My name is Walter Kenneth Birmingham, and I am a priest of dark gods. A freelance priest, as a matter of fact. I learned my craft all by my lonesome, reading in ancient, skin-bound books, poking through even more ancient, cyclopean cities in the forgotten corners of the world and, when I had no other recourse, summoning, binding, and making dark pacts with the servants of the Elder Gods themselves.

 

...No shock. No amazement. Certainly no horror at the thought of your thin veneer of sanity being stripped away, leaving you confronted with the horrid truth of what reality really looks like. Oh, no, don't say it, don't...Damn it. I hate that word. "Cool." "Cool!" Modern America. Hah! The turn of the century was better. No, scratch that, the 1830s were better, and they were quite possibly the most boring decade I ever had the misfortune to live through. No respect for your forebears, that's the problem. Not one inkling of the hardships we faced in the early days, back when everything was ice and desolation, when the only other human being you saw were eyes in the trees, belonging to people that everyone knew were cannibalistic demons bent on your destruction and the ruination of your soul. Nobody these days knows what it's like to hope and pray that the food would last through the winter, or that the livestock wouldn't get taken in the night...

 

...You're still looking at me like that. I can see that you want, no, demand proof. Very well. Here's what my soul looks like.

 

...Yes...Now you see. This is the truth, the unwashed, unfil--

The unfilt--

The un--

Look, will you please just STOP SCREAMING?!

THANK you.

A-hem. Where was I? Oh, yes...I am a freelance priest of dark gods. It's an interesting line of work, to be sure. Pays well, on average, and the fringe benefits are amazing, and that's not even mentioning the respect you get in certain metaphysical circles. Not many people can manage to hold their own against cosmic entities older than the last four iterations of the Universe and full of enough barely-repressed power and malice to turn you to atoms with nary a thought. I will admit, I am somewhat proud of this accomplishment, but really, it's all a matter of knowing which buttons to push and knives to twist.

Really. That's all that it is. For example, the Seneschal with Infinite Eyes desires knowledge of mortal experience. For the mere price of a few memories, you can see through His eyes.

The Voiceless Mother of All Flesh wants pain. For the price of a fleeting instant of pain, you gain complete mastery over your body.

The Swarming Host of Death's Own Putrescence will let you know precisely how and when you're going to die. After that, you're immune to earthly disease and most injuries.

There are others who have...blessed...me with their gifts, over the years. And that is the easy way. The hard way is to sift through ancient texts written in languages long-since forgotten for the barest fraction of truth, or trekking to the few places in the world where Their power still holds sway without constant sacrifice and devotion and nosing into corners that you really shouldn't be in. Doing this all and retaining your mind is challenging, but it can be done.

Why am I telling you this, I hear you asking? Well, it's because I desire a pupil. Yes, you. No, I'm not joking. Look, I'm about to die very soon, and I'm not about to let the knowledge of centuries get flushed down the drain here. Whaddya say?

Hmm? Well, if you refuse? That depends. How much of a death wish do you have?

Look, I'm trying to be serious here, and you--

This is hardly digni--

I, out of the goodness of my heart, decided to not ki--

STOP LAUGHING!

THANK YOU.

I was being dead serious, thank you. You've heard too much for me to let you live. Oh, there you go with that damn laughter again. Look, I...

Hang on. Somebody's in the building...That's not right. Give me a second to let my mind wander...There. Five of them. Heavily armed. Damn them. Damn them. Didn't I teach them to leave well enough alone? Well...Time to give you a more practical demonstration of the kind of power you will wield. Won't that be fun? Yess....

First, I'll turn my arm into a weapon....AAaghgaAAaaegghhh....Good. You didn't even scream this time, and you don't seem catatonic. Oh, stop staring.

Stay here for a moment...

.................................

"You expect me to beg, old man?"

No. I expect you to die!

............

Now. Wasn't that a fun little demonstration? Surely, such power is irresistable! Oh, what's that look for, hmm? Calm down, lad. It'll be fine. Just remember to breathe, and we'll get started with the first lesson. Here. Let me untie you. The first lesson must be whispered, for it is the most poweful. Come here. Good. Now hold still and listen...

...

Good. It worked. Aaahhh. Much better. Ha-hah! It worked! IT WORKED! And you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Don't look at me like that. You couldn't have thought I was serious, now could you? HAH! Oh, you're so stupid I almost pity you. Hmm. Nice body, by the way. I can tell you took good care of it. Didn't smoke, didn't drink...And the best part of that little ritual is the brand new soul that comes with it. How's my old one doing, by the way? Hmm?  

Hehahahahaha....If there's any of your mind left in that old body, then know that there's nothing personal, kid. I just didn't want to die. It was just business, that's all. I'm looking forward to the next few decades, kid. A brand new body to practice all the tricks I know in, a brand new soul to trade, and that beautiful little girlfriend who's probably wondering why you haven't called her. Oh, showing her what I know is going to be fun...

Gotta go, kid. There's a cult in Albany who's paying me ten million bucks to poison a maternity ward. I'll leave you to finish matters with my body. Enjoy the buzzing...

 

 

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