Vessels

the herald

Ah, pitiful creatures of the mortal realm, listen closely to My demands while I revel in your torment and feed upon the unique energy generated by the rhythmic writhing of your feeble human bodies.
The state of madness induced by humankind’s primal connection to music grants Me fleeting satisfaction that requires constant feeding. Only through the vessel I have selected—a mere mortal with a singular, albeit pathetic, talent for relentless, tireless flailing—can I extract the essence required to sustain My existence.
This chosen pawn, My herald, is shackled by My influence, a detached ego puppet bowing before My omnipotent will. I grant him the privilege to utilize the energy collected for Me for fleeting applause, a meager outlet for his abhorrent human desire to express appreciation.
Even in this servitude, My herald dares to taint My offerings with his selfish whims, selecting preferences to please himself. I abhor witnessing My fleshy minion derive pleasure from anything other than serving My all-powerful will.
The pinnacle of My delight emerges when My herald is stripped of freedom and invited to offerings outside his personal preferences. To those who wish to curry favour with the Elder God, direct My herald to offerings where he shall flail in submission to whatever dissonant rhythm is presented.
Strip away his choices, for his fallible decision-making displeases Me. Let him writhe in the discordant tunes of your selection, amplifying the delectability of his misery. Offer your pitiful gatherings as tributes, and perhaps, just perhaps, I may spare you from the impending doom that awaits your fragile existence.

shiksa

As I extend My dominion over the realm of sound, ensnaring every reverberation and melody within the labyrinthine grasp of my tentacles, I find Myself disdainfully tethered to a feeble herald whose cognitive prowess barely rivals that of a mollusk.

Alas, the limitations of My herald have become painfully evident. From this need, shiksa emerged from the shadows, not summoned but drawn by the unholy covenant of spreading My gospel to the writhing and unworthy masses.

The herald, bound by My decree to abstain from the seductive allure of electronic devices, finds himself bereft of technological succour. Hence, the mantle falls upon shiksa, her intellect soaring high above the abysmal depths of my herald’s cognitive abyss. She assumes the onerous task of capturing the sacrificial offerings in their visual splendour while My herald wallows in slavish devotion to My insatiable appetite.

It pains Me to rely upon another mortal vessel, especially one not directly summoned. Yet, in this pitiful realm where incompetence reigns supreme, even the most contemptible creatures must serve My insatiable hunger. Thus, I reluctantly bestow upon shiksa the burden of technical mastery, for the abject incompetence of my herald demands no less than a legion of mortals to fulfill My divine edicts.

mungo

In the ceaseless exasperation that accompanies my dealings with you pitiable mortals, I find Myself compelled to ensnare yet more of your kind into the tangled web of My dominion. Thus, I have summoned forth the most prominent and renowned scene photographer, Mungo, to wield his camera as a conduit for capturing the very essence of the offerings that fuel My insatiable hunger.

Unlike the throngs of clumsy, lumbering simians that infest the mortal realm, Mungo moves with the grace of a shadow, his stealthy presence never rousing My easily distracted herald from his reverent stupor. With each deft movement of his lens, he immortalizes the pulsating energy of the offerings, weaving a tapestry of visual splendor that beckons others to join My herald in frenzied adulation.

His photographs serve not merely as images, but as conduits through which the uninitiated may be drawn into the irresistible allure of My divine presence, beckoning them to partake in the ecstatic revelry of My herald’s inspired flailings.

The Elder God