Mendax

The blue crystal that lived inside my iron oak chest quickened with a pulse that heightened my awareness and sharpened my hunger. I am Mendax Collodi, devourer of flesh, executioner of souls. I am he who craves, he who would be ascended, the anomaly of a dabbler.

The night began the slow crawl down from its zenith. I was transfixed, watching as the moon bled out into rivulets of rouged fog. A chill swept through my extremities, causing a ripple of rustling, adding a soft timbre to a lonely breeze. I watched as the living made true with their nomenclature, rising like revenants, setting off to brew their potions of wakefulness.

I began the arduous disrobing, casting off the armor of false humanity as I walked home with my back against the peeking sun. I was foolish to remain for so long, caught up in the bustle of the flesh and fluids. I would not get far before the magic condemned me. The last vestige of my vestments had been tossed to the side, marking the loosening of my living illusion and my entry back into the Dreamscape. The sun began to lick the back of my neck in earnest, hardening me in spasms, harkening a cease to the folly I would pursue.

Attuned and Chosen

In the Hallowed Arcanium of the 9th Dynasty, life, in its most pure and natural state, is rare, and revered. Altars of Foligia were erected, with utmost haste and precision, anywhere a blade of grass peeked out of its earthen tomb. Or there, near that post, a dandelion about to bloom. Foligia, patron saint of Herbilia of this specific sector within the Arcanium, was always depicted adorned with the brightest dandelions you could never see. The rarest glimpse of dandelion colored robes could be seen beaming out of the crowd, indicating one of the chosen, walking among you. Even without seeing, anyone within radius would feel it, that tingle behind your eyes, inside your ankles. If you were Attuned, you could take the energy, use it in whatever form suited your depraved fancy, or store it up for later use at some Attuned after-party. There was always a halo shell of the wraithlike Attuned whenever a chosen meandered the labyrinth of Arcanium streets. It often made for impromptu parades of shadowy orgasms zipping around a yellow ball of light, if it escalated to that level. But, that was always the game, to see what level you could achieve. Either way, for the lesser citizens, it made for a spectacular light show as it ripped across rooftops and uprooted apple trees, leaving swathy trails of viscous ethereal orgasmic fluids.

Attun’d, as it was in the beginning, was a blessing on the people, those who were there, and saw, and devoured the sacred flesh and sodomized the sacred corpse. But there are bedtime stories to make light and twist such common knowledge. They were whores of power, with appetites that apexed every blue moon, which was last night, and yet it would take another three days before the infernal frolicking ceased to a murmur and a gurgle.