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The Flesh Compendium


Jentos
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T H E  F L E S H  C O M P E N D I U M

 

Spoiler

Only the varg players have access to this information

 

 

 

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An honourable guide to the tasting of sin

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By the powers so bestowed to me by the winds, the seas and that chestnut tree - so I lay a curse upon these pages. May none draw unwanted a gaze unto this ink, lest the wombs of their mothers rot in death, and call unto the recesses of life to spawn a host of devils now remembered. Let their sins take form as mine have, and let them be consumed by them. Solitary God - singular thing, I weep unto your earth, and dream your dreams - and though you are deaf and you are blind, and though you see a thousand things and hear a thousand things, I weep for this fact ; all things are not one.

 

As our blessed kind make work upon the year of our Lord 69 it has come to my mind to make upon paper writ for the various kinds of vices and faults which we ingest - and the manner of container from which it stems. As the Soul found within Mvndus is for the greater part encased in flesh (nonwithstanding anything past that threshold, IE 'death', astral projection, eliptic disembodiment, etc), it has been found that the very same flesh comes to take a

particular taste dependent on the actions of the Soul. Indeeded as it is known that thought and belief shape the World, so do the sins of Men change their taste. 

Before continuing on, the matter of reincarnation, rejuvination, and other similar matters will not be considered within the holds of this book for they are superfluous - while the tracks of Sin and the blemishes of the Soul often wear out when the Soul truly passes Mvndus, this is not always the case, and I know not its deep science with enough certitude. 

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THE LINE OF MALIN

Upon our holy mission it is well known that the children of Malin consistently prove why it is that their father had left them in the first place. That race is ignoble as much as it is blind; there is a stench of arrogance that perfumes them, so noticeable that the hosts of souls drifting the lands, 'Descendant's, can inequivocably attribute this trait to those peoples. That taste is one not so disimilar to jealousy - for arrogance is the mark of insecurity, and for that they have a bitter taste. For this reason dear reader the consumption of the elven heart is to be enjoyed at dawn for then their arrogance is yet quiet, and the taste of their flesh is then most deep. While the race posesses many gifted intellectuals and well-rounded minds, the spoil of arrogance consistently mars their peoples so that they consistently think to know. Indeed while many understand portion of the God and its death, they forget the whole of the Abstraction - and then fail to understand that the quest to understand the God does not end - even for an angel. This is a common trope amongst all the races - but it can be said that the elves have tried at least, to comprehend. 

What does pester the elf forevermore however is its telltale ability to consistently sin; to be unfair, to contradict, to lay and to be greedy - and above all; to blaspheme. For the race of elves, and their long lives - have given themselves to many heretical practices. Some fall in love with golden lesser-fragments such as Xan and the Aspects (the latter which is used to contort nature to their selfish whims), but they also practice the most abhorrent - they sing Nothing. Their use of the Voidal abstractions is where they damn their spirits - for then truly do they link their heads to that outside God. To perform this blasphemy taints the taste - and when I look upon one such heart, I see it black, despite the alchemist with me stating otherwise - but he does not have my eyes. No, their taste then is like chalk, but I cannot stop myself from desiring them for it a rare impulse that drives me, and I know it to be divine.
 

The elven bone-marrow is noted for its superior thickness and rich flavour. This is due to the outstanding age of the so-called elder-race. To this end they are not unlike the wines of the Savoyards, except that it should not be considered to keep them in cellars, for that would spoil the taste. Rather, the elf is to be kept nailed against a large oak, with the soul in the body, where it will shit itself screaming and allow you to rut under the beautiful sound of it begging for succour. It is also a noble thing then; for it gives it the chance to be granted mercy, if it can prove that its heart is not foul.

 

THE LINE OF URGUAN

From the texts of the man-priests to the babbling of elves, the war-cants of the orcs and the stories of the half-men, the various races claim curses gained from Iblees and blessings bestowed by the Moon. This is well known in the popular history of these peoples, as for the dwarves - though they are gifted plenty and bravery, the 'dwarves' (short-men in common dialect) are sundered to be greedy. And while many dwarves have been prone to greed, it could be easily stated that all the races are prone to greed in one way or another, for such is the nature of Sin. Rather, the line of Urguan's so-called Sin also leads them to great bouts of industry, and so they carve and craft things that are called "beautiful" and "great" by the other races - though this of course accentuates their care for materiality. However not all dwarves are so base - many turn to forms of faith. The Brathmorkadin is a point of contention among scholars - their existence cannot be truly disproven for it may be that they are avatars of dwarven spirit, though others claim that they are stand-ins for the Aengudaemonica. This curious faith effectively means that their hearts are taken in an odd position - for no matter their beliefs; they know no better. And this, verily, is what keeps them from the ever sweet taste of sin. At the same time however - it confers upon their souls a sort of attraction that I feel, for it seems that the Will drives us to rouse them to intellectuality and industry through our good works. 

