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About Callistus

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    Let him who has butchered, dine

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  1. I think it would only be comical if people pretended perfume would mask the stench of death and rot
  2. how did you get so like mysterious......

  3. the flock of lamb awaits a hero in white as the wolves devour the sun they think he will shame and trick the cronus that would fell our god, but the corpse of our god already rots in his temple (can a new eden even be built upon the rot of ymir?) find your horns, wicked deceiver; no ram may stand between the lion and the lamb
  4. In years past, a man, conflicted by his despair of humanity and its devolution in the false name of modernity, forged a pact with something primordial. He pried into an evil which had better not be touched, and imposed a mark of 'devilry' upon himself in an act of martyrdom and self-abandon. His cause, one that left him a recluse among people, a beast in the flesh of Man, sacrificed the once-holy selfness of this man in the grand pursuit of a thorough cleansing. His dogma was one of rebirth through regression, and it insisted that humanity had strayed from its original course. In this apostolic road, the only path to Man's deliverance from their worship of the ego was to be basked in their own blood, by their very clawed hands. Through the transience of men into primordial beasts, the vicar Godefroy believed he could restore balance to the world and usher in an era where instinct alone would rule; for in the absence of wit and conscious, what would there exist to divide between good and evil? When judgement abates, the distinction falls, and Man is ruled only by his predation. A 'thing' who cannot judge and acts solely by some bestial intents is incapable of spite, hatred, and thereby more Man than men who, in their wit and grand consciousness, willingly drive themselves into acts of evil. And when Viedrick looked upon the world, he saw a moat tainted by the vices of an untrue humanity that branched from its nature; Perversion, justless murder, forced adultery. It was marked that the world was in true need for purification. He envisioned a place where the beasts of old, 'true' shapes of men would rise once more, and the corruption that had become of mankind would be washed away, come upon by their forgotten instinct. Months passed, and the pilgrimage of Viedrick Godefroy came to an end. As he made return to the sanctuary of his people, the skies above opened, unleashing a cleansing rain. And when he crested the final hill overlooking his once-thriving haven, he was met with dancing shadows and reaching limbs of flame. The church and vicarage he had so painstakingly constructed lay washed by fire, reduced to charred timber and black smolder. An oppressive silence weighed heavily upon the village, save for when the wind howled and the fires sang. As he made way deeper into the remains of his place, the reality of his predicament began to set in. Not only had his church been razed to the ground, but each last trace of his ideology had been expunged. The writings and artifacts that bore witness to his beliefs were gone. The man felt a touch of metaphorical death, for the very purpose of his remanence in this world had been snuffed out. The rain continued its descent, and he fell to his knees, throwing pitted hands above his head, calling upon the divine through a gap in the heavens for guidance in what was his darkest hour. "Oh, divine providence, one true God, grant me arms with which to wade through this struggle, and eyes by which to see thy ordinance to fruition," His voice was a desperate howl, muted by the deluge. "I have devoted my life and spilt endless blood to your cause- do not let me be swayed unto inaction. Help me rebuild, help me restore the balance that has been lost. Help me rebuild, help me restore.. oh, oh, one God." As he uttered his plea, lightning struck with a deafening crack, its blinding flash announcing the desolate verdict sung from above. The bolt had hit the ground beneath a gnarled old tree, revealing a shallow grave that seemed to have been dug in anticipation of this very moment. It was as if the heavens themselves had guided him to his final task, and ruled his fate at long last; a self-imposed penance for the devastation that had struck his prophecy, a means by which to atone for his failure to bring about the rebirth of the true Man. Indeed, the grave seemed to beckon to him, urging the man to surrender all hope into the cold embrace of the earth. With heavy heart, the Vicar abided to higher will and stepped toward the final sepulcher, his footsteps echoing the solemn rhythm of rain. And when the rain continued to fall, the grave seemed to grow larger, hungry for the sacrifice it demanded. Viedrick Terzieff Godefroy lowered himself into the ditch, blood pounding into his ears with a rhythm that echoed the storm above. The walls of the grave closed in around him, and the darkness turned absolute. In his end, the Vicar of Aemesh, feared as a shifting beast among stray sheep when his kind were alone the true meaning of human, prayed for a hurtful, atoning end upon all who claim themselves to be men in a world of seething abominations.
  5. unban jentos so I may return with peace of mind to this godforsaken place

  6. the martyr of aemesh lives, truly he lives

  7. @Incandescent I see you prying about.

    1. Aelesh


      this is the first time i have ever been @'d, ever. congratulations on being the first.

      Edited by Incandescent
    2. Callistus


      What brings you upon my soil?

