The Platter of Darkness

Epilogue

"Our Graces, why, why have you berated our divine dwelling with such a repugnant heretic!" the deacon begged to their saviors mercilessly. Before he squeals his last breath, he glances at his lifeless disciples. Many of those now bloated, mangled, deformed corpses were indistinguishable to the human image. Yet they still stand, acolytes hungering for flesh that the One deems impure of darkness. Insanity soon infested The Deacons mind, as his skin started to move on its own will. His internals he could feel turn and churn. As He knew his end, the deacon focused on the face that turned him so foul. He proclaimed. "The graces will bind you, heretic! THEY WILL BURN YOU TO ASH! Your vile user if forbidden verses." He gasps. "Your attachment to the darkness will be, your... undoing..." the deacon, now lying there, defeated by whom he thought would never challenge him, His own Son. Known as the One, the forces which he controls decays and disfigures ones he touches, molding them into beings inhuman and thoughtless, becoming husks of one what they were, serving for one and one thing only flesh for the One.

Chapter One

Victis was a young boy of ten, he lived in a moderately sized town on a precipice upon a series of ridges. A cold temperate part of the world. The town, strewn with many chalets and cabins alike but stationed in the rear of the town atop the ridge lay a chapel, larger than most of the dwellings combined. Its stone tower reaches for the heavens as if it was a gate to the other world when its bell tolls. The inside was vast. Glass panes depicting various religious deities, as snow gracefully wisped against them.  In The long but narrow chancel, An altar dressed in fine silk, trimmed with flaxen gold. Behind the altar, a spring lay, flowing into a pool at the bottom. Evergreen shrubbery set all around the chapel paired with large tapestries strung across the rafters of the ever-towering joists. The lower level held a large dormitory, fitting around Ten worshippers, that's where the clergy resided. In the center of the room, they're gathered at a wooden table, there sat the Deacon, quietly."Mylordship, we must focus on the task at hand, we have at hand." A Small yet muscular priest speaks directly to the Deacon. "Heavy winter is coming and our town of Xiracus cannot lose any more people. My Lordship, in under a month we have lost four of our townsfolk and not a trace left behind them." He hesitates to ask. "Perhaps it's a caster of the forbidden Ver-." "DO NOT SPEAK OF THOSE VILE INCANTATIONS HERE!" the Deacon shouted."You speak of heresy? The only heresy here was when those lost did not pray to our Graces, OUR graces are absolute, those heretics refused to indite themselves into our beliefs, hence they lost their way in the forest and froze to death for not serving our true Graces!" The priest replies. "Yes, my lordship I understand, the Graces hold true to their absolute power. Another thing my lord, your son." The Deacon scoffs. "What is it now with that bastard child?" "Well, your lordship, he has run off into the deep woods to the north again sir towards the ruins." The priest states. The deacon fiercely replies "Then go get him you useless sack of shit! He's going to be locked away in his quarters for seven days. he will be offered one meal a day since I'm feeling generous, and as soon as he returns, he will be whipped for deserting his studies "