 

This very materiality offers a very coarse, and meaty taste to their flesh. The leg of the dwarf is most enjoyable, and though their meat is always thick, dwarf-flesh can be well preserved, a quality they gain from their time spent about their halls of stone. 

 

The dwarven flesh is hearthy - but it will not offer a pleasant experience to the more refined pallet for the majority of the dwarven peoples, as they are simple. This idiocy which they share characterizes a lack of knowledge and presumption - which makes their cleaning undesirable, and their taste, bland apart from choice cuts. 

Note that Fate has intervened when I fought one - for then I beheld their simple nature, and now know that they can do little to change, for they are like the stones of this world. 

 

THE LINE OF KRUG

Of all the races of the World - the orcs are the least desirable to consume. For among all of the peoples who succumbed to the sway of Iblees, it was Krug that cast down the Daemon’s offer - and for this, their race is blessed. 

 

THE LINE OF METZLI

The Kharahyr are demonic - they are false descendants made by a piece of the Whole rather than in its genesis, and for this their consumption is necessary, though foul of taste. Tear each of their limbs and arrange them gesturing away in a vertical fashion. Wait a day, then consume. 

 

THE HALF-BREEDS

For though their blood is reviled, and the taste of fornication is a delicacy for it tastes of plum and fat, I say this; before you hunt mixed blood, hunt the union which bore mixed curses. 

Consume them upon the altar, and so make an offering of them to your stomach in a place holy. 

 

THE LINE OF HOREN

Above all, it is the line of men which exhibit the greatest of tastes and the greatest of Sins. For theirs is a race fallen from grace, given to the greatest of contradictions, and the greatest lapse in faith. While various faiths exist to these peoples, it is the one of the Canon that is found foremost - and though despite its long standing age, the priests of these peoples, and these peoples themselves have failed to make respect of their religious rules. Rather - it is tradition that rules, rather than their texts. And for this they are blasphemers - for this the ashes of their saints taste sweet, and the bodies of their lying, fat churchmen have a rich, sweet flesh. In turning their faith into a weapon of circumstance they have damned themselves to a rictus of torment in which their souls will pass on from this world unto another, and fooled into believing that their realm is ordained by God, rather than by Aeriel. In this way they are as lost as all the rest - it is a delicious tragedy then, to wish to aid them, but to only see their kind wallow in endless ignorance and bliss. 

 

The Heartlanders are known to have the sweetest of flesh - for theirs is a foul people. Providence stands as a dread-city, and though one might call its walls, its shops, its streets and its palace beautiful - that is only in temporal matters, for in all things spiritual, Providence does not have. Providence stands as a false-Heaven, a physical replacement where these peoples give themselves to all manner of degenerative lifestyles. And for this - I say unto you, dance about their walls, make wind out of your limbs as you saunter about the place - let your screams be carried by the breeze, sing unto them the House of Names - and let them know that though they have gained the world, they have lost their souls. 

 

And though the Highlanders are more prone to faith - it is their men of the cloth which often run foul in endless ignorance and pride, making simple that solitary God which we fear and love endlessly. And so these men would endure great trouble, and they would toil endlessly, but many like their southern brethren, care little for the depths of things, and know endless ire. And so it is that the stomach and the heart of the highlander is the most delectable, and might be consumed at any time if only after the benediction of the body.

 

Those termed the Farfolk are given to a myriad of complexities. While some bend to the scrolls with their own variations and saints, others still, deemed farfolk for their difference in physiology to other men, are given to a hundred variations of shrines. And though some worship great wisdom - others still are made slaves to thirsting Aenguls. Among them are those of Oyashima, with their slanted eyes - and among that race are others of Aeldenic places. These are wisefolk, who make worship of ancestors and heaven, and for this they are deemed wise though they have propensity for lies and pride. So the men of slanted eyes have an oily taste, sour and salty. They should be eaten at dawn, and one should cry out “Dal vakstaiigq’gae.” when making consumption, and so make it holy.

 

In passing I give you this piece of information - that though we are bound only to consume sin, that none are free of sin. And for this, our task, our blessing, our curse, our mission - is terrible. But how else, I say, how else will all things be made into One ? 

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Lhoris would like to think she'd taste delicious in some elf noodle soup. She thinks this guide is very false and no true because she is too flawless and iconic to taste like father issues, jealously, and literal shit.

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A man would reside in the woods, hands adorned in the pelt of hunted beasts, gracing his fingertips. Calm blue-gray eyes scanning over this tome of knowledge and wisdom, committing such noble and enlightening teachings, into his mind. The pot boiling and steaming, as he extracted the nutrients from the bones of the dead blasphemer.

"Such devout teachings, these must be the writings of a brother. Perhaps a man should speak to such enlightened scholars and savants of knowledge. Indeed, a man could learn much from them still"

 

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