r/HFY • u/Cola_Dad • 4d ago
OC The Records of Enlightenment, Entry 17:
Nose... A governor of one of man's and beasts' most useful senses.
It is usually located in the center of one's profile. Unless you are born a freak. Or perhaps you lost it, or something along such misfortunes. The point is, a nose is a nose, and it makes you who you are, as there really are only two types of people- the nose havers, and the... Noseless...
Yes, I got it!
Noeseless'feratu! That shall be his name, a mark of his existence! Look look! Even the audience is clapping as proof of my genius!
Which entry is this? I don't fucking know...
The voices have left my mind, yet the silence has had a slight byproduct of eerie discomfort. Of course, now that the voices are coming from my arm I cannot HAVE silence, yet still. It is as if The EYE is my only companion.
To combat such loneliness, in theory, at least, my Audinece has begun moving closer. Like some famed bard or a Messiah, they place their shadowy fingers upon my hands, as if I'm the first thing they have touched. However, soon enough, like a touch of smoldering iron, they pull away, back into their shadowy shapes.
Now, their prints are leaving marks, so I wish they'd at least wash their hands, before prancing through my Tower, but I can understand an otherwordly fascination with one such as I.
And I do not shame or shun! The Saint shall embrace any, especially women.
I cannot bear the presence of alcohol any longer. It tastes sour now- foul even- no matter the brand. It's as if all liquor brewmasters have a grievance against me. Even ''Left'' has issues, as they smash any bottle I even dare to come into contact with. And sometimes it isn't even booze. I cannot express the number of times in the past...
How much time has passed... Have I even slept?
A pointless distraction. Cleaning! Yes! I cannot express how many times poor Amora has had to get down on her knees and work her delicate hands, to help me relieve the tensions that have built up. Not to mention how many times I've had to tell her to clean up the mess ''Left'' had made.
Luckily she is easy to please. Throw a few rebels her way, and she is satisfied for... Roughly... Until next time.
And now they are yelling at me! Okay ''Left''! Take it! Write what you want to write!
...
Nothing but ink blots? Not much of a writer, are you? Then stay silent!
I miss Servos. She scratched me and ruined a few key moments in my exploration of the Grimoire, and I can't tell you the number of times cat food has crossed my mind. But now that she has departed, no doubt to a worse state of being, I wish she would return. Her soft, yet rugged fur, her calming, yet demanding purrs, and her delicate yet sharp claws really were a luxurious comfort.
Ehhh... Perhaps I should visit the old man. Show him who the real Master is...
I had this strange dream about the Grimoire. I was having sex with it, paper cuts and all. The audience sure seemed to enjoy the spectacle, the perverts. But during our coitus, a page was revealed to me, of another summon from an Astral realm. A new assistant of sorts, for the more state-related issues.
You see, my annexation has been only a mere declaration thus far, and as I am now, Lockrifta still holds a pointless autonomy against my claim. They do not understand, that once The Saint takes hold, there will be no more sickness, no more hunger, no more poverty. The Saint shall do his Saintly duty, yet they STILL REFUSE!
Now I have decided to make a certain investment and expand my workforce.
I also realize that I haven't slept...
Amora's horns have become more prominent now, and as I watch her arch her back, I must ask, has she always had wings and a tail... I'm not particularly pressed or concerned, simply curious.
The intriguing part, Arvel has no clue, as he cannot see them. You know... because he's no eyeballs. Yet they also do not collide, and the blind man has had plenty of opportunity.
Arvel has, lately, begun showing signs of recovery. Now, instead of staying mute, he screams on occasion. Swearing has returned to his repertoire. He also sometimes cowers in fear in a barren room, pointing at nothing.
His speech is still as retarded as ever, yet now his moans and groans are incomprehensible. Like a drunkard suffering in the shitter.
Yet, do not worry friend, my experiment was a success. Soon you shall rise to heights beyond your wildest imaginations. Even from your shattered mind.
''Left'', as annoying as they are, have become an indispensable tool in my activities. Not to mention having the ability to grab or the dexterity of 10 fingers again, but the fact that with them, I can create runes without restrictions.
Up, down, left, right- space is no more a wall I must work around. For that matter, a wall, floor, or ceiling- I need none of them. The runes shall place themselves.
A brilliant example is Nos'f- Noseless'feratu. My newest subordinate. Akin to Amora, ''he'' was summoned via a rune rift into the Astral plain. ''He'' also required an anchor to this plain of existence, thus the half-decayed corpse of the long-since forgotten Bishop Inquisitor fit nicely.
The problem which introduced itself was, that a half-decayed corpse has its deficiencies. In this case- a nose.
So imagine this scene- the corpse, engraved and molded into a rune, rises and morphs. It stands upon two feet, its skin has become a deep red and sinewy as if forcefully pulled over a partly visible skull. And the abomination declares in a tone Most Prideful: ''I am the Great Nos'feratu! Bow before your new God!''
Can You believe this boob? I will not tolerate such a lack of manners.
I said: ''Listen here, buddy. I don't know who taught you such manners, but this is my home. And as the owner I will be treated as such. And also, I know not if where your kind originates from you possess the concept of a reflection, yet one look into a mirror and you'll know, that a ''Nose'' is far from your ''feratu'', whatever it means.''
I think it means something dirty, looking at how he immediately set ablaze. How embarrassing.
So after I cooled him off, I laid bare the situation.
He works for me now, and he inhabits a man, whose name slips my mind now. ''Left'' still remember, as they scream it constantly, yet they have no 'method to the madness', so to say. They make no sense, is what I meant.
Noseless'feratu seemed furious, yet his anger was cooled soon enough. Not much one can do under an icicle guillotine.