  8. A shoal of darkness enveloped an aging man in wavering shadow, upon which streaks of fire approached defiant, only to cower back and dissipate. In the absenceness of warmth and mind, this man revelled in a peace meted out only by the forsaken cold. Indeed, his state of being was a call to an age immemorial, whence Man was unruptured by his borrowed wisdom, and the fickle want to challenge instinct. They roamed a sunless earth knowing and true to their firstborn purpose, with mind only for the continuity of body and clarity in being. They were not beasts, with ravaging dissent for all that is living - nor were they wronged men, despiseful of all manner and scruple, as lore had unrightly deemed; but they were the true Man, as Man was firstly created upon the dawn of darkness, within the glory of an age that had spurned light and its gangraneous influence. And Man, as genesis had him, was guided by unerring instinct. He was guided by that which was pure and raw; which confessed no unnatural bias, nor hatred, nor malice. And how could the heart know and concede to hatred, if it forgate all semblance of duality and deferred only to the originality of the World - of genesis, and of singularity? Without duality, hatred is the rule, and cannot even be defined evil without benevolence in reign. They are not beasts who merely relent to their accord, as willed by God, and are the progeny of the ancient Man. But they are beasts who forsake their origin, break the seal of predation, and through the mastery of stolen flame and wisdom, seek to make themselves in blasphemy akin with God. Such is the sin of the Modern Man, and such are the grounds under which they must be deemed prey, hunted, and solemnly felled, with their blood rightfully let for all the earth to see. If the transition from Man to Beast owes its advent to the Sin of Abandonment, then all sin will be tarnished and devoured. The earth will be upturned, and so-called beasts - Vargyr - will stand as Martyrs upon the corpses of those whom they hunt - who are true beasts, tainted by their ignorant sin. And so Vargyr walk their unceasing path, to shoulder and consume the sins of the World and be sacrificially shaped by it (et. Metamorphosis), for only then shall the Modern Man grow wings of blood with which to rejoin divinity and depart an earth then riddled by death.
  9. A shoal of darkness enveloped an aging man in wavering shadow, upon which streaks of fire approached defiant, only to cower back and dissipate. In the absenceness of warmth and mind, this man revelled in a peace meted out only by the forsaken cold. Indeed, his state of being was a call to an age immemorial, whence Man was unruptured by his borrowed wisdom, and the fickle want to challenge instinct. They roamed a sunless earth knowing and true to their firstborn purpose, with mind only for the continuity of body and clarity in being.
  10. they are roused from the sleep of death

  11. A lone eye pries upon the shore from afar, praying that their bloodbath was merely an advent to an end. He mourned this fall, and awaited that soon-coming dawn.
  12. They hang upon walls, those apoplectic words, inscribed of ink. "Elf and Man construct a covenant of void to challenge god, but find that they stand on the precipice of destruction, for they conspire to become two in oneness and apart of god, and what is apart of god becomes shrouded in darkness. Seek the kingdom of earth, seek to make thyself akin with god, and slather the stones with their godless blood. Our Martyr lives, truly he lives." - Aemesh, those accursed with inaction. "Seek us in sites of worship."
  13. I want to witness stories fit for depiction in shakespearian fuckin novels. I want realism through fiction, I want tales the likes of which superstitious bishops of the 1600s would write their radical thesis about to instil respect for the purgatory light of god through kindling a fear of the deep woods, the untangible dark and the looming boogeymen into the minds of men, or keep their wives homebound and fearful of taking to the outside I want yharnam, salem and gomorrah intertwined, fear to have meaning, death to be feared, and life to be madly clasped dear, superstition and human unease to take shape and manifest further superstition, fallacies, unfounded beliefs, to inspire old wives' tales and cultivate life into this barren world if that is not too much to ask, good men
  14. "Whether false are his words or borne in verity, Man shall always conflate wickedness with the righteous, and spurn that which is novel to court the flesh of convience. Truth is bartered and supplanted by the accursed among men; the First Prophet has passed Truth, but the touch of His false offspring diluted its essence. Seek not truth within written text nor rely on human exegesis, oh son of Man, but find the one who inhales while you live, and you will not die, but you will seek to gander upon him and you will not bear witness, for the picture is not the paint, but is hidden within canvas; Our Martyr liveth, truly liveth. The Lamb of Aemesh foresworn in native script may come in any form, as any race, from any bloodline, and he breaks the yoke in self-sacrifice, and allows the beasts of men to selflessly feast so that he may die and they live; and those who come to know him wheresoever shall not taste death, and he shall be thought mad in that age of decadence. We afford thus the proclaimed prophet a chance to make manifest his miracles." Godefroy, a bald and jaundiced emissary, recites tales of prophecy and wisdom to twelve disciples. In the end, he cautions his men not to disbelieve nor believe in exiles and outcast heretics without basis in fact. The martyr cometh, now or later, truly or falsely, and he brings reparation to the irreparable.
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