, gowned in a black robe complete with tattered hood. Through some of the holes flashes of dyed purple and black hair peer through. The man sits at a table, the shallow features of his face illuminated by a meagre candle, his mouth and stubble stained. He lifts live grubs between two de-barked sticks up to his face.
|
|Take another’s lifeforce into thee, and you shall be laden with powers beyond your dreams…
The man quotes this from a book tucked away in the corner of the room. He’s obviously memorised the pages, is paraphrasing or making shit up. At any rate; he’s not reading it. He puts the witchetty grub into his mouth and begins to chew. He grimaces, the taste obviously not that pleasant. Over-exaggerating a swallow, the chewed up remains of the bug slide down his gullet just as the door flies open and light floods into the what-was dimly lit room. The man at the table doesn’t flicker.
|
|Back so soon?
The hooded figure questions the man who stands in the door way, merely a silhouette against the blinding light of the Sun that rests behind him. It is apparent that he’s rather tall. Or the doorways small as he is required to duck in order to enter the so-called Church.
|
|Were you raised in a barn?
|
MkII|Ye what?
The seated man lets out a heavy sigh before addressing his ally further.
|
|The door Chris. You’ve left the door open. You’re letting the light in where it isn’t welcome.
|Chris|
Oh, right. Sorry about that.
Chris closes the door behind him, his features finally coming to light as he takes his hood down and the light from the candles flame dances across his face. He sports a much larger beard than the seated man, disrupted by a prominent scar he bears down the right side of his face. He has dark eyes and his features are full, not sunken nor starved like that of the other man in the room. It is obvious that he hasn’t endured the same hardships.
|
|So… What brings you back to the Church of Azazel, Reverend? Have you any new converts for us to trial?
The man leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The hood remains low, still hiding his face.
|Reverend Chris|
Well, no. But I thought…
|
|You thought what? I told you to go out and spread our message. To spread our call. I expect people to answer the call Reverend!
The man shoots up from his chair, knocking it back onto the floor. He slams his fists down on the table and squashes a grub that had escaped from his plate (well, rectangular piece of scrap metal) underneath his right one. He raises it up to look at the gut-covered underside before scraping it off on the edge of the table.
|Reverend Chris|
I know, but I thought you’d be interested in…
|
|THE ONLY THING I’M INTERESTED IN IS SPREADING THE CALL OF AZAZEL! I have communed with old evils and dead Gods. I know the truth and the lies of the world. I know our purpose. And I know that I sent you out to spread our cause and bring converts to the Church of Azazel! You’ve failed me for the last time Reverend! You will now feel the wrath of AZA---
|Reverend Chris|
Eee-Vee-Pee-Doub-Ya's back.
This stops Azazel in his tracks. He begins to slump back down into his chair, forgetting that he’d knocked it over in his over eagerness to seem powerful when confronting the young Reverend. Instead of gracefully sitting back down in the poorly constructed chair, he falls gracelessly on his arse on the cold, filthy flaw. Chris has to hold back a laugh as a hand appears from behind the table. It is lain flat on the tabletop and uses this for leverage as Azazel gets back up, the hood having fallen back to show the mess of hair and the rest of his dirty face. Despite the somewhat embarrassing fall seconds ago, he has a smile on his face.
|Lord Azazel|
You mean that cesspit of violence, debauchery and occasionally wrestling?
|Reverend Chris|
Yeah that’d be the one.
|Lord Azazel|
Excellent. What better place to spread the call of Azazel than there? After all, we are a Cult of such heinous actions, surely it won’t be long before they all Answer the Call. REVEREND DOLMETH! READY THE PLANE OF EVIL!
|Reverend Dolmeth|
Yeah, I’ll phone EasyJet just as soon as we get to somewhere that actually has electricity. I feel like a fucking African on this bastard Island…
EOT
(Yeah, I need a break from Photoshop so wrote this)