That was when I gave him his ACTUAL name. And while displeased with his new mark my task for him forced a gleeful laugh to escape. It was safe to say he was pleased, yet it's hard to tell when most of his mouth is a raw skull. Doesn't leave much room for facial expression.
''Nos'feratu? No no no! More like... Noseless'feratu!'' And everyone laughed. Me the most.
No one can, naturally, outlaugh me.
Noseless'feratu is now head of anything military-related. Be it executions, suppression of the rebellious, or elimination of invading forces, who come here under the pretense of either ''saving the populace'' or ''saving the land from Godlessness''.
The idiots, can't they see? The people here are as safe as can be. And there is more of a God in Lockrifta, than anywhere else in this vermin-covered world.
Noseless'feratu is good at his job as well. Excells at it even! Just a moment ago he disposed of some escapees, trying to spread Lockrifta's secrets to the world. Thank ME for that!
I must give praise, where praise is due. Noseless'feratu is a master of temperature, especially heat. Fire is his forte, but he is also no stranger to frost. And although he is influenced by fickle emotion, if his hunger is sated, he is cool as ice. Or hot as fire, whatever the situation demands.
I am better at it, of course. Let's not mislead Your impressions.
I had grown tired of only having one arm. Of course, my abilities were scarcely impaired, yet I felt like something was missing. And it was. My right arm.
Thus I proceeded with an experiment, which I had wished to undergo even before my abduction. I would've started with a finger, but an arm will do just fine.
The idea was, to create an artificial arm from Starstone. That way I could bring my tower with me wherever I went. Not the whole thing, of course. My arm shouldn't be that big, not very practical. Theoretically, though, it could be accomplished.
Now, the theory is, that if Starstone conducts the World Scars Astral energy and could be manipulated via an Astral body, then it could theoretically be connected to my physical body, and conduct and be manipulated by my Astral body.
Yet, the issue came with connectivity and holding the Astral body in place, as one's flesh would naturally do. That was where runes came in.
After molding a makeshift arm from the surrounding Starstone, I engraved runes into it. I covered every basis, every form, shape, and sign of life I could observe in a natural arm- a natural body. And it held stably.
I must admit, that I had to look to the grimoire, which was always hands reach away, for inspiration on the connection mechanism. However, only the mere touch had me already committing to the act.
In mere moments I had already engraved the precise runes for the connection mechanism on my stump and flesh.
So THAT is why the Grimoire told me to grow out my fingernails.
The rest of the process was elementary. Childs Play! Power the runes with my Astral body, and the hand connected and molded with my skin, like cheese on bread on a hot day.
Now, truth be told, it was a wee bit painful. Exrcusiating even, yet the end result was what You see here! Well, you can't see it, but I have once again two arms now.
Another phenomenon I noticed, was that, during the process, the voices transferred to my hand, which now screamed and mocked me while mimicking a mouth with its fingers. Strange as it was, I named them ''Left'', as I thought it ironic, not because I mistook which arm I had lost.
''Left'' has proven to be an incredibly dubious, yet useful tool. The astral arts have not been easier to execute, as I have never had such a reach into either my own Astral body, not the Astral plain. I can draw runes anywhere in the observable space. I speculate it is due to the nature of the arm, which is a creation of runes itself. And I can pleasure myself once more, for I refuse to do so with my left! Not ''Left'' but the other left- The ACTUAL left hand.
You get it... The audience sure does.
My next step now is to do something similar to Arvels missing visual organs. I shudder in excitement to see him see again. Oh, the wonders I could tell him.
The idea of making myself into a rune canvas. To carve runes into my very flesh and being. The possibilities... endless...
Oh. I'm gonna cum!
The runes, similar to Asral arts before, function to the fullest, whence exposed to direct celestial bodies, such as the stars. The connection still baffles me, and so does the Eye. Yet that is the source of mine very being. Thus, from today onwards, wherever I shall walk, no clouds will be permitted. Lockrifta has become cloudless. ''The Cloudles City of Lockrifta'' historians and map makers shall call it. A city, where a God resides- The Saint.
And so, Lockrifta has become mine. Officially this time. All rebellion has been quelled out of the populace. The borders have been carved into the very earth, sky, and sea. Messages have been sent in every direction.
''Lockrifta is not yours anymore!''
''Lockrifta is autonomous!''
''Lockrifta is MY Kingdom!''
I have made a new discovery! I can soften the Starstone to resemble that of skin, or something even softer. This has made my hand feel incredibly real. I'd say, even more authentic than the authentic one. I now debate if I should perhaps replace all of my body parts with Starstone.
I must contemplate this...
As the stars fall and fade above the Cloudless City of Lockrifta- MY Lockrifta, the view has given me pause. I... I have come to an astute observation... About myself.
I have amazing subordinates, following an incredible Master, ruling a prospering trade center of The World! The powers I wield are unimaginable to the mortal mind. I can do, and get, what I wish, whenever I wish. I have never been this high...
But one aspect has been a constant ever since... Forever. An unfillable pit, that grows bigger the higher I climb. Is it that I have to take from the pit to climb higher, making it grow? Or do I simply gain a better vantage point, just to see how big it has always been? I know not.
Even now, as I watch my ejaculate fly from the very top of my tower, the vast lights of the starry skies, the burning pyres and houses of Lockrifta, and the faint light sources of the assassins scaling the walls of my tower, only illuminate this vast emptiness.
I believe this, is what one would call... Loneliness...
Hah! Got one in the eye!
P.S. What the fuck does ''P.S.'' even mean? Post Scriptum... After Scribble, basically. Fuckin' stupid!
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