Post by Donzig on Jun 7, 2023 20:57:06 GMT -5
Baron Albrecht Stouff sighed contentedly as he leaned back in his seat, the antique leather chair creaking under him as he took a long drink of his fine liquor. He smacked his lips, and he nodded with pleasure as he turned his attention back to the glossy photographs scattered beside him. He flipped through the bloody scenes, and he flashed a grin across his flabby face before he sat them aside before he glanced over at the black and silver mask that resembled a boar that stared at him. He lifted his glass in salute, taking another drink.
The mask was a sign of his rank and his allegiance, he was a servant of the Temple. A lord in the ranks of what had been Donzig-gun. But he had long suffered beneath the heel of the Scourge. Donzig had not allowed certain things, he kept the worst excesses of the cruel and merciless monsters of his Order at bay. No one would dare to defy him, for the wrath of the Scourge was terrible.
And so the Baron and those like him had swallowed their pride, and they had waited for the day when the empty gaze of the Great Dark had drifted elsewhere. But then? In a night everything had changed, Armand Von Krauss had worn down Donzig. He had taken from him piece by piece, and then in an act that no one had ever dreamed?
He had challenged and won! The Power of the Scourge had been broken.
This was the Age of the Kharnival.
Armand didn’t care what the monsters did, he didn’t bother to force their rules on them. He just cared to stay in power and that the money came in. And so Stouff did that, and he felt a pleasant warmth move through him as he took another drink. Armand didn’t care if he had his minions attack a girl’s family to force her into bed with the man who had once been the Black Boar. He didn’t care if he forced the girl to submit herself to his lecherous advances.
Stouff leered at the pictures again, and then he chortled as he rose. He walked for the window, it was growing hot and stuffy in the ornate office. And then as he opened it the world spun, and he found himself sprawled on the carpet. Blood trickled from his nose, and he wiped at it as he felt his heart thudding away in his chest like a hammer on an anvil.
‘What? What’s happening?’
‘You’re dying, fat man.’ hissed a voice from the darkness. A cold dead voice detached from anything human, yet condemning.
The Black Boar gasped, eyes widening in fear as he tried to rise. He knew that voice.
‘No! You’re dead! He broke you! He said you were gone forever!’
‘As if a thing like us can ever die, fat man. We ae the Chosen of the Void, the Servant of Oblivion, the Great Dark. We can no more die than you could control your fucking lust.’
The pictures lurid and disturbing were flung into the fire, and he watched them burn and crinkle as that pleasant warmth burned in his limbs as he wiped at his nose. He shook his head, sputtering.
‘No! Armand rules us now.’
‘Oh, no doubt.’
The Baron’s vision was growing dark, red at the edges as he stared at the edges of an old battered leather long coat that ended just above boots that stomped across his fine carpet. And then his mask was tossed into the fire. Lacquered wood blistered and twisted, and the Baron spat globs of blood.
‘You can’t! You have no power!’
‘Did you think Stouff that we only had power because I led Donzig-gun? You see I knew as soon as I was gone you petty little monsters would give into your appetites. That you simply couldn’t stop yourself, just as our own other self will seek his own destruction? So it is with you with you lesser things. Armand will let you fuck, and steal, and indulge in your own little games. And you will think yourself safe.’
The Baron gasped, twisting as the pleasant warmth spread higher as he tried to crawl away.
‘No, no, no, you see, I am the Scourge. I am the punishment inflicted on this sick, dying world. And when you think you are safe? I will come for you. And your sins are very great, Baron.’
The Baron shook his head, trying to deny it as he struggled to breath.
‘You are poisoned, Baron. No one will find what I have done to you unless they look. They will think your fat disgusting perverted self with your loathsome tastes had a heart attack. They will think you died on the floor of your study mercifully quick. But I think dear Armand will know better won’t he? And he will look for traitors, he will look at your fellow monsters, and he will slowly clean my house of the Weak and the Wicked.’
The thing shrugged, and the Baron’s eyes widened.
‘You see it now don’t you? What’s waiting for us all.’
The Baron’s head dropped, smacking off the floor as he went limp. And the Scourge smiled before he stepped back into the shadows.
The mask was a sign of his rank and his allegiance, he was a servant of the Temple. A lord in the ranks of what had been Donzig-gun. But he had long suffered beneath the heel of the Scourge. Donzig had not allowed certain things, he kept the worst excesses of the cruel and merciless monsters of his Order at bay. No one would dare to defy him, for the wrath of the Scourge was terrible.
And so the Baron and those like him had swallowed their pride, and they had waited for the day when the empty gaze of the Great Dark had drifted elsewhere. But then? In a night everything had changed, Armand Von Krauss had worn down Donzig. He had taken from him piece by piece, and then in an act that no one had ever dreamed?
He had challenged and won! The Power of the Scourge had been broken.
This was the Age of the Kharnival.
Armand didn’t care what the monsters did, he didn’t bother to force their rules on them. He just cared to stay in power and that the money came in. And so Stouff did that, and he felt a pleasant warmth move through him as he took another drink. Armand didn’t care if he had his minions attack a girl’s family to force her into bed with the man who had once been the Black Boar. He didn’t care if he forced the girl to submit herself to his lecherous advances.
Stouff leered at the pictures again, and then he chortled as he rose. He walked for the window, it was growing hot and stuffy in the ornate office. And then as he opened it the world spun, and he found himself sprawled on the carpet. Blood trickled from his nose, and he wiped at it as he felt his heart thudding away in his chest like a hammer on an anvil.
‘What? What’s happening?’
‘You’re dying, fat man.’ hissed a voice from the darkness. A cold dead voice detached from anything human, yet condemning.
The Black Boar gasped, eyes widening in fear as he tried to rise. He knew that voice.
‘No! You’re dead! He broke you! He said you were gone forever!’
‘As if a thing like us can ever die, fat man. We ae the Chosen of the Void, the Servant of Oblivion, the Great Dark. We can no more die than you could control your fucking lust.’
The pictures lurid and disturbing were flung into the fire, and he watched them burn and crinkle as that pleasant warmth burned in his limbs as he wiped at his nose. He shook his head, sputtering.
‘No! Armand rules us now.’
‘Oh, no doubt.’
The Baron’s vision was growing dark, red at the edges as he stared at the edges of an old battered leather long coat that ended just above boots that stomped across his fine carpet. And then his mask was tossed into the fire. Lacquered wood blistered and twisted, and the Baron spat globs of blood.
‘You can’t! You have no power!’
‘Did you think Stouff that we only had power because I led Donzig-gun? You see I knew as soon as I was gone you petty little monsters would give into your appetites. That you simply couldn’t stop yourself, just as our own other self will seek his own destruction? So it is with you with you lesser things. Armand will let you fuck, and steal, and indulge in your own little games. And you will think yourself safe.’
The Baron gasped, twisting as the pleasant warmth spread higher as he tried to crawl away.
‘No, no, no, you see, I am the Scourge. I am the punishment inflicted on this sick, dying world. And when you think you are safe? I will come for you. And your sins are very great, Baron.’
The Baron shook his head, trying to deny it as he struggled to breath.
‘You are poisoned, Baron. No one will find what I have done to you unless they look. They will think your fat disgusting perverted self with your loathsome tastes had a heart attack. They will think you died on the floor of your study mercifully quick. But I think dear Armand will know better won’t he? And he will look for traitors, he will look at your fellow monsters, and he will slowly clean my house of the Weak and the Wicked.’
The thing shrugged, and the Baron’s eyes widened.
‘You see it now don’t you? What’s waiting for us all.’
The Baron’s head dropped, smacking off the floor as he went limp. And the Scourge smiled before he stepped back into the shadows.